“I had to fish you out of the sea in the middle of the night.” He folds his arms over his chest. “How’s the wrist, by the way?”
“It’s fine.” The second I say it, I know it’s not true. The skin feels raw and I bet it’s red, but I’m not going to look down. I’m not going to prove him right.
The man leans forward, plucking my hand from the blanket and turning it over, palm up. He skims the pad of his finger over what is in fact red flesh. Ouch. My sharp breath brings his eyes back to mine, and I pull my wrist back toward the blanket. Slowly. I have the growing sense that he would react to a sudden movement, and I don’t necessarily want to see what that reaction would be.
“That wrist was wrapped in the tow rope of your buoy. That was the only thing between you and death by drowning.”
A flicker of memory comes to me—grabbing for that rope and squeezing it in my fist as night fell and the waves got higher. “But it wasn’t what saved me.”
“No. If it weren’t for me and my ship, you’d have died of exposure.” He narrows his eyes. “Don’t do that.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
He reaches out and touches my arm and I fall back against the pillow. I don’t remember trying to push myself up a second time. “You haven’t been warm long enough to be moving around.”
“How do you know that?”
The look he gives me is so coolly irritated that it startles me when he laughs. “I’ve been at sea for a long time. You haven’t. Tell me what happened.”
He’s used to being obeyed—that much is clear. His expression is all confidence and ease and it reminds me forcefully that I’m naked under the sheets. But it’s not just his face. His body is confident, too. The pitch and roll of the ship doesn’t disturb the balance of strong muscles underneath a long-sleeved shirt in a deep black. Dark denim covers muscular thighs, hard and lean and long—a swimmer’s body, with more muscle.
“I was on vacation for spring break.” It’s easier to tell him than it is to lie. I’m on his ship, after all. I’m in his bed. There’s nowhere else for me to go, and nothing else to do but remember. “With my boyfriend.”
Something flashes through his eyes. “Did the boyfriend throw you overboard?”
“No, I jumped.”
“You underestimated the current, then.”
“No.”
What I underestimated was Robbie.
The man waits. It’s as if the rise and fall of the sea below us gives him patience. In the silence the sea grows calmer, and for a delirious moment I think that he must be the one doing it—controlling the ocean somehow. But that’s not possible.
I don’t want to remember.
I have no choice but to remember.
Might as well say it.
“We were anchored off an island. Far off. Maybe he lied about the island, I don’t know.”
“Was this a day trip?”
A prickle of warning leaves a fingernail’s crescent in the back of my neck. “He borrowed his parents’ yacht for the week. A small one. You know.”
He nods. “You were out on the water with your rich boyfriend, and then...”
“Then some other people came.” The thud of the hull of their boat connecting with ours reverberates through my body all over again. I still see that first man’s boot coming down onto the deck. “Robbie said he would handle them.”
“Robbie.” He tests out the name and it sounds lacking in his mouth. Boyish. “Will Robbie be looking for you now?”
I swallow against a lump in my throat. “He can’t. They were drug dealers. It didn’t work out.” I don’t know why he thought it would be okay. “They argued, and then one of them shot Robbie in the head.”
I’m watching it happen again, watching his lifeless body collapse in spitting red, and it takes several long blinks to clear the memory from my vision. An angry grief burrows into the middle of my heart. God, I’m so mad at him, so furious at him for what he did and for having the audacity to die before I could fight with him about it. A big, dramatic breakup would have come with a side of closure. Instead, I’m here.
“So.” I clear my throat and push my knuckles into my chest. The story is out in the world now, or at least it’s out in the open in this room, and this man next to me doesn’t seem bothered by it. Doesn’t seem shaken or shocked or panicked. It’s almost peaceful. “They were going to take the yacht somewhere else. I didn’t want to go, so I took the buoy and jumped in the ocean with my phone.”
I pat the bed next to me, looking for it, but the man shakes his head. “You didn’t have a phone with you.”
My stomach drops. It’s too late, because the phone is gone. Lost at sea. It was my only hope while I was out there, for a while. And then I don’t remember what happened. All I know is that I didn’t want to let go of the buoy. For anything.
I was cold for such a long time.
And now I’m warm, underneath these blankets. The sheets are soft—as soft as anything on the yacht. Or maybe it’s me. Maybe they only feel expensive and lovely because of the time I spent in the tide.
“And then I was in the water.” Time lost its landmarks out there. Only the sea existed. Waves on waves. Waves that got bigger and bigger until I was afraid, I was afraid—but it’s a nameless fear now, not one I can put into words. I’m too tired to do it. A big, embarrassing yawn sneaks up on me and pounces. “And then I don’t know.”
“And then I towed you to the ship and put you in here.” It sounds too simple. There was more to it than that. Things involving my clothes and warm water. A cool object pressed against my chest.
It’s getting hard to keep my eyes open, so I close them. If he thinks I’m being rude he doesn’t say anything. Sleep comes in fast and hard, but no—not yet, not yet. I fight it off and force out a word.
“Wait.”
“I haven’t gone anywhere.” The way he says this makes me think he’s been here for a long time already, but that is too complex of a situation to sort through right now.
“What’s your name?”
“Tell me yours first.”
There was some reason I was going to keep that from him. Some reason I thought it would be better kept a secret. But it would be so much easier not to have to remember what I did, or didn’t do...
“It’s Ashley.” Another yawn, and this time sleep is crowding in. I don’t have the space to be embarrassed. “Ashley Donnelly. But this is a trade. Mine for yours.”
He makes a sound I recognize as the hint of a laugh, and for a long moment, I think he might not tell me. If he doesn’t, that’s okay. I’m safe with him, strangely, and there’s a peace here I never felt with Robbie. I knew Robbie. I knew him, and he put me in harm’s way. This man will call the police or take me to safety. He doesn’t need to, really, because I’m already safe. I’m already saved.
“Poseidon,” he says finally. “No more trades. It’s time to sleep.”
4
Poseidon