“Emma, you’ve been carrying this grudge against me for years. I know things between us have been”—A nightmare? Infuriating? Soul-crushing?—“complicated. But I don’t think Ideserve this passive-aggressive anger you’ve been throwing my way.”
Of course he doesn’t. They never do.
I start to turn around to explain to Finnin detail—with rebuttals, counterarguments, cited sources—why he does, in fact, deserve every second of the grudge I’m definitely not even holding. But as I do, I see what appears to be a jellyfish inching dangerously close to our boat.
I scream and poke my paddle at it, but it’s just a grimy plastic bag. I sigh in relief, grabbing the sides of the kayak to steady myself, only to realize that my paddle is floating twenty feet away.
I watch it drift further and further, feeling like an idiot.
“You know,” Finn says from behind me, leaning close so I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. “You really shouldn’t put your paddle down like that—”
“Just give me your paddle.” I yank it from Finn’s hand before he can argue with me, and put all my energy into paddling us toward my runaway oar, but it keeps getting pulled further and further out to sea, and the kayak is getting pulled closer and closer to the rocks.
I should turn back. I should just let Finn row us back to shore. But it’s like I’m possessed. The tunnel vision. The racing heart. The feeling like if you don’t just do thisone thing, then something terrible is going to happen. I had my first anxiety attack in the second grade, not long after Dad left. Not that I knew that’s what it was at the time—we weren’t really a therapy-going type of family. I had this favorite yellow cup that I always drank my water from at bedtime. But one night, Mom handed the nightly ritual to me in a new pink cup. Apparentlythe yellow one had a crack in the plastic, and she threw it out. I was devastated. Something inside me was unleashed. I ran to our garbage barrel, already out front ready for the next day’s pickup, and started rifling through it like a madwoman, trash flying all over our lawn, tears streaming down my face. It was a complete overreaction to the situation, but I couldn’t stop myself. I’d been holding my emotions together ever since Dad left, and it was like the dam finally burst. It felt like everything was changing, life as I knew it slipping through my fingers. If my favorite cup could disappear without warning, then so could Mom or Liz. I needed to get it back.
“The paddle’s gone, Emma,” Finn says—his voice now sounding much further away than it should. “You need to give up. Please give me my paddle so I can get us back.” Through my own panic, I can hear the anxiety in Finn’s voice, but my mind latches on to his words:You need to give up.
“I won’t.”I won’t give up.I need to get us back to shore, and then I can ride out the rest of this anxiety attack and come up with a new plan.
“Emma, you don’t need to prove anything,” Finn yells over the waves. But I do. I need to prove that I can doone thingright even if that one thing is getting this kayak to shore.
“I’ll get us to land,” I say.
“You’re being ridiculous right now.”
“I’m following through, Finn. Something you don’t know anything about.”
“You’re the one who has no idea what you’re talking about, Emma.” I’ve never heard Finn this angry before.
When we’re almost back to shore, my panic has peaked and my mind is a dull throb of anxiety. My fingers are tinglingand starting to go numb. As soon as the bottom of the kayak scrapes against sand, it’s like my body gives itself permission to shut down. I wobble as I start to stand up out of the boat, and Finn’s arm shoots out to steady me. “Do you need some help?” he asks, though there’s definitely still an edge to his voice, or at least I think there is, but I’m finding it hard to concentrate because my ears are starting to ring.
“I’m fine,” I snap. But I’m not. Blood rushes to my face, and my field of vision shrinks.
I can hear the waves slamming against the side of the kayak, and I vaguely register Finn’s voice and a splash. The last thing I remember is my body sliding sideways off the kayak and being grateful that Finn made me put on that stupid life jacket.
“MA’AM, ARE YOU OKAY?”A suntanned man with blond curls and a perfect body hovers above me. Is this heaven? The possible angel hands me a water bottle with HOTELDELCORONADOemblazoned on the side. Right. Not heaven. San Diego. I’m lying on a lounge chair up on the Sun Deck poolside bar.
“Thanks,” I breathe, taking a sip from the water bottle. I hear a huff from my left and look over to see Finn scowling.
The blond man smiles at me, and I can’t help blushing when he winks. Finn makes a noise low in his throat, which from any other person I would call a growl. “I’m just glad to know you’re okay. It looks like your boyfriend can take it from here.”
I watch the Greek god—who I now realize was probablythe resort’s on-site doctor—head back toward the hotel’s main building.
“I think you must’ve gotten sunstroke,” Finn says. “I had your head on a towel and your legs elevated”— My blush deepens. I know it’s the appropriate treatment for a fainting victim, but my mind immediately goes to aninappropriateplace. Finn laying me back, an urgency in his breathing, his hands pulling my legs up, up, and…— “and then I ordered you some fruit juice, for when you woke up,” Finn continues, oblivious to my mind’s dirty wandering, “but I thought I should probably get the doctor, just in case.” Though he’s looking like he’s maybe regretting that decision, still staring daggers at the handsome doctor’s retreating form.
“Sunstroke, yeah.” It’s true. I was overheated and underhydrated, and have barely eaten all day. But the anxiety attack I had out on the water definitely played a role too. It’s been over a year since I’ve had one, but I guess I should have been expecting it. Between the stress at work, the stress of trying to find Sybil, and the stress of being thrown back together with Finn Hughes—it’s probably been percolating for days. But there’s no reason Finn needs to know that.
It’s only now that I realize that I’m mostly dry, while Finn’s clothes are soaked—his T-shirt clinging to his chest in a way that some people might find attractive.
Oh hell, I can admit it. I’m “some people.” Finn’s eyes are glued to my mouth, and I realize I’m biting my bottom lip.
I try to gain some self-control and clear my throat. “Did we fall off the kayak?”
There’s a pause, and Finn pulls his gaze back to my eyes. “Sort of. We were basically back to shore, but you got woozytrying to step off the kayak. You kinda took me down as you slid off.”
Oh right. It’s coming back to me. Our fruitless search for Sybil. Losing the oar. The fight.
“But wait, how did we get all the way up here?” The Sun Deck is a long way from the shoreline.
