Page 7 of Sail Away
He only wished he could have been part of her future. Not a night went by where she didn’t enter his thoughts. She seeped into his subconscious, making his waking moments both amazing and torturous.
Reid lowered his shades, allowing what little sun was left to bombard his eyes. He stared at his business partner and glared. “Because you make me that way.” He’d become sick and tired of pretending that things were getting back to normal between him and Preston.
Hell, things hadn’t been right since Erin died. Maybe even before.
But the last few months had shown Reid how little he could trust Preston.
With anything.
“What the hell did I do now?” Preston waved at the waiter, holding up the nearly empty pitcher.
The waiter nodded, waving his index finger.
At this point, Reid didn’t want to argue. If he could spend the next three days drunk, he would. But he had too many unanswered questions. “Do you really need to ask?” Fuck it. Getting drunk tonight would do him a world of good.
“Yes. I do,” Preston said. “I don’t get you, man. The two of us are finally back together, side by side, killing it, and you’re acting like the roof just caved in.”
Reid took his frosted mug and chugged the last of his cold brew. There would be more alcohol, and then he’d stumble across the street and pass out until morning, where he’d start all over tomorrow. Maybe if he got wasted enough, he wouldn’t be able to participate in anything Preston had planned on this stupid-ass vacation that celebrated nothing. “It’s too soon. We don’t have approval to go forward, and my design isn’t perfect. It hasn’t been properly tested. Not even for the contract we just signed. I’m worried we’re opening ourselves up for lawsuits.”
“It’s close enough. There is no need to do any more testing. The people at the studios are ready and excited. They’ve already used the suits twice and had no problems. You need to relax a little and let our lawyers take care of the legal shit.”
A fucking night bungee jump from Deception Pass, while it would be exciting, was no place for him to relax, much less test out their new lightweight equipment. It was meant for highly trained professionals, not the masses anyway. It was all part of their Hollywood stuntman line, and none of it was ready to be manufactured.
Much less ready for any human to try it without proper safety protocols. And Reid knew that there was no way in hell that Preston or anyone on the team would want to put up a safety net. Preston hadn’t learned anything from Erin’s death. If anything, it’d made him feel more invincible.
A totally fucked-up concept if you asked Reid.
“We should be in research and development and talking with the fire department heads this week. Not hiring a private charter for a few days and acting like a bunch of frat boys.”
“We worked hard for the movie contract. We deserve a little relaxation.”
They had gotten the movie gig based on their personal experiences with extreme sports, both having competed in different events, as well as their desire for detailed safety.
Well, Reid’s need for it. Which, according to Preston, had become an obsession that bordered on an addiction just as dangerous as not understanding that the seas could swallow you whole, leaving behind no evidence—and not a soul would ever find you again.
Maybe Preston was right. Erin’s death had changed Reid. And now, ten years later, he had to re-evaluate what was truly important, and he’d discovered some disturbing news.
He’d screwed up the last year something big.
Darcie Bowie,the one that got away.
He glanced toward theLiving the Dreamsailboat. The tall mast swayed in the gentle breeze. The lines clanked the metal; birds squawked as they flew overhead, and the water lapped at the sides of the boat, making a special kind of seaworthy music.
She’d accused him of using Erin as a personal emotional shield to keep people at arm’s length, and Darcie had been tired of living in a dead person’s shadow. Reid turned right around and informed Darcie that she had a chip on her shoulder the size of the great state of Texas and that she needed to stop trying to prove her worth to everyone, including her family—but especially the idiots in the yachting industry who thought women couldn’t cut it.
That right there was half of Darcie’s problem. She believed she had to fight for everything in her life. If there wasn’t a battle, she didn’t think she deserved it.
But the real breakdown in the relationship came when he told her that he couldn’t live with her schedule anymore and if she wanted to continue to be with him, she needed to consider a different profession, knowing full well that she’d tell him towalk the fucking plank.
Her words.
Exactly.
For some godforsaken reason, since then, he’d always wanted to learn to sail.
The waiter returned with their fresh pitcher of brew and a tray of fried appetizers—Preston’s favorites, because it was always about Preston.
“People are putting their lives in our hands,” Reid said while the waiter set the food on the table. “We jumped the gun on this movie deal, and you know it. Hell, we shouldn’t have even gone on that show.” Thank God no one had invested.
