Fuck. Eddie had taken the faster boat to drop everyone off at the hot springs.
“Sound the alarm,” I yelled, as I launched the rubber dinghy. “Tell Captain Bailey to get her eyes on the shore.” I pointed to the picnic spot.
“What’s going—”
“It’s Moti.” I revved the engine, peering through the binoculars once again. No trace of her. I let out a curse, eyeballing how long it would take me to get to her. Nikos spotted me coming in and swam up to meet me. He manned the boat, searching the surface, while I dove beneath, where I’d last spotted her. The current was powerful even for a seasoned swimmer like me. Despair grew heavier as the seconds ticked by. Within three minutes of submersion, most people are unconscious. Within five minutes, the brain begins to suffer from a lack of oxygen. Within ten minutes…
I wasn’t looking for blood, but that’s how I found her—a darker tinge against the water. It was gone the next instant, folded into the sea’s massive, greedy palm. Diving under the surface again, I made a slow, wide circle, eyes wide open.
Once again, I came up empty-handed.
She’s here. I know it. I can feel her.
I took another breath and plunged beneath the water again.
I spotted her dark tresses first, fanning out under me through blue shafts of light. A flat fish with gold eyes darted away as I swam toward her, my heart pounding hard and fast against my ribs. She floated vertically, suspended in a slow-motion matrix. Ribbons of blood rose from her arm, curling upward like smoke from a snuffed-out candle.
Her stillness felt like hell to me.
I undid the rope around my waist and tied it around her.
I got you. I got you, Heart-Eyes.
The alarm bells in my head got louder when I brought her up. Her body was slack, her lips a fatal shade of blue.
“Over here,” I yelled.
Nikos gunned the motor, and we got her on the boat.
Come on, baby. Come back to me.I urged between chest compressions and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
Water and tears dripped down my face as I pushed—one hand on top of the other—on her breastbone.
If I hadn’t taught you to float, you wouldn’t have gone in the water. You would’ve stayed away.
I’m sorry, Heart-Eyes. I’m so fucking sorry.
My arms grew numb from pushing on her breastbone, my heart frozen from the shock of her cold, clammy skin. Her expressionless face. Her lifeless form.
Come on. Breathe, baby, breathe.
My compressions became more forceful. It didn’t matter if I hurt her, bruised her, broke her ribs. None of it would matter if I didn’t get her to expel the water.
I felt a slight contraction of her diaphragm, followed by the sweet, glorious sound of her coughing. Choking. Gagging. Moti’s hand wrapped around her throat as she thrashed on the bright yellow floor of the dinghy. I convulsed over her writhing body—laughing, crying, the relief unbearable even though she was struggling to breathe. She was back. And she was alive. Nothing else mattered.
I wrapped a blanket around her shaking body.
I didn’t let go when the onboard medic rushed to our side.
Or when the medic cleared Moti, contingent on twenty-four hours of monitoring.
Or when the doctor from Milos—the one I insisted Captain Bailey call for a second opinion—confirmed the prognosis.
Moti was going to be all right.
We tucked her into the big bed in the captain’s suite. She slept, and I kept watch.
When she jerked in her sleep, her body stiff with panic, I rubbed circles on her chest. I held her hand, careful to keep the pressure off the bandages covering her scraped skin.
