“Lily, are you on your way home?”
The urgency in his tone makes me flinch, jolting me back to my senses as lightning spears the sky, violent thunder roaring in my ears.
For the first time, the darkness around me feels enormous. The beach is empty, the wind tearing at my hair, the path back to the cottage a long black stretch that suddenly feels much farther than it did before.
Ping-ping-ping-ping-ping.
They come faster now, little warning bells, and then the first raindrops hit my screen.
I need to get my guitar out of the rain.
“I’m going now,” I say shakily, breaking into quick, uneven strides up the slipway, ballet flats slapping against the wet stones.
“Good. Find shelter. I’m leaving Sean’s now.” I hear a door slam. “Where are you exactly?”
I open my mouth to answer, but the wind howls harder, pushing me sideways as the world flashes white.
The ballet flats are useless—no grip whatsoever, letting my feet slide an inch backwards.
I hunch forward as I climb, squinting against the wind and trying to shield my guitar from the thin spray of rain needling my face.
Without warning, my shoes slip and send me flying forward, the phone clattering as I release it.
I cry out, heart slamming into my throat as I pitch forward. I catch myself at the last second with one hand on the slick stone, barely managing to stop my guitar from tapping the ground with the other. I shift my grip on the neck before straightening.
“Lily!”
I snatch up the phone.
“I’m fine,” I gasp, even though I’m not—even though the storm is on top of me and I can’t see more than a few metres ahead. I know coastal storms can move fast, but this is insane. At least the rain has stopped, a strange yellow hue tingeing the horizon. I clutch my Cole Clark tighter. “I just need—”
A violent gust shoves me sideways, and I slip hard—my arms flailing, the instrument in my hand buffeted by the wind and dragging me off-centre towards the ramp’s edge. I twist instinctively to shield my guitar, but I’m already too close, and my foot plunges into one of the deep concrete grooves, wedging tight as the rest of me careens backwards.
“No!”
There’s no railing to grab. I tip backwards towards the water below, shoving my guitar away from me, desperate to keep it on the ramp so it doesn’t follow me down.
My momentum doesn’t stop. My knee buckles, and something in mytrapped ankle gives with a sickening crack.
White-hot pain explodes in my foot, searing up my leg and setting my whole body ablaze.
I scream, the sound ripped from me as lightning flares overhead.
My voice cuts off when my head hits freezing water. For a breathless instant, I’m submerged, senses flooded with cold and pain. Disoriented, I thrash and resurface, sputtering.
I’m hanging upside down, scalp drenched, one leg twisted, pain screaming up my body.
I blink up at the dark clouds, the blood rushing to my head, neck already aching as I try to keep my face from sinking back underwater.
I claw at the stone, trying to pull myself up, but my weight hangs from my trapped ankle—my only anchor—and the slightest motion rips through it in a savage, excruciating burst of pain. I barely rise a few inches.
I hang there, gasping panicked breaths, the back of my head submerged, ears waterlogged so every sound warps and bends while my soaked hair drifts around me.
Helpless. There’s barely enough air in my lungs to call for help.
I think of Brandon, but my phone is gone, just a memory now, a spinning flash of light flung from my hand into the darkness.
My guitar is probably on the ramp. Hopefully, it’s okay.
