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I make a strangled, gurgling sound, muffled by water.
Shepherd turns, sees what’s happening, and visceral panic crosses his face. He leaps across the room and grabs me, his fingers splayed, grasping, desperate.
He misses.
There’s no stopping gravity. Not when I’m careening helplessly toward the open door, the mouth of ocean doom outside.
Then Molly lunges and her teeth snag my jacket sleeve.
She bites down hard enough to bruise.
Yes, enough.
It keeps me from losing my fight against the water.
Everything hurts and I’m winded, but I’m still alive.
Still on board the ship.
Still in this.
I throw up a hand, praying for something to grab on to. My fingernails slide across the smooth surface.
Then another wave roars in through the open door and this time, even Molly’s tormented grip isn’t enough to save me. I’m all out of chances.
Down.
Down.
Down.
I brace for the worst, pinching my eyes shut while a dark voice laughs in the back of my mind.
Irony of ironies.
Your fear of the ocean was always right, and you didn’t listen.
I’m just hoping the final plunge that turns my lungs to ice and rams its way up my nose, my mouth, is quick.
I’m not expecting a hand.
Not a defiant grip, strong fingers digging into my flesh.
Shepherd swings me around so I’m almost out of the water.
We lunge backward, tangled together, hands searching and fingers wrapped around the freezing metal of the bolted chair against the wall.
It’s way too late for any dignity.
As the ship bounces and sounds like it’s splitting clean in half, I bury my face in his chest, too numb to feel his warmth.
But he’s there.
I know he is.
Frozen, miserable, and angrier than the storm itself, but he’s there for me.
The thud of his heart matches mine.
