Derek’s response is in Spanish, too fast for me to try to translate with my minimal skills, but it instantly changes Thiago’s whole demeanor. He looks up, eyes wide and a smile growing with each word Derek says. Thiago’s English is decently good, but he always gets excited when someone speaks his language, and something about the way Derek is talking seems to have touched something specific.
Thiago answers in equally rapid Spanish, and they go back and forth a few times before he practically skips over to the boats and joins the other two guides.
I don’t manage to hold back my groan. “Seriously?”
Derek frowns. “What?”
“You speak Spanish like a Peruvian?”
Running a hand through his thick hair, he shrugs. “He said I sound more like a Chilean, but—”
“I knew you’d be too much, Derek Riley,” I mutter, then follow Thiago to the boats. I have a feeling this won’t be the last time I’m surprised by the movie star, and I need to keep whatever distance I can. When I can. He’ll be in my boat for the next several days, but I’ll have to do my best to avoid him otherwise.
It might be the only way I survive this trip.
Chapter Eight
Derek
I’velearnedsomeimportantthings since pushing off the shore at the put-in site:
1. I’m going to have a lot of downtime if I stay in the gear boat. Donovan has said a whole three things to me in the last two hours, one of which was to tell me to be quiet and enjoy the scenery. The other two were responses to questions like “Where should I sit?” (“Anywhere you can find a spot, Riley, but this boat isn’t meant for passengers.”) and “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing with the oars?” (“No.”)
2. I have no idea what to do with silence.
3. The rules of the river are simple. Don’t underestimate her. Don’t fight her. Don’t forget to breathe.(Note: this rule refers to both the Colorado Riverand to Donovan Tate.)
Changing Donovan’s mind about me would be easier if she were open to conversation, but so far she’s left me to my thoughts, which keep wandering to places my mind shouldn’t go, like the most recent text from my mom. Despite my complete lack of response since my mom found my number last fall, she invited me to visit her in Palm Springs.
California, not Florida.
She lives just a few hours from me, something I didn’t know until this morning. It makes her feel closer than words on a screen ever could, and that’s a problem.
Forcing thoughts of my mom away before I get stuck in the past, I focus on my surroundings instead. The muddy green river stretches ahead, with rock cliffs on either side and not a cloud in the sky. If not for the danger of being left to my thoughts in the quiet that comes from being in the wilderness, it would all be rather peaceful.
That’s what I assume, anyway. I don’t think my life has ever actually been peaceful.
I shift in my seat on the nose of the boat, the cream-colored neoprene of the boat squeaking beneath me, and I tug the front of my life jacket down to keep it from rising up over my neck. This thing is unnecessarily bulky, especially given the calm water around us. I have one hand on the top strap at the side of the jacket, ready to loosen it, when Donovan speaks.
“Touch that strap and see what happens, Riley.”
Twisting to look at her, I clench my jaw when I see the amusement in her eyes. “I can barely breathe.”
“Good. That means you’re wearing it right.”
If it hadn’t been Thiago who helped me adjust my jacket to fit, I would think it was this tight as a way for Donovan to subtly torture me.
I turn so my back is to the river, bending one leg and stretching the other over the net holding the bags in place. “You know you’re supposed to be teaching me, right?” I nod toward the oar handles gripped in herfingers. I’ve already written down the basic mechanics of the oars, but that part is easy.
Her lips press together, her eyes full of defiance. “What are you going to do if I don’t? Take back the money your assistant is supposedly sending to Red Earth?” She lifts an eyebrow as if daring me to confirm her guess. “Make the other guests pay their way again?”
As much as I want to accuse her of making unfounded assumptions, I ignore her question and ask one of my own. “How did you get into whitewater?”
Apparently that was thewrongquestion, and her more playful scowl turns into a full glare. “Just focus on the river, Hollywood. The best way to learn is by paying attention to what’s around you.”
What’s around me is nothing but flat water, since we won’t hit any rapids until day three. Frustration builds in my chest, leaving me restless. “What happened to our truce?” I thought we’d reached a point where she didn’t completely hate me, but I guess I was wrong.
Clenching her jaw, she looks at the oars in her hands and sighs. “Fine. Let’s start with the basic rules of the river.”
