The crowd parted, instinct overriding hesitation.
I stepped behind the man, my pulse roaring in my ears, my hands already positioning themselves from muscle memory I hadn’t known was still there.
“I’m going to help you,” I said into his ear. “Try not to fight me.”
He couldn’t respond.
I wrapped my arms around his torso, just above his navel, clasped my hands, and pulled inward and up.
Once.
Twice.
Nothing.
The deck felt suddenly too small. Too quiet.
I adjusted my grip, planted my feet, and tried again—harder.
On the third thrust, something flew free—a chunk of food arcing through the air before clattering wetly onto the deck.
The man gasped.
Then he inhaled.
Deep. Ragged. Glorious.
The sound of breath rushing back into him was the loudest thing I’d ever heard.
He folded forward slightly, coughing violently, hands braced on his knees. Someone shouted. Someone cried. Applause broke out in chaotic bursts, people cheering and clapping like they couldn’t quite believe what they’d just witnessed.
I stepped back, my legs suddenly trembling now that the adrenaline had nowhere to go.
“You’re okay,” I said, more to reassure myself than him. “You’re okay.”
He straightened slowly, still coughing, then looked at me like I’d just pulled him back from the edge of something dark.
“You,” he rasped. “You just saved my life.”
I shook my head. “You’re breathing. That’s what matters.”
He laughed weakly, wiping his eyes. “Saved by a supermodel on a dinner cruise. Hell of a story.”
A few people laughed, the tension cracking open.
Heat flooded my face. “Definitely not a supermodel.”
“Don’t argue with a man who almost died,” he said, smiling shakily.
Crew members finally pushed through the crowd, radios crackling, expressions pale. They guided him to a chair, offered water, checked him over.
Only then did I notice how many phones there were.
Dozens of them. Screens glowing. Every angle captured.
Natasha pulled me into a fierce hug. “You did it.”
Beth stared at me like she was seeing me for the first time. “Soph.”
