Saylor pushes away a tear that had escaped him with the back of his hand. “Fuck, Hunt.”
I’m hurting Saylor even more with this tonight.
Maybe I shouldn’t have asked after all.
Hunter continues, his voice filled with pain, “North helped me put a rope around my waist. We had to scream against the wind to hear each other, all while getting rocked around on the boat by the harsh waves. He pleaded with me not to do it, but I wouldn’t listen. There wasn’t much time. I ensured the rope was fastened securely on the railing and jumped after them, although it was already clear that Mitchell was gone. But there was still hope for Saylor.”
“Holy shit,” I whisper, my eyes wide with astonishment.
The bravery of these men, risking their lives for each other, was both remarkable and haunting.
There is no one left that would jump off a boat for me.
I glance at Saylor.
But I would jump after him just as easily.
“He’s a fucking idiot,” Saylor mutters, though his tone carries a hint of affectionate exasperation.
“The sea was horrific. I was thrown around like I was in a washing machine, and I nearly drowned.” The shadows oftrauma and lingering fear are in Hunter’s eyes as he recounts the terrifying experience. “But then I touched the wire rope that was secured on Saylor. I wanted to use it to tether myself to him, but I needed both hands to swim and keep myself above water, so I wrapped it around my leg to make sure I would not lose it.” He lets out a dry, humorless laugh. “Worst idea of my life. I found Saylor unconscious, drifting around in the water, getting washed over by the waves. I managed to get to him, put my arm under his, and keep him afloat. North gave his all to get us back on deck on his own, nearly getting washed over the railing himself in the process. All of this while the storm got worse by the minute…” Hunter pauses, sitting up straight and taking a few deep breaths.
“I would have never jumped if I had known what it would cost you,” Saylor shares, his voice barely audible, but the pain in his expression is loud.
He feels guilty.
More than guilty.
He thinks he ruined Hunter’s life.
But why?
After a moment of silence, Hunter starts to speak again, but his tone is neutral as if he pushed his feelings on the matter away from him. “It took us too long. We took too long to save Saylor, and we took too long with the rope pulled tightly around my leg. North somehow got us back to the harbor, all while I tried to do all I could to do CPR on Saylor, and all while the blood flow in my leg was cut off by the rope that was still around it because none of us thought about that little fact while fighting for our lives. My arms and legs were so cold, I couldn’t feel them anyway.”
I can’t help but feel for Hunter, Saylor, and, yes, even North. Hunter and North had survived an unimaginable ordeal, and the scars, both physical and emotional, are still very much a part of their lives.
I know the feeling.
“We didn’t realize the extent of the damage until we were safe in the harbor,” Hunter continues, his voice now barely above a whisper. “My leg was a mess. They had to amputate it from the knee down to save me.”
Holy shit.
Memories of him limping fill my thoughts, of him talking about holding onto him, although he’s not entirely stable.
How could I have not noticed earlier?
He pulls up the leg of his night pants to his knee to show me the metal underneath.
“And that’s all because of me,” Saylor’s voice is watery, his gaze on his feet.
I can’t even imagine what it was like. And how it is now for them to live on and cope.
Or just cope, in Saylor’s case.
There is a lump in my throat that I have to swallow before I can even say anything at all. “I’m so sorry that happened to you,” I whisper into the silence that has settled in the room.
To both of them.
“Me too. But I would do it over and over again,” Hunter declares, his gaze locking onto mine, tears shimmering in his eyes.
