Page 20 of Adrift

Fuck, it’s not something I can burn out of my retinas. I hope to hell we can talk him out of marrying her. I never would have thought that Susan—Dad’s second wife after Mom died—would seem reasonable. But seriously, Susan seems downright conservative with her spending habits after watching Candy. But my dad is thinking with his dick. And Candy is thinking with diamonds in her eyes.

I anchor my feet on the floor of the cab to keep from flying across to the door. We’ve taken enough turns to screw into the earth’s crust. But this guy assures me with his not-half-bad English that he knows where he’s going. The car stops in front of a rundown harbor house. From the parking lot, all I can make out are fishing charters and smaller boats. But if this marina is like others, the mega yachts are farther out, under lock. I give the driver a tip. It’s not customary here, but damn, I’m alive, and there were a few times I didn’t think I was going to be.

The harbormaster’s house is locked up. Past a little strip of land, I follow the dock. The boats turn more expensive thefarther out I go, until there’s an empty guard shed and a closed gate. I jump it. Finding my dad’s boat can’t be that tough. Especially not since Candy helped design it. It’s huge and gaudy like her. That’s what I’m expecting. Hell, I don’t even know the name of the vessel. I should have thought this through. But scanning the bigger boats at the end of the dock, there’s only a handful it could be.

I make my way down the pier, taking in each yacht. The first two aren’t quite large enough. The third is too old. The next one is too small and too old. I stop and glare at the one after that.Holy Mack-roll.That’s the name of the boat. It’s new. And big. And far too classy to be anything Candy was involved with. But I should make sure.

There’s a deckhand washing down the side of the boat. They’re always washing something, whether it needs it or not. Not that I’ve been on board one of my dad’s yachts in years. He enjoys going out and spending too much time there. When I was training professionally, I couldn’t be away from the pool for that long. And no, swimming in the ocean is a completely different thing.

“Hey, excuse me. Odd question: is this yacht owned by Rocky Rockwell?” My dad’s real first name is Winston. But the last person to call him that—that I know of—tucked me into bed when I was eight and I never saw her again.

“Rocky? No. Are you thinking of theRock Candy? She’s in the second-to-last slip.”

“Yeah, that will be the one. Thanks.” I try to keep the irritation out of my voice.

“Hey, aren’t you that American swimmer?”

“I used to be.” I raise my hand in a goodbye and saunter to the end of the dock, to the slip he pointed out. I have to check the back of the yacht. This can’t be the right boat. It’s sleek and good-looking. I figured it would at least have a pink racing stripeor a lion sculpture on the bow. Candy has a thing for lions and horses.

There’s another deckhand polishing the back chrome of the boat.

“Hey!” I call.

He looks down at me.

“I’m Rocky’s son, Easton. I know I’m early. Any chance I can crash here tonight?”

“Tonight?” His voice cracks. “Um, let me see.” He turns away from me as I wait on the dock, but it wasn’t hard to read his shock.

I cross my arms over my chest, stretching out my biceps. It’s a habit I’ll never get over. But it is what it is. I glance at my watch. It’s late. Like, you shouldn’t show up at someone’s house this late. But this is my dad’s place. It will be mine someday.

Emily has a trust fund. It’s not huge, not by Rockwell standards, but that was what she requested. She doesn’t want any inheritance from Dad and only agreed to the trust fund to shut him up. Last Christmas, she told me the second he’s gone she’s giving most of it away to charities and political candidates she thinks Mom would have liked. It’s up to her. My sister doesn’t need Dad’s money. She’s a top-ranked editor for the second biggest publisher, and she gets to work from home. Not exactly a job that will land you on the Forbes 500, but Emily isn’t out for money. A lot like Mom.

“The captain told me to bring you on board.” The crewman is standing there glaring at me. My bag is small, but he doesn’t offer to take it and I don’t hand it to him.

“I’m Waldo, lead deckhand. I’m on night watch. But we’re docked. The captain is getting up; he’ll be out to meet you in a minute.”

I follow him; we’re moving through the decks to the top. “Easton.” I shake his hand. “Right, Waldo, I don’t need a lot of formalities. I don’t need the whole crew coming out.”

“Good.” His mouth cocks to the side. I guess I deserve that.

Waldo slides open a door and there’s the captain. I’ve seen pictures of Captain Sam. Emily loves him, says he’s a wonderful influence on Dad. But I call bullshit because Candy was on theMermaid’s Talelast year and the captain’s wonderful influence didn’t get Candy’s claws out of Rocky.

“Easton,” the captain says as if I didn’t haul his ass out of bed.

“Captain Sam. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Same. Your father thinks the world of you.”

“My dad also likes Spam, so I wouldn’t put too much stock in that endorsement.”

“You must be tired. Our chief stew, Haley Brewster, will show you to your cabin.”

I glance up, and the most beautiful angel is standing at the entrance to the bridge, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She’s got curves for days, and I’m becoming a lech because I can’t stop staring at her. She nods to the captain and then shakes her head as if she’s trying to wake up.

“I’m sorry to wake you. Easton Rockwell.” I put my hand out. I hope she shakes it.

“It’s no bother. I haven’t been to bed yet.” She shakes my hand, and I end up staring into her blue eyes. “If you follow me, I’ll take you to your cabin. I’ll give you a full tour tomorrow.” She stops in the doorway of the bridge. “Unless you want one tonight.”

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