Then I see it.
A shadow passes over the surface.
It’s subtle at first, just a dark shape interrupting the light. My heart jolts. The movement isn’t mine. It’s not the water.
It’s someone.
I freeze, eyes wide, and the burn in my lungs spikes because I’ve stopped moving.
The shadow hovers.
Then it shifts, sharper, more defined, like a body leaning over the edge.
Oh God.
The shadow moves again.
And then the surface breaks.
A splash hits above me, sending ripples down like a shockwave.
Something heavy cuts into the water.
A shape dives straight toward me, fast and purposeful, and my brain barely has time to register it before hands close around my upper arms.
Strong hands.
Familiar hands.
Jake.
He’s underwater with me, his face tense, eyes wide and furious, hair floating around his forehead like he’s some kind of angry sea god who decided to descend into my quiet and drag me back to reality.
His grip is iron.
He yanks.
I try to pull away, more out of instinct than strength, but he doesn’t let go. He kicks upward hard, dragging me with him like I weigh nothing.
My lungs scream.
The surface rushes closer.
And then we break through.
Air slams into my face, cold and sharp. I gasp, sucking it in so fast it burns, coughing water out as Jake hauls me toward the edge like he’s rescuing me from the ocean.
My hands grab for the tile, slick and wet. I cling to it, chest heaving, hair plastered to my face.
Jake drags himself up beside me, water streaming down his arms, his shirt soaked and clinging to him, eyes blazing.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he barks.
I blink, still coughing, trying to orient myself. My heart is hammering so hard it hurts.
“What?” I rasp.
He grips my shoulders, tight enough that it’s almost painful. “You don’t get to do that in my house.”
