Without my goggles on, I keep my eyes squeezed closed, losing myself in the soft pull of the current. My lungs start to burn from lack of oxygen, and I kick my way back up.
Breaking through the surface, I suck in a gasp of air and get a face full of saltwater. I hear both Jamie and Mason calling after me, but the idea of returning to the boat feels impossible.
I swivel to face the shore instead, seeing that it isn’tthatfar. I tread water, trying to calculate if I can make it. I’m an extremely good swimmer. I was always decent as a kid, but I really picked up a lot more technique and stamina when I briefly dated a swimmer at USC.
Another illustrious era of my romantic past I don’t like to spend too much time dwelling on. But at the moment, I’m grateful, at least, for the skill.
Because there’s no way in hell I’m getting back up on that boat. I’ll just get my bag from Mason later, back at the resort.
Mind made up, I take another deep breath, put on my goggles, and start swimming toward the half-moon-shaped shoreline.
Is it a little bit unhinged? Sure. But can you blame me? Besides, Mason said something about hiking trails that lead from the cove back to the main beach, so it’s not like I’m venturing into unknown wilderness.
Seconds later, there’s a splash behind me, and I turn to see Jamie shaking the water from his hair. My mouth falls open, and a swell of water splashes me in the face. I cough on saltwater, unable to believe what I’m seeing.
The whole reason I jumped out of the boat was to getawayfrom Jamie. And it seemed like he wanted to be near me about as much as I wanted to be near him, which is to say, not at all.I dodged a bullet on that one.So what the hell is he doing out here?
I continue to swim toward shore. Jamie tries to match my pace. I ignore him and kick harder, congratulating myself on the forethought to escape while wearing a pair of flippers.
But eventually, my body begins to feel the results of all this exertion, and I slow down my strokes, allowing Jamie to come up alongside me.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I grit out through clenched teeth.
“Could have fooled me,” he mutters, treading water. It gives me some satisfaction that he seems out of breath too.
“Besides,” I continue, “even if I did need help, that’s not your job anymore.” The words are laced with bitterness. My mind is still swirling with memories of all the times Jamie’s family made me feel like a burden, like an ill-behaved puppy that Jamie was struggling to housebreak.
“Look, I couldn’t let you swim all the way to land alone!” Jamie insists. “It’s much too dangerous.” He seems… angry, actually. As if he doesn’t want to be out here, treading water in the Pacific, but he’s powerless to make any other choice. Being the dutiful guy who does the right thing is embedded so deeply in Jamie’s DNA that he’ll make himself miserable just to prove himself honorable.
I roll my eyes at him. “It’s notthatdangerous, and I don’t need rescuing.” Before he can respond, I splash away from him toward the shore.
But soon enough, Jamie begins pulling ahead of me with his long strokes, and much to my annoyance, he beats me to dry land, then stands there, gathering his breath and waiting for me with his hands on his hips.
I’m almost tempted to turn around and swim right back to the boat, but it was a farther swim than I’d judged from out at sea, and my limbs are shaking with exhaustion. So maybe it was atadimpulsive of me to swim to shore on my own.
As I clomp onto the beach with my flippers, panting and out of breath, I try not to show how much effort that took, lest Jamie suspect he was right.
“Classic Sybil,” he mutters.
“What’s that?” I snap, unable to stop myself.
“Nothing, it’s just, you know. It’s quite a skill,” he says, squinting out over the water, refusing to make eye contact with me.
“What is?”
“Running away instead of facing your problems.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say defensively, even though I know exactly what he’s talking about. “I don’t have a problem. I just wanted a swim.”
“Uh-huh, sure.”
Ignoring his sarcasm, I turn back to face the boat and can make out Genevieve’s concerned face bobbing up and down with the waves. She offers a small wave. A childish part of me wants to ignore her, but guilt slices through me, and I raise my hand to wave back. Then drop it when I realize she’s waving at Jamie.
Taking stock of the beach, desperate to figure out how to get out of here, I notice a path that cuts through the swaying grasses, winding a route along the sand, back to the other side of the headland.
Jamie nods. “The resort is that way, but we’ll have to make it up that trail first. And we should hurry if we want to get back before dark.” Then he gestures down at my bright yellow flippers. “Think you can hike in those?”
With as much dignity as I can muster, I bend down to peel them off and start down the trail, slinging my swim fins over my shoulder.
