We’re fine when we’re busy, which is why we can’tstay on the ship.
Slowly, I gulp in air. “I want to go to the shore.”
“You sure?” he asks.
It sounds like a death sentence, but I nod anyway. “Can you just ... stick close? You were serious about saving my ass if I somehow fall in, right?”
“I am.” He says it quietly, but the curve of his brow tells me he’s unsure about something.
Is it me asking him to stay close?
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s try to board.”
Nate is kind enough to keep one firm hand on my shoulder as we walk toward the tiny boat. My teeth grind. Now I wish he were closerandI’m scared out of my mind.
It’s not a great combination.
Slowly, we get on the tiny thing. It rocks with the movement of the ocean and my fists tighten. Nate and I sit next to each other. It’s so crowded that our thighs are pressing together. I know he hates it, and I turn away from him so I can’t see his expression.
Through the other people who are also finding their spots on the boat, I can see the water. My knuckles go white as I glare out.
I can’t help that I don’t have good memories of swimming, and it’s not the ocean’s fault that things are different between Nate and me, but it’s the only place I can look where he won’t see me and worry.
The terror in my gut settles with the way I miss him. It turns into something hotter and sharper, and I try to push it away.
I don’t want to be angry that Nate’s put distance between us. It’s not his fault.
But Iam.
I want to be able to link our arms without a second thought. I wish I could focus only on how terrifying this boat is without feeling guilty that I’m making him be near me. Back when we were kids, none of this was an issue. And I want that again.
The boat starts moving when I’m not prepared for it. It’s a sudden jerk that nearly topples me over.
Nate steadies me with an arm around my shoulders. “I’ve got you,” he says.
“Thanks.” I force a smile before I look back out at the water. His arm slips from my shoulders, just like I knew it would.
Everyone else seems so comfortable being on this thing. Too many eyes are gazing at the water with wonder, and I don’t understand the appeal of it.
I can still feel what it was like to go under. My limbs flailed and I breathed in water when I shouldn’t have. My chest burns as I picture it.
And here I am. Near it again.
A hand closes over mine. At first, I go to yank it away, but then my brain catches up. It’s familiar.
“Take a breath.” Nate’s voice is soft.
Slowly, I turn, unable to believe he’s actually touching me. But itishis hand, and it stays there, even when I expect him to pull back.
“You’re still tense as hell, berry. You’ll hurt yourself if you keep this up.”
Right. He wants me to breathe and loosen up. It feels impossible, but the way his face contorts into a frown that’s so unnatural to him makes me want to try.
I force myself to let go. My hands go lax, and I realize I’ve pressed my nails into my palms hard enough that they hurt. My muscles nearly cry with relief.
“Sorry,” I say. “I just can’t wait to be on land.”
“We’re almost there. It’s close.” It doesn’t seem close enough at all, and as I look at the water behind him, my grip on him tightens. “Hey,” he says softly. “You were doing good. Don’t ruin it now.”
