Page 17 of Hate Wrecked

“I’m going to get the captain.”

I nod, the words inside begging to fall out.Don’t go. Don’t get hurt. I’m sorry. How can I help?

So I do as he asked because that’s how I can help. The first thing I find in my suitcase is my mother’s manuscript. I take it out of the plastic bag. There’s water on the edges, spotting, and one corner is pretty wet. But it could be worse.

Then I find my clothes and my Walkman, laying everything out, glancing at the ocean as Rowan’s figure retreats into the water.

When I’m done with my suitcase, I turn toward Rowan’s and feel a swell. There’s something about being near his things, his private belongings. It reminds me of the past.

When I look at the boat again. I see Rowan staring down. His hands are on his head, and he looks up into the sky after a moment. I can see his lips moving and imagine the prayer he’s offering the man who brought us here.

If I were the guessing kind, I’d say the captain probably weighs around 180 pounds. Rowan is strong and capable. But dead weight? I don’t know.

I quickly set out our belongings, then turn back to the boat again just as Rowan jumps out with the captain in his arms.

There’s a splash, then they rise. I walk to the edge of the sand, the water lapping at my feet.

Rowan is heading toward me, steady, one arm around the captain’s lifeless body and the other cutting through the waves—until he isn’t. I see his eyes go wide, and he spins around in the water, his back to me.

“What going on!” I yell, cupping my mouth with my hands.

Rowan yells something, but I can’t tell what it is.

So I walk farther into the water, toward them. The waves are picking up, and the sea is a mystery, violent, and taking.

Before he can stop me, I’m swimming toward him, head down, long strokes.

When I reach them, I can’t see the captain anymore. All I can see is Rowan before he dives into the water.

I kick my legs, moving in circles, peering into the water.

The captain is sinking down, and Rowan is diving down to him.

I pull in a large breath of air, then dive.

The water is shallow here, clear and blue. Rowan has his arm around the captain, and his eyes widen when he sees me. I grab onto the dead man, kicking off the ocean floor. We gasp when we break out of the ocean’s grip, moving in rhythm, swimming toward the shore. My lungs hurt, my legs ache, but we make it, dragging the captain out onto the sand and falling to our knees in unison.

“Fuck,” I cry, clenching my eyes.

Rowan crawls around the captain to me, grabbing me by the shoulders, shaking me. “I told you to stay on the shore.”

“When?” I ask.

“When you asked if everything was okay.”

I narrow my eyes. “Well, it wasn’t okay. You would have drowned trying to get him here.”

“You’ve been fucking sick, Riley, and now you’re in shock. You shouldn’t have been out there.”

“A simple thank you would suffice,” I reply, jerking out of his reach.

Rowan looks at the captain, and I can see the red in his eyes, the vein in his neck that always pulses when he’s stressed, or angry, or lost.

I get to my feet, trying to leave, but Rowan grabs my hand.

I look down at him—at the beautiful man on his knees in the sand, and I am struck by the past, by the way he looks, like years have simultaneously been added to his face and stripped away.

“Thank you,” he says, eyes on me, then out to the blue that separates us from the boat. I help him to his feet and we stand side by side, staring at the lifeboat still tethered to the ship.

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