Was I depressed, as Thea had suggested?
Ice-cold water splashed my lower legs. It shocked me out of my stupor and washed away some of the thick fog in my head.
I hadn't been swimming in ages. Not since the week I stayed with Thea and the guys over Easter.
As I stared out into the yawning void, lost in thought, small waves brushed my legs. The sting of sand and salt reminded me I still existed. Still occupied a tiny space in the vast universe.
Another wave hit my knees when I took a few wobbly steps forward, splashing up and soaking my dress. More surging waves reached my waist, and I smiled at the shock of cold.
On the horizon, lights flickered. Occasional bursts of music reached me from the party, carried on the cool wind.
A more powerful swell broke against my chest, causing me to gasp, and I stretched my arms skyward, laughing in unexpected delight. This was so much better than the numb.
The salty water lapping my shoulders soon chilled me to the bone, but I reveled in the sting. Out here, I was insignificant. A powerful wave could drown me. Wash me out to sea, where I'd float free.
Free of the black thoughts in my head.
Did I want to be free?
Part of me did. But I couldn't bear the thought of hurting Thea. My friends. My niece.
Thea had suffered enough. She didn't need the pain of losing her only sister. Knowing what my death would do to Thea cut through the melancholy and restored my sanity.
What was I doing? Walking into the ocean while drunk was nuts.
I tried to turn, but a sudden powerful swell caught me off-guard, knocking me over, pushing me under.
Seawater flooded my mouth and nose, burning as I choked and flailed in the fathomless depths. Not even the moon appeared to guide me.
The more I fought to free myself from the relentless grasp of the ocean, the more I realized how badly I wanted to live.
My vision narrowed to tiny pinpricks as my lungs screamed for oxygen. Then two muscular arms anchored my waist and yanked me from the water. A familiar voice screamed my name as he dropped me on the hard sand.
Ronan stared at me, frantic.
Had I died and gone to heaven?
Dark hair stuck to sharp cheekbones, his eyes wild and full of rage. He yelled something, but all I could focus on was the way his white shirt molded every dip and line of his cut chest. Was that a tattoo above his pectoral?
Heat flickered to life in my chest and between my thighs. He leaned over me, close enough that I could smell the whiskey and cigarettes on his breath. Close enough for me to admire the green flecks in his stormy gray eyes, like the ocean on a winter's day.
"What the fuck were you thinking?"
I tried to say that I'd needed to feel something other than numb, but a wave of cramping nausea hit me hard. Before Icould warn him, a toxic combination of salt water and alcohol erupted from my throat and sprayed his chest.
He sat back while I died a thousand times in my head.
Being rescued from a watery grave by my crush - one of them - had just earned a spot in the top ten moments of my shitty life. Vomiting all over him shortly after ranked as one of the lowest points in my shitty life.
I silently regretted not trying harder to end my pathetic existence, so I didn't have to live with the shame of seeing disgust written all over Ronan's face.
1
Ronan
Present day
"Slainte!" A raucous cheer went up around the bar as I downed my whiskey. The cheap brand burned as it slid down my gullet, but I gave no shits. It helped dull the aches and pains from yet another stint in the ring.
