Page 11 of Hate Wrecked

He nods. “I love the sea more than anything, son.”

“What kind of boat is this?” I ask. The name on the side readsVanishing Point. Not a good sign.

He places his hands on his hips, assessing his vessel. “A 1990 Viking 53 Convertible.”

Riley arrives before I can ask any more questions, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, the edge of last night’s hangover still written across her face. Her steps slow as she reaches us. I can tell she’s reading him—just like I did.

“Riley, this is Captain Daniels,” I say, nodding toward him.

She offers him a polite smile. “Nice to meet you.” I catch the tension in her posture.

Daniels stares a beat too long before nodding back. “Pleasure.”

We start loading our gear. The boat’s older than I expected, scarred by weather and time. It creaks when you step wrong. The railings are rusted in spots. But it floats—and right now, that’s all I need.

We push off not long after. The engine rumbles to life, coughing like it’s been asleep too long. Salt air cuts through the morning heat as we glide out of the harbor, open water stretching wide ahead.

Daniels takes the helm without much fanfare, eyes fixed on the horizon. I hang back for a while, triple-checking the supplies, trying not to let the nerves settle in.

Then I see it.

Tucked beside the throttle levers in the cockpit is a photograph—old and faded, curling at the edges. A woman. Dark hair. Striking eyes that feel like they’re looking right through me.

Something about her expression sticks with me, but I shake it off. Maybe I’m just tired. Maybe I’m letting the pressure of all this get in my head.

Still, I step away from the helm and head below deck.

In a matter of hours, we are on our way into the frightening blue. I spend an hour or so up top, talking to the man who has our lives in his hands, before feeling the itch to check on Riley. Below deck, I find her sitting at the table, her hands in her lap, looking at the wall. It’s disturbing, like I walked in on a private moment, so I clear my throat before stepping further into the belly of the boat. “Are you okay?” I ask. It feels like I’ve been asking her this question ever since I met her.Are you okay? Does this feel good? You need to make a choice, Riley.

I push away our past and take a seat with her.

She looks me in the eye, and I see she looks a little green. “How long is the trip?”

“Five or six days, the captain said.”

She groans.

I squint at her and she looks away. “Are you okay?” I ask, my voice gentle. Even though I’d decided to stop looking after her, I can’t help but feel responsible for her. Her presence always triggers a sense of protectiveness in me, no matter how hard I try to suppress it.

“I have a bad feeling.”

I blow out a breath, wishing some part of me didn’t feel the same. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“Because you would have made me march right back into that airport to board the plane, and I didn’t want to do that. I’m not saying I regret coming, I just…I don’t know. I’ll be fine. I’ll throw up over the side of the boat if I have to.”

“Maybe you should go up on deck then. Why are you hiding here?”

“I don’t know if it’s better or worse to see the waves.” Her voice is soft again, her anger so quickly dissipated. She burns hot and cold. Ignites me, then freezes me out. This is the worst fucking idea I’ve ever gone along with—bringing her with me.

But those damn green eyes will make me bend to her every time.

I change tactics and gesture toward her bag, where I can see the manuscript peeking out, bound with a placeholder cover. Her mother wants her and her sisters to read it before she publishes it so they can request any necessary changes. I hope she doesn’t change anything, because what her mother has done is write an unflinching and raw account of her life, true to the pain she’s suffered and the pain she put her daughters through when she almost died. There is beauty in that honesty. I can see the way Riley misses her mother, and I wish she could be honest with herself. “Have you read any of it?” I ask, lowering my voice.

Riley looks at me. “Two pages. I can’t get past the first two pages.”

“Why?”

“Because I can hear her,” she says, almost in a whisper. “I can hear her voice when I read her words, and I think...I think it’s too much right now.”

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