Page 3 of Hooked

I’m too afraid to let go. We pitch and heave, wave after wave tossing us like a game of hot potato. I’ve never been so nauseous.

A wave maybe twenty feet high surges in front of us.

“Hold on! We’re not going to crest this one!”

I brace against the console, my hands numb from fear as much as the wind-whipped water.

It crashes over us.

2

Vinny

Taco swims peacefully in his bowl, having just devoured his dinner. He prefers pellets to flakes. Once I had tried to switch it up, and he’d spit the flakes out disdainfully.

Taco should’ve been born a crab instead of a betta fish. Maybe in his next life.

Rain pours down, battering my roof. I love the sound. I’ve always loved storms. It’s one of the reasons I joined the Coast Guard. My shipmates thought I had a death wish when we’d be out training in bad weather, but as unpredictable as storms seem, there’s a logic to them. Atmospheric chemistry and physics create limitations.

People on the other hand? Incredibly unpredictable.

It’s why I love the cold weather seasons on Martha’s Vineyard. All of the tourists leave, and it’s just me and Taco.

I’m about to settle in for a hot Friday night with my book when I hear pounding on the front door. I live in a small two-story clapboard house, the first floor converted into a fish and chips takeout shop I operate during the warm seasons. I don’t usually have visitors other than my best friend Kieran or Kieran’s uncle, Danny. And even they don’t come by much.

I prefer to do the visiting on the rare occasions I need social interaction. That way I can control how long said interaction lasts.

I’m down the stairs in seconds, opening the front door.

Danny Fitzgerald stands in the rain, soaked to the bone already. He doesn’t wait for me to speak and pushes past me.

“Vinny,” he says, shaking off some of the rain. “There’s a boat in trouble about a quarter mile offshore.”

I scowl. “Who the hell went out in this storm? That’s idiotic.”

“It’s Oscar,” Danny says, and waves off my anger. “We’re closer than Menemsha.”

“There’s the small guard response boat in the marina.” I’m still dumbfounded that Oscar would go out in this weather, but Danny’s right. The why doesn’t matter right now.

“Kristi and Sven are on it, but they could use your help.”

I’m on my way, running toward the marina in under a minute. By the time I get to the docks, Kristi’s suited up and behind the steering wheel. She’s only about twenty-five but handles boats like she’s been on the water as long as the most seasoned vet.

She’s tough as nails.

Sven, on the other hand, is as laid-back as he is competent. Which is to say, very. I meet him at the equipment shed, and we grab orange reflective jumpsuits and inflatable SAR vests. Helmets, gloves, masks on as quickly as possible.

We roar into the pelting rain in under five minutes. A familiar rush of adrenaline centers me.

“There she is!” Kristi yells.

The Ivy Bay is dead in the water, but miraculously still upright.

Her back end is sinking. The bilge pumps couldn’t keep up with the intake of water.

Kristi steers us parallel to the Ivy Bay. The darkness is all-encompassing, and I’m grateful for the lights on the rescue boat and my helmet. Sven clips a line to our boat’s frame, and I take the other end and jump onto the sinking vessel.

Thank god for muscle memory.

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