“What?” Rachel repeats, her eyes drifting back down to her video, losing interest.
“I think Carl and Trey came back. They’re headed this way!”
Rachel sighs. “They’re probably dropping off provisions. I gave the stews a list of groceries for the week. Sometimes the boys bring them over instead.”
“No—” I say, frustrated, and then cut myself off. Is Rachel right? Maybe I’m overreacting again. “Either way, they’ll be here any second. I have to go change. My clothes are wet, and it’s freezing in here. I’ll be right back.”
“Take some deep breaths, Charlie,” Rachel suggests. “It’ll be okay.”
When she spoke to me like this yesterday, her tone had seemed comforting, kind. Today it sounds condescending.
I race downstairs, careful to not slip on the shiny staircase with my wet feet, and burst into my room, slamming the door behindme. What I’d really like is to take a hot shower, but I’m not risking fogging up that mirror right now.
I press my face against the tiny porthole window instead. Goose bumps litter my arms as rain begins to pelt the ocean around us. I jump back as a wave arches up and smashes against the window, saltwater spraying everywhere. How high are the waves already?
I shuck off my rapidly dampening clothes and leave them on the floor, changing into a dark blue long-sleeved lounge set. The sleeve of the shirt won’t fit over the golden cuff bracelet, so I slide the bracelet from my wrist and gently place it on the bathroom counter.
When I return upstairs, all hell has broken loose. The influencers are gathered in the kitchen. Carl and Trey are standing before them, dripping rainwater on the floor as the storm breaks down on top of us.
Voices blend together as everyone speaks at once.
“We have to go, now!”
“I don’t think the motorboat can get over those waves…”
“Why did you pick the world’s smallest boat to come get us?”
“We can’t all fit in that thing anyway!”
The world outside is a shadowy swirl of clouds and rain. Ligia is gone. The sound of raindrops and waves pelting the yacht are too loud; the wind is slamming againstEmpress, groaning.
This is more than a storm. This is a—
“How the fuck was I supposed to know a freak hurricane would hit today?” Carl is shouting at Fiona, whose face is red and blotchy, even under all her makeup.
“Don’t you get alerts? Don’t you get news on your phone?” she yells back. “Or were you and Trey too busy swimming to notice?”
The happy, loving couple from earlier is gone—they are spitting fire at each other. I’m reminded of something Sage told me once, years before she did what she did: “The people who post the most about how amazing their relationship is online are the ones with the worst relationships. If you’re trying that hard to convince people everything is great, you’re probably also trying to convince yourself.”
“Why is it my job to be your weatherman?” Carl breaks off, coughing, hacking as if he can’t get enough air into his lungs.
“Jeez, Carl, are you okay?” Ashley asks, her voice missing the hard edge I’ve grown accustomed to hearing from her.
He waves her off, refusing to look at her. “I’m fine.” But he’s wheezing and clutching his chest.
“This can’t be happening!” Fiona cries.
“Everyone SHUT. UP.” Trey’s booming voice cuts through the bickering, and the room finally falls silent.
Rachel and Ashley are holding each other, but Ashley can’t stop glancing at Carl, eyes pleading and wide. Carl, in turn, is ignoring her, massaging his chest. Fiona and Viv stand before the men, a united front, eyes blazing.
Only Piper, now dressed in a crisp black jumpsuit with cross-body straps, is completely unfazed. She sits on the edge of the kitchen counter, watching the conversation with boredom. There’sanother glass of clear liquid in her hand, which she sips from aristocratically.
“What’s going on?” In the momentary quiet, all of them turn to me.
“Charlie,” Trey says, and there’s guilt etched on his expression, “I’m so sorry, we had no idea it was coming. A freak storm system came out of nowhere. It started over Cuba and it’s been picking up steam. We heard about it when we got back to Islamorada; people are evacuating.”
“A hurricane?” I ask breathlessly.
