Page 101 of Adrift

I straighten and walk over to the area where many of the participants are standing, breathing hard and completely drenched. Schooling my features the best I can, I shake hands with many of them, including the winners. Thankfully, I don’t see the asshole Ryan anywhere in sight. Good. Maybe he’s decided to stay the fuck away from me, knowing what’s good for him.

I’m in the middle of exchanging more pleasantries when I spot Rani’s long curly hair waving behind her. She’s wearing a simple outfit–a Truckee Sports T-shirt and black leggings–but she’s as radiant as ever. With the way her tan skin glows, presumably from her being slightly sweaty from her hike to get good pictures, and the way her dark brown eyes sparkle, hitting the light just right, she’s absolutely stunning.

She gives me a knowing smile, like she’s caught me ogling her, but as usual, I do nothing but keep my eyes pinned on her. Giving her a smile back just seems so insignificant in comparison to my fucking feelings for her–a smile will never encompass how much I feel. But what my smile can’t say, my eyes do–that my fucking soul lights up whenever she’s around.

I hand the winners their trophies, with Rani’s instructions to pose this way and that for the camera. Once we’re done, she tells me she’s going to take some other shots of the winners alone, and I tell her I’ll meet her inside the school.

I’m just picking up a few stray life jackets on the beach when the hair on my neck rises and I stand straighter, searching for the threat I feel around me. I find it–him, next to my girl. He must have just gotten out of the water, and he’s grinning at her like he’s the fucking cat who got the cream, leaning in to say something into her ear as she examines her camera. Whatever he’s said has her reeling back, surprised at his presence next to her.

“Get the fuck away from her,” I growl, stalking closer, my voice low and deadly.

Ryan lifts his hands in surrender before running one hand through his wet hair. “Chill the fuck out, bro. I didn’t say anything to her that she doesn’t know already.”

My jaw clamps so tight, I’m sure I’m going to break my fucking molars. I wrap my arm around Rani’s waist. “Let’s go inside.”

Because if I don’t get the fuck out of here with my girl in the next minute, I’m going to turn into the raging beast I feel inside and most likely create a PR mess that a small company like mine doesn’t need.

She’s still gawking at Ryan, pain caused by his words swirling in her eyes–pain she tries to hide under a look of incredulity, but the emotion can’t be veiled. Whatever the fucker said to her, he doesn’t deserve another second of her time or energy. I squeeze her waist again and she nods in understanding.

I’m just walking with her hand-in-hand, back to the school building, as my staff and most of the participants watch in shock when Ryan makes the mistake of speaking again.

“Yo! I told her she’s hot for a fat chick, though completely different from your usual type.” He shrugs. “Just complimenting the lady. You know, in case you slipped back into your old ways and stopped giving her enough attention.”

I don’t even realize I’ve moved forward. I don’t know when I get close enough to him that my fist is able to make contact with his nose. To be honest, I don’t even feel my knuckles against his cartilage, nor do I hear the crunch of his bone breaking. Not then, at least.

I feel it, hear it, and see it all much later, though. Much later than I should have. Much later than I could have done anything about it.

Because by the time I’ve stepped away from his splayed-out figure on the sand, he’s already inflicted deeper damage–much more than I could ever have–crushing way more than he could have if he’d broken my bones.

Shaking the earth under my feet with his mumbled, but perfectly audible words before he slipped into unconsciousness, making my world go into a frenzy. And I stood there, rooted to my spot in the shifting sand, hearing his words spin inside my head as if they were stuck on rewind and replay, praying there was another translation for the language he spoke.

Because it couldn’t have been what I was hearing. It couldn’t have–

“Ever wonder why your son looks nothing like you, Darian?” He chuckled, gurgling on his own blood, spitting it out on the sand as every onlooker watched on in disbelief. My fucking ears rang like I had fire alarms for ear drums. “I fucked your wife. I fucked the king’s wife because she practically begged me to.” He gasped, moaning from the pain, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as a few people rushed to his aid.

He coughed. “Don’t worry, though; I don’t want the kid, big guy. I used to feel guilty.” He lifts his hand feebly from where he lays on the ground, pinching his index and thumb together. “Not too guilty, but a little because you were such a nice guy. A nice guy, but a dumbass who had no idea how miserable your wife was those last couple of years. Miserable enough to confide in another man.”

He tried to laugh again. “But now? After this? Fuck that guilt. I like the idea of you seeing your failures written all over the face of the son I gave you.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Darian

He’s lying.

He’s fucking lying.

There’s no other explanation for this.

I stare at the floor in my office with my fingers at my temples. My cap is still lying on the ground where I threw it, and my heart is still sprinting inside my chest as if it’s nearing the finish line.

Ryan’s words echo in my head over and over again. I like the idea of you seeing your failures written all over the face of the son I gave you . . .. Of the son I gave you . . .. I gave you . . ..

No.

I refuse to fucking believe it. How could that be true? It’s not. Not when I feel the truth in every single fiber of my being–that Arman is my son. My son! Not the son of a sleazeball who has nothing better to do than run his mouth.

Arman is mine. The way he smiles, the way he stares, the way he recognizes me deep inside his soul, same as I do. He’s one-fucking-hundred percent mine. And no one, not even the asshole who was taken to the hospital for his superficial wounds–which he deserved when he inflicted catastrophic damage to my soul–can take my son away from me.

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