She smiles again, but this time it’s softer. “The river is a safe space, Derek. You don’t have to hide. Not from me.”
Donovan told me that she hates everything about me, and she’s kept things close to the vest just like I have. “Trust goes both ways,” I say, sharper than I mean to. But I think I’m allowed to be a little moody after the trouble I caused with the paddle. Maybe, if I had slept better, I might have been able to control my reaction, but I didn’t. So I got stuck in my head, which is a bad place to be left unrestrained.
I was losing control of my chariot and flying too far from the earth. And Donovan saw it all.
Narrowing her eyes, she tilts her head and studies me for a long moment. Then she surprises me. “You’re right.” Unfolding her legs, she stands and steps backward, straddling the middle of the boat with onefoot on each metal box strapped to the frame. “How about you take the oars today?”
I blink, staring at her and wondering if I heard her wrong. “What?”
She folds her arms, a bit of a challenge in her gaze as she looks down at me. “You’re paying me to teach you to row, and you’re not going to learn if you don’t try it.”
My fingers itch to grab the oars and take the opportunity while I’ve got it, but lingering panic holds me back. I got stuck in a spiral from one tiny mistake this morning. What happens if I mess up while rowing and put the boat in danger? Putherin danger.
As if she reads my thoughts, Donovan glances at the calm water surrounding us. “No better time than now to learn, unless you’ve changed your mind and don’t want—”
“I want.” Wincing, I clench my jaw and take a steadying breath. “I’m just surprised you’re giving me the chance.”
“‘Trust goes both ways,’” she repeats, the corner of her lips twisting up.
My thoughts stray to the way she looked at me under the stars last night, but I don’t let myself linger on it for too long. Instead, I think about the amazing script that brought me here in the first place. Even with my name attached to it, that movie won’t succeed unless it’s made as well as it can be, and I don’t want to be the guy river guides complain about when they talk about the few whitewater movies that exist.
I have to do this right.
No mistakes.
“Okay.” Not nearly as graceful as Donovan was, I crawl from my uncomfortable seat and settle in the middle of the boat, sitting on the ice chest as my heart rate kicks up higher than I would like.
I get this way every time I try something new, but usually the nerves don’t last long. I’m a quick learner, but I’m not on my game today. It’sas much Donovan’s fault as it is the exhaustion that’s been following me for weeks now.
In position, I free the oars and swing them out perpendicular to the boat, holding them above the water. They’re lighter than I expected for being at least ten feet long, but I can already tell rowing isn’t going to come naturally. Even after a day of watching Donovan do it with ease.
“Key things,” Donovan says, lowering herself onto the waterproof bags directly in front of me. Once sitting, she reaches forward and wraps her hands around the handles, nearly close enough to touch my fingers. “You want your oars to be mostly straight up and down.” She twists them so the blades are flat over the water, then lifts my hands to plunge the blades into the river. “If they’re turned like this, you’re going nowhere.”
I push forward on the oars and grimace when they slice straight through the water. “Noted,” I mutter and twist them so the blades are vertical again.
“More like this,” Donovan says, shifting them to a slight angle. “You’re pushing against the water and want as much surface area as you can get. Try it now.”
The blades resist the movement this time, and our raft inches a little faster than the current as I push forward.
“Great.” Donovan’s smile is bright as she leans back again. “Try that a few times.”
The motion isn’t as awkward as I thought it might be, easing some of my worry as I fall into a rhythm. That rhythm only lasts a few strokes before Donovan grins.
“Twist your oars,” she says without looking away from my face.
To my surprise, the oars are almost flat again, and I adjust them to the proper angle as my chest grows tight from the mistake. “Thanks.”
“I’m here to help.”
Why do I get the feeling she’s not talking about rowing when she says that? As I continue my forward motion, words seem to climb up mythroat as if desperate to get out, no matter how hard I try to swallow them down.Trust goes both ways, I told her, and either that was a lie, or I’m a coward.
I like to think neither is true, but Hunter thinks I already trust Donovan more than I should. If I can’t talk to my friends, the only people in the world I trust, I shouldn’t be able to talk to a near stranger who has unnerved me from the very beginning.
And yet…
Wondering if this is a bad idea, I adjust my oars again and say, “I don’t like messing up.”
Donovan only glances at the oars for a second, apparently realizing what I mean. “No one does, Derek.”
