Page 25 of Hate Wrecked

I wait for it. Another gentle reminder that I will hold him back, make things harder for him. That I belong on the shore, waiting for him to come back to me. I wait. I wait.

But it doesn’t come. Rowan’s hand finds mine, and when I look into his eyes, I see it…the surrender.

* * *

The ocean envelops us as Rowan and I swim toward the stranded yacht. Our rhythmic strokes cut through the water, and the distant sounds of the shore fade into the background. I focus on the lifeboat, still tethered to the ship, as the enormity of the task ahead settles over me.

Rowan reaches the side of the yacht just as I do. “Let’s try to disengage it together,” Rowan suggests, his words carried by the gentle lull of the waves.

We nod in agreement, slowly submerging into the water. The ship’s hull looms above us, casting shadows. Rowan takes the lead, running his fingers along the rope, searching for the mechanism that keeps the lifeboat steady. I follow his movements, our hands working in harmony as the underwater world comes alive—muffled sounds and bright colors.

The minutes stretch endlessly, and I wish I could just enjoy the water around me, sink to the bottom just to drift to the top in a slow dream. After one trip to the surface to replenish our air, we sink again, and the mechanism yields, the connection loosening. Relief washes over me as the lifeboat floats freely toward the surface. We resurface, gasping for air, and Rowan’s eyes are the bluest I’ve ever seen when they lock with mine—a mix of exhaustion and awe reflected in his gaze.

I want to see that look in his eyes again, again, again. But when I look to the sea, at what’s coming, I know I won’t see that look for a while.

THEN

RILEY

Barry wasn’t tall,but his skin was warm and inviting. And his smile taunted me. My sisters and I always thought he was cute and giggled when he joined the adults in the living room after getting a drink before we were shooed away.

And as I aged, he looked better. He watched, winking at me, bumping into me accidentally. Laying out by the pool, a drink in his hand, waiting by my seat. He lingered by me and in my mind.

On my eighteenth birthday, he brought me a present—a beautiful black dress, tight and small.You’ll glow in this, Glenne.He loved to call me by my first name. He said it was sophisticated and made me seem more grown-up. And that’s how he wanted me to feel—more grown-up. It worked.

He made me believe the age gap between us—ten years—was nothing. “You’re so grown up. Even more grown-up than your mother.” The remarks about my mother made me flinch, and then I leaned into them, and my anger at her grew.

The late-night visits to my room as parties raged were what I looked forward to the most. The party would be thumping outside, too wild for me, and he would be hanging out in my room. Playing games with me. Laughing. Telling me stories about his Hollywood.“It’s different than what your parents know. Faster. It’ll leave them in the dust if they aren’t smart,” he would say—as if his career was anywhere on their level, or ever would be. But at the time, I didn’t see it.

I just smiled and asked for more. More stories or closeness. More of him telling me how smart and talented I was. “I saw that part you had inTease. You were so good. You’re going to be a star. I have some people I’ll introduce you to.”

And when I told him about my singing, he shook his head. “You don’t want that life. On the road all the time? Playing dive bar shows when your name means you can be on the big screen. Why go backward?”

I leaned into it. Loved his voice and everything he said. I believed it all.

I thought it was romantic that he was waiting until I was eighteen to make a move on me. It meant he was one of the good guys. Patient. Knew what I was worth.

Worth waiting for.

Our first date didn’t go off without a hitch. I heard my mother and stepfather arguing about it the week before. “He’s too old for her,” my mother said, and my stepfather chimed in, getting her where it hurt. “The age difference is the same between us. Are you saying you’re too old for me?”

It wasn’t the same. She knew it. I would see it later, but I didn’t know it then.

Barry picked me up in his fancy car, came inside, and chatted with my stepfather. They joked. “Get her home by midnight.” My stepfather laughed.

“It’s just a business thing,” Barry said. His cover, a lie, and his way of making my mother more secure. But she knew what it was.

I was wearing the little black dress, and she eyed me, looking me up and down, her lips pressed together.

It didn’t faze me. What fazed me was Rowan at the back of the room, arms crossed at the wrist. Watching me like a hawk. We had only just started talking as friends, watching movies together, playing board games, reading in silence behind the house. Less of my flirting and daring, more intimate in our moments together. A tentative friendship, a matchstick house waiting to go up in flames. Deep inside, I knew he liked me the way I liked him. But I knew friendship was best. Safe. And his job needed to come first. What did I have to lose? My mother’s disapproval? I didn’t care about that, but I cared about Rowan.

When Asa and Barry were done chatting, Barry took my arm, leading me out of the house. “Okay. Let’s go.”

I chanced one last glance over my shoulder and locked eyes with Rowan. He looked so sad.

And I felt it the entire ride to the restaurant.

I felt it through each course, through the buzz of alcohol Barry fed me.

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