“And they are pushy as hell,” Donna added. “Never met a group of people who were so—”
“Hey,” someone shouted from a round table a dozen feet away. “How long does it take to get a bowl of chowder out here, huh? We’ve been waiting five minutes.”
“Oh, five whole minutes.” Donna rolled her eyes, then plastered on a smile and turned to the man. “Just a little bit longer, sir. We make it fresh every day, and good things take time.”
“I’ve eaten here before,” the man said condescendingly. “It’s not that good.”
What an asshole.
They ate lunch quickly, eager to give Donna some breathing room and also to be away from this group of jackasses. She handed them a free pint of chowder and a bag of cheddarbiscuits on the way out, since, “We’ll be closed for Thanksgiving tomorrow, but the least we can do is make sure you boys eat well!”
Oh damn, Thanksgiving was almost here. Morgan had been on Parrish Island for almost a month … and what a month it had turned out to be. He’d come expecting perfect solitude, but he’d gotten so much more than that. So much better. He didn’t know what he and Ty had, exactly, but he knew he didn’t want to give it up.
The fog was thicker than ever as they got back to the boat, and Ty was back to being quiet and distracted.
“Are you okay?” Morgan asked as he slipped on his life jacket with barely a twinge in his shoulder.
“I’m … yes, I’m …” Ty sighed. He wasn’t the most talkative of men, but he was usually articulate. “I just, I’m thinking about something serious, and … I’ll tell you when we get back.”
Morgan’s heart skipped a beat. Was he finally going to be brought into the fold and learn Ty’s secret?Don’t look too eager.He didn’t want to scare Ty out of telling him. “Okay,” he said, as calmly as he could. “Sounds good.”
They cast off and set out across the water. The wind had picked up significantly, and Morgan was more grateful than ever that his shoulder had mostly recovered, given how strongly he had to grip the side of the boat just to stay seated. Ty seemed to be piloting on instinct. His eyes looked forward but seemed turned inward, glazed with thoughts and, perhaps, with indecision. He looked nervous.
Morgan opened his mouth to tell him there was nothing to be nervous about, that no matter what he decided to share, or didn’t, Morgan would be there for him. He’d have to shout it, though, it was soloudall of a sudden—
“Look out,” Morgan screamed as, out of the thick fog, the prow of a yacht ten times larger than their boat appeared outof nowhere. Ty startled and responded at the tiller as fast as he could, but it wasn’t fast enough. The prow of the yacht smashed right into the left side of their boat, breaking it into pieces and sending both Morgan and Ty into the water.
Morgan surfaced quickly, thanks to the life jacket. He looked around in a near panic as he tried to orient himself. The boat was in pieces, and the yacht was already almost out of sight, blasting holiday music so loudly he doubted anyone on its deck had heard the crash. They had to havefeltit though, right? They would come back ... or maybe they wouldn’t if the way they vanished into the mist was any indicator.
None of that was important, though. The only important thing right now was finding Ty.
“Ty,” he called out, spluttering against the water that splashed into his face as he bobbed like a cork. “Ty!” There was nothing. No response, no sound at all, and Morgan suddenly remembered that Ty hadn’t been wearing a life jacket. Had he gone under? Was he unconscious?
Without giving himself a chance to think about it, Morgan unbuckled his life jacket, shrugged out of it, and dove under the water.
It was dark, almost too dark to make anything out, even so close to the surface, and yet … over there. Was that part of the boat, slowly sinking, or was it a body?
Morgan was out of air. He surfaced, narrowly missing a part of the fiberglass frame of Ty’s poor boat, then dove under again. Yes, there—that was Ty’s sweater, and if that was Ty’s sweater, then that had to be Ty, and yet … and yet …
If Morgan could have shouted under the water without drowning himself, he would have. Nestled inside the sweater was the most enormous octopus he had ever seen in his life. Two of its tentacles poked out the ends of the sleeves while the rest of them drifted through the bottom hole. Its massive head stuckout the top, straining the fabric. It had to be uncomfortable, but the octopus wasn’t moving. In fact, it looked like it was trailing blood into the water.
Morgan didn’t give himself any longer to think about it. He was running out of air again; he had to act fast. He swam over, wrapped an arm around the center of the sweater—that seemed the safest bet—and kicked for the surface. He came up, gasping for air, his world narrowed down to one singular purpose—getting them back home.
Morgan cast his eyes around until he saw the life jacket he’d abandoned. He paddled over to it, the weight of the octopus in his arms unwieldy. It took two tries to get back into the jacket, and he wasn’t able to fasten it, but he had bigger things to think about right now.
The island was close. Heknewit was close. They’d been on the water almost ten minutes before the yacht ran into them. If he could just figure out which way to go … Morgan watched the waves for a moment, getting a sense of the current and which way the water was being carried. He closed his eyes and listened, and—yes—there, in the distance, was the sound, not only of the usual seabirds, but the faint, warbling cry of the marbled murrelet.That way.
He struck out hard, holding the octopus with his bad arm while moving them through the water with his good arm and the force of his kicks. He swam and swam, and the exercise did its best to keep him warm, but he was getting colder by the minute. So cold he was starting to shiver, but now he could hear the sound of water slapping the dock and washing up against the rocks. He could almostseethe lighthouse rising up out of the mist. They were close. So close.
The octopus jerked violently, all its limbs writhing like it was being boiled alive before they instinctively wrapped aroundMorgan’s midsection. He wheezed, barely able to breathe.What the hell?
Then a blunt, dark head broke the surface of the water, not two feet away. It was a sea lion, a California sea lion, probably one of the ones living right here on the island, the kind that Ty said preferred to eat squid and octopuses. It came closer, opening its jaws to reveal surprisingly sharp teeth.
“Back off,” Morgan shouted, splashing water at it. The sea lion blinked, startled, then dove under again. “Shit, shit, shit.” He was sure it wasn’t gone for good. Why would it be, when he had its favorite food all wrapped up and ready to go? Morgan had to get them out of the water, fast.
He swam as quickly as he could, bound up as he was, and whenever he caught sight of the sea lion approaching, he splashed at it or kicked in an effort to drive it away. It got in a few good shots, though. He clocked the force of its body as it darted in to try and take a bite, and he felt the octopus flinch, wrapping him up tighter and tighter each time.
By the time Morgan reached the dock, he was more wrung out than he could ever remember being. He dragged himself and the octopus out of the water and watched numbly as the sea lion popped up to look at him one more time.
