Breaking through the tree line, I see the cabin’s clearing lit by themoon. A lone figure stands at the end of the dock, leaning over the water. Goosebumps rip across my skin as I throw off my jacket, then my sweater.
Michael.
If he’s staring into the lake, I don’t care what he’s looking at—I’d rather take the chance of being wrong than live with being too late.
The instant my boots slam against the dock, he jerks around, surprise flashing across his face. His hand darts behind him, reaching for whatever’s tucked into his waistband, but he doesn’t get the chance.
I slam into him shoulder-first, sending him flying off the dock to the right. Without hesitation, I dive straight off the edge, cutting through the snow-crusted surface of the lake.
The water is a strike of lightning, shocking every nerve at once, threatening to paralyze me. I fight against the instinct to seize up. To let the cold win.
This part of the lake is only ten or twelve feet deep, so I swim hard, searching, until my hand slaps against flesh. Frantically reaching again, I findhimand wrap my fingers tight.
When I try to pull, the weight resists. My muscles lock from the freezing water, but I push through. I just need to get him out.
I dive down, grabbing Ayden around what feels like his waist, plant my feet on the lake floor, and push. The burst of momentum carries us the last five feet upward.
The breath I drag in as we break the surface feels like swallowing knives, but there’s no relief. I look at Ayden. His head lolls back and panic surges through me, so fierce it almost burns.
Grunting, I heave us up onto the dock that’s about three feet above the water. The instant I can sling him over my shoulder without submerging him again, I do, then grip the slick wood with both hands.
This is what I’ve trained for, but the icy water and my drenched clothes make it three times harder. Still, I don’t let myself think about that. If I don’t hurry, I’ll lose him.
My arms shake as I haul him high enough to jerk my shoulder and shove him onto the dock. He thumps against it as I nearlytumble back in, but thankfully I catch myself with my forearm, then drag my body up beside him.
I flip him onto his back and put my ear to his deep purple lips.
Nothing.
My fingers press against his neck, searching for a pulse.
Nothing.
In the moonlight, his pale face stares back at me, and dread coils tight around my chest. Guilt presses in so hard it makes me sick.
“Ayden, my love, please wake up.” Tilting his head back, I place my folded hands right at the lower half of his sternum and start compressions. “Come on, I’m here.”
They say time slows when fear takes over, but for me, it’s racing. The first thirty compressions vanish in a blink. I suck in a breath, pinch his nose, and press my mouth to his. One steady blow, and I catch his chest rising in my peripheral. Another breath, then my fingers are back at his neck, searching desperately for a pulse.
Nothing.
“I’m here, Ayden, please don’t give up. You cannot die. Remember? If I have to live in this fucked-up world, so do you.”
I’m back to compressions.
“Come back to me. Come back.”
Even when footsteps pound toward me from behind, I don’t stop. I press harder, willing his heart to restart. Willing him to breathe. Willing him to come back to me.
“You just keep coming back from the dead.”
Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six.
“How fucking pathetic.”
Twenty-nine, thirty.
I pinch his nose and breathe into him twice. When I pull back, nothing. His chest stays still. Heat stings my eyes, and my hand drifts through his hair, desperate for any sign of life.
