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He’s quiet for a long second, and I’m scared we lost the connection.
“Sappy shit,” he grumbles, but I can tell he’s secretly pleased. “Just let me know if there’s anything you need, sweetheart. I won’t keep you.”
“Oh, I will! Thanks and I love ya.”
“Don’t ever forget how loved you are by all of us here. You haven’t stopped by much all summer. We miss you, Dess.”
So much for thinking the waterworks were over.
Wiping a few more tears, I press the phone close to my burning face. “I’ll come, I’ll come. Very soon.”
“You’d better,” he clips.
I kiss the air as I hang up, and a tiny shred of agony in my chest eases a little.
Taking myself out of the family equation was necessary for too many reasons, but they’ll definitely see more of me if I make it out of this alive.
I slip the phone back in my pocket just as the ship pitches and Shepherd bursts in.
He slowly staggers past, grabbing at whatever he can find for support as he makes his way forward.
Ice beads on the back of my neck when I get a good look at him.
Crud.
I’ve never seen him like this.
He’s pale. His eyes are wide and dark and trying like mad to hold it together.
The unexpected sight chills me to the core.
The peace I found calling my family vanishes, replaced by the crackling radio from the comm system again.
It sounds like another storm warning, what I assume are Coast Guard warnings about the dire weather barreling our way.
“Well? What’s the verdict?” I ask, dreading the answer.
But I have to know.
His expression is not that of someone who’s fixed our problem.
Everything that’s happened between us takes a back seat now.
We’re in real danger. Shepherd knows it and he isn’t trying to hide it anymore.
Maybe he can’t, and that scares me more than ever.
I’m on my feet before I know what I’m doing, gripping Molly’s leash tightly, crossing over to where he’s standing.
“What is it, Shepherd? Tell me,” I demand.
But the moaning wind and the punishing wave crashing over us steal my words.
Everything tilts and I start to slide—until he reaches out, using his better traction to keep me from slamming into a bulkhead.
I grip a whining Molly with all my might, holding the leash like a rope while her little nails scrape the deck for support.
It’s a solid thirty seconds before we stop tilting.
