Page 19 of Uncharted

Easton backs up to where we can maneuver around each other on our hands and knees.

“Here’s the flashlight.” I hand it off to him like a relay racer. I eye the small sack in his hand. “What’s that?”

“The flare gun.”

“Don’t fucking point the flare gun at the ship. You could start a fire.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“Don’t use it unless you really think it’s necessary.”

“Again, not stupid.”

I blink at him. I’ve seen him antagonize Calvin when he knew it was going to make him explode. Not that I’m against antagonizing Calvin. I just do it with more finesse. “Right. Don’t shoot yourself, either. Haley would be fucking pissed at me.”

“Anything else, Mom?”

“Yeah, wear sunscreen and use a condom.”

“We don’t have either.”

“Fair.”

Easton crawls forward, and I lie on my stomach, gripping his legs. It’s sweaty and gross. I’m looking up at his ass. It’s weird. I’ve been bi forever. Sometimes I act on it more, sometimes less. But I’ll always be bi. The guys here are all good looking, but I have zero interest in any of them. Haley’s the only one that makes my dick hard at all. Fucking hell. Even thinking her name has me getting hard now. And that’s not something I want. Seconds feel like minutes. Minutes feel like hours. I’m barely holding on to Easton’s sweaty legs.

He’s hollering something, but his words are lost to the wind. Then I hear it. Easton’s singing rumbles back down the cavern—a sound so discordant, I swear he’s going to scare away every fish and bird within a hundred-mile radius. But as long as he gets Penny’s delicate ears twitching, I don’t care. If only she would start barking again, like she did yesterday.

“Easton! Are you flashing the light?” I yell over the cacophony.

“I’m doing it!” he yells back. “I’m doing S-O-S, then R-A-F-T.”

“Well, stop it. Don’t waste the light if you don’t see them. Just keep making noise.”

His voice is relentless, a constant in the chaotic night. I catch only fragments of his words. “What’s that?” I strain to hear him over the sound of the waves.

“The scarf song by Taylor Swift. Fucking love her.”

“Of course you do. Everyone loves her.” Only assholes rag on Taylor Swift.“Teardrops on My Guitar,” my ass, my dad used to complain. But he was an asshole. “Keep going, keep singing,” I urge him, desperate to maintain our presence in the overwhelming darkness.

His voice falters, then rises again in a shout. “Sam!”

“How’re your lungs?” I ask, trying to gauge our chances.

“Good. I’ve got swimmer’s lungs. I can do this all night if we have to.”

“Oh lord,” I mutter to myself. “I can’t take it all night. But it is what it is? We have to get his attention.”

Calvin theorized there’s still an inflatable stashed in the back. The Toy Hauler room off of the swim platform was a mess. They never had enough time to organize everything, thanks to the negligent decision of Rocky not wanting to wait.

Sam has enough experience. He should have known better. We never should have left port. And I should have spoken up, should have walked away. But in the yachting world, reputation is everything. Become known as the chef who walks off a job, and you’re finished.

“Keep singing!” I shout at Easton, gripping his legs for support.

“I’m doing it!” he replies.

We’ve been at this for an hour, Easton belting out every song from Taylor Swift’sReputationand half ofRed, including the ten-minute scarf song, twice.

“How’s the flashlight holding up?” I call out.

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