“Man overboard!” Cormac’s shout broke loose, and he dove without thought.
The cold hit like a hammer. For a heartbeat, he couldn’t tell up from down, only the taste of salt and the thunder of his pulse. Cormac hit the water before the thought even finished forming. By now, swim buddy wasn’t a rule. It was ingrained. A splash next to him told him Bolt was in the water too, watching his back. The cold punched through him like a fist, stealing breath, erasing up and down. Salt filled his mouth, and his ears roared with his own pulse. The flotation vest jerked him toward the surface, twisting him sideways, fighting him every time he tried to dive.
Get off me, he thought savagely, shoving against it, kicking down through the drag. The straps bit into his shoulders, stealing what little strength he had left. He could feel how empty he was, lungs scraped raw, muscles long past shaking, heart hammering too hard for too long, but he drove deeper anyway.
A flicker below. Bright hair. A limp body sinking slowly.
He forced his arms through the resistance, the vest trying to yank him back to safety. Forty percent, his mind whispered, the instructor’s voice, Bear’s voice, his own, that’s all you’ve spent. The rest waits in the dark.
He pushed harder. Every kick was agony. The weight of the vest dragged him like an anchor, but he refused to let go. When his hand finally closed around the back of the boy’s wetsuit, the ocean tried to rip him away again. He locked his arm, bellowed underwater, bubbles streaming from his mouth.
Not today.
He kicked for the surface, dragging the kid with him. The vest fought, his body screamed, and the world narrowed to the burn in his lungs. Then they broke through, an explosion of air and rain and sound.
“Got him!” he rasped, voice shredded.
Bolt was there, eyes wide and wild, reaching through the spray. “Hold him up!”
Cormac shoved the kid forward, every movement an act of war against the cold and the weight and his own failing strength. His arms were gone, his legs numb, but he didn’t stop. The vest forced him awkwardly onto his back, the boy’s head against his chest, and he kicked, using what was left.
Bolt caught the kid’s wrist. Together they hauled him toward the boat, the current slamming into them. Jameson and Barnhardt steadied the boat. Bhandari reached out, Chase cursing under his breath as they dragged the kid across the gunnel.
Cormac hit the side, arms trembling too hard to pull himself up. Bolt grabbed his vest and lifted, while Chase pulled hard. The world spun as he collapsed into the boat, coughing, every muscle locking in pain.
The kid lay between them, still and gray.
Cormac leaned forward, breath ragged. “Come on, lad,” he whispered, his own pulse hammering in his ears. “You’re not done. Not yet.”
He was dead weight, head lolling, skin waxy in the gray light. Cormac ripped off his glove and pressed fingers to the kid’s throat. Nothing.
“Breathe, damn you,” he muttered. He tilted his chin, sealed his mouth over his, and gave a breath, then another. Salt water spattered his cheek. He coughed once, kept going.
Bolt steadied the boy’s shoulders. “Come on, Shamrock, work your magic.”
“Shut up and row for the beach. He needs a medic.”
Shamrock. He rather liked being called that. He breathed again, chest to chest with the boy, the boat rocking beneath them. A shudder ran through the kid's body. He jerked, coughed, vomited seawater across Cormac’s knees.
The sound ripped through them like thunder. Alive.
“Attaboy,” Cormac rasped, half laughing, half crying. “You’re not dying on me, lad.”
Bolt threw his head back and shouted toward the sky, “Zeus, no mortal for you today!”
They paddled hard for shore, the boy sprawled in the bow, shivering but breathing. The dawn broke slowly, a smear of pale gold across the fog. When the boat ground into sand, the men tumbled out, dragging the hull behind them.
“Medic!” Bolt shouted, voice cracking. “We got one breathing!”
Bear was already moving, silent and fast, water to his knees. He reached out and literally snatched the kid from the boat, carrying him to the beach. He knelt beside the guy, checked his pulse, looked up at Cormac. The faintest smile touched his mouth.
“Good work. All of you.”
Cormac slumped onto the sand, chest heaving. Bolt dropped beside him, eyes blazing under wet lashes.
“Lucky bastard,” Bolt said.
Shamrock coughed, grinning. “Told you. Always find the four-leaf.”
