Page 125 of I Wish You Were Mine

I tried working out, but being in the gym just made me think of that night Maren and I danced together to Snoop Dogg. I tried answering emails, but my inbox was filled with images and invoices from Riley’s diamond guy.

I even tried to watch TV. But when I sat down, I noticed one of Maren’s pom-poms on the floor beside the sofa. Call me crazy, but I could even smell her shampoo on the pillows.

She is fucking everywhere. A constant reminder of how bad I fucked up.

How bad I wanna make things right, but can’t.

I’m too damn scared.

So like the coward I am, I ran to the beach. Asked my friends to come in the hopes they’d keep my mind off shit. I also hope they keep me from drowning, because the water is rough.

“Wanna talk about it?” Riley asks over the rising roar of the ocean.

“No.”

I haven’t been able to eat since Maren walked out on me last night, so I’m a little shaky as I wade into the water. I’m wearing my thickest wetsuit, but I still shiver when I toss myboard onto the ocean’s foamy surface and hop on, belly down.

I start to paddle, Abel on my left, Riley on my right. My shoulders are on fire ten yards out. The water is relentlessly rough. The wind whips the spray off the white caps and throws it in my face. My eyes sting. My throat aches.

We sit up on our boards twenty or so yards from the beach. Wait. The cold water, combined with the colder air, sends a numb throb through me.

“Is Maren not okay? The baby?” Abel asks gently.

“Maren and the baby are fine. For now.”

Riley spears a hand through his wet hair. “For now. I feel like that’s an important detail.”

The ache in my throat becomes acute. “That time in the hospital, it took a lot outta me.”

“That is some scary shit,” Abel says. “I get that.”

“Makes me feel anxious. Like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. I just have this gut feeling that shit’s gonna go south, which is—yeah, fucking horrible to live with.”

Riley nods. “Because shit has gone south for you before. In a big way.”

I nod, too choked up to answer. A wave approaches. I lie on my belly and wait for the tell-tale thunder to fill my ears. I start to paddle when I hear it. My arms feel like wet noodles, and I can’t paddle fast enough to be where I need to catch the wave. I’m a second, maybe two, behind. But I still go for it. I leap up onto my board on unsteady legs.

“Tuck! Let it go!” I hear Riley call.

Instead, I stay upright for one full heartbeat before the wave crashes over me and I’m plunged into the water’s icy darkness.

The force of the wave pushes me deep down. The exposed skin on my face, hands, feet screams. I kick my legs and pull at the water with my arms. I do it again. And again. I still don’t reach the surface.

I feel a frisson of fear. I’m deeper than I thought. My body is tired. Pressure builds in my lungs, an urgent call for oxygen.

I’m not going to make it.

Kicking harder, I open my eyes but only see murk. I can’t tell up from down. Am I swimming the wrong way? The water is so cold it’s hard to tell.

My legs are numb. But the pain inside me glows white-hot. Is this really going to be the last thing I feel? Immense, burning regret?

Something grabs me. A hand on one arm. Another hand on the other. I’m yanked upright, my head breaking the ocean’s surface just as I’m about to involuntarily breathe in salt water.

The first thing I see is Abel’s frown. “Jesus fucking Christ, Tuck. You really do have a death wish.”

But it’s the wild-eyed look on Riley’s face that makes my heart twist. He is—was—genuinely scared I was about to drown.

“That’s enough surfing for today,” he says. “Out of the water, Tuck.”

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