“Just cold,” he stammered out.
“You must be Bradley. I’ve met your bride-to-be.” Flynn grabbed a mooring line from the bottom of the boat. He tossed one end of it to Deano, who grabbed it and hooked it to a cleat while Flynn fastened his end. “So come clean—is this just your way of getting out of the doghouse for missing last week?”
Bradley chattered out a laugh and grabbed the loop Flynn tossed him. “I w… wish it was th… that easy.”
“I don’t know what happened,” the graying owner of the boat said as he grabbed at the plaited cord. It slipped through his numb fingers, and he grabbed it again. “The boat was fine on the way over. I only had it serviced at the start of summer.”
Between Deano and Flynn, they pulled the motorboat over to their rubber flank. Flynn kept a wary eye on the smoking engine. It was just belching oil, but it still made the back of his neck itch. They got both men off the boat and roughly wrapped them in crinkly silver foil blankets.
“I feel like an idiot,” Bradley muttered. Despite his complaints, his cold-raw hands, scalded pink like they’d been burned, clutched the blanket up under his chin. “I didn’t run a mara… marathon.”
The chattering teeth and shivering were a good sign. They were cold, but not hypothermic.
Deano hopped onto the listing boat, arms out for balance, and bridled it so they could tow it back to shore. It was probably the engine pump, but Flynn didn’t do boats, so he didn’t have to worry.
“Don’t you give me a sho… shot of whiskey?” Bradley asked. He wiped snot off his nose onto the back of his hand. “Warm us up?”
“That’s a St. Bernard.” Flynn clapped him on the shoulder. “We just give you a lecture on boat safety and a cup of hot soup when we get back.”
From beneath the silver hood he’d constructed for himself, the owner of the boat snorted. “WhenIget back, I’m calling my lawyer. I’m goin… going to sue.”
Flynn was glad he only dealt with cars and farm machinery.
“I’d drink the soup first,” he advised.
Deano jumped back onto the lifeboat. Cocky little shit. His foot slipped on the wet rubber, and the wind gave him a shove. He nearly pitched over backward into the sea, but Flynn grabbed his lifejacket and hauled him back upright.
“Thanks,” Deano panted. He slid down into position and wiped his face. “That woulda been shit.”
The dip wouldn’t have killed him—it was a squall, not a gale—but it wouldn’t have been pleasant. He’d have been a damn long time living it down too.
“All secure?” Flynn checked. He got a nod in answer and twisted around to gesture to Albert to take them back in.
EVERYONE HADgone. The boathouse was quiet, and the soup was slowly congealing in the cup that Flynn had been given. It was always chicken soup. Five different boathouses over the years, and the support staff always thought chicken soup was the best choice.
Flynn sat in the empty locker room and waited to feel like getting up. He braced his elbows on his knees and folded his hands behind his neck to rub slowly at the too-tight muscles. The cold had worked into his bones, and the fact that it had been an easy rescue had left an excess of adrenaline going sour in his muscles.
“Getting too old for this,” he muttered aloud to the empty room. The words echoed off the tiles. It was just a shame he never remembered his age before he piled on the lifeboat.
He scrubbed his hand through his hair. It was halfway dry and stiff with salt.
“Flynn?”
He looked around through the crook of his arm and saw Nate lean in around the door. His nose wrinkled briefly at the smell—rubber, salt, and sweat—and then he eased the rest of the way into the locker room. The rubber soles of his sneakers scuffed on the tiles as he walked hesitantly.
“You okay?”
“Fine.” Flynn straightened up. He was wryly aware that he’d probably have said the same thing if his knee were held on by shredded ligaments and hope. Pride was a brutal thing. He sucked in his stomach and reached for his sweater. “What are you still doing here?”
Nate pushed wet hair back from his forehead with an absent swipe of his hand. “Everyone’s left. I sent Katie and Bradley back to the Granshire in a taxi.”
“He should go to the hospital.”
It probably wasn’t necessary, but better safe than sorry.
“Teddy called out his doctor to check him over.” Nate shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on the balls of his feet. “That was—”
“Stupid,” Flynn said flatly. The flash of anger caught him by surprise. He dragged his sweater on and blocked out his too-pretty fake boyfriend with wool. His mood was still there when he pulled it down over his head. “What the fuck were you thinking, sending some asshole in a motorboat out into that?”
