But then the wind catches the sail just right, andwe’re gliding. The lurching steadies, the rocking evens out, and the world around us melts into the hush of water against wood.
I exhale a pent-up breath, and the tension in my shoulders loosens. The breeze tangles my hair, salty and crisp against my skin, and for the first time since this whole bizarre storybook saga started, my brain stops buzzing with questions and contingencies. Just this moment, this feeling.
A thought blooms within me, slow and unexpected. It takes root, deep and certain, warming me from the inside out.
I’m proud of myself.
For standing up for myself. For not backing down when it would’ve been easier to let him charm his way out of the truth. I didn’t cave. I didn’t chase. I didn’t shrink to fit the space he offered.
I release a slow breath, my fingers loosening their grip on the edge of the boat. How many times have I mistaken control for safety? How often have I convinced myself that being wanted was the same as being chosen? How many versions of myself did I minimize to keep the peace—to keep him?
And now, with the wind on my skin, the vastness of the water, the horizon wide and unexplored, every fear, every second-guessing thought feels so unimportant.
I glance at Alder, and his gaze is already on me. A slow smile tugs at his lips. “Gold coin for your thoughts.”
“I was just thinking…” I inhale. The crisp air fills my lungs, scrubbing away the weight of everything I’ve carried for too long. “That for the first time in a longtime, I feel like I finally belong to myself.”
I expect the words to feel fragile, like they might shatter the moment they’re spoken aloud—but they don’t. They’re solid, real. True.
The ocean stretches out before us, an endless expanse of shimmering blue that melts into the sky. The wind rushes by, and the sunlight warms my skin as I let the feeling sink into my bones, let it expand and take up space inside me, claiming every part of me that once felt worthless and afraid.
The breeze picks up, the sail snapping taut, and the boat surges forward. We skim across the water, cutting through the waves like we were always meant to, and a flicker of exhilaration sparks to life in my chest. It builds, burning like wildfire, consuming hesitation, doubt, and every reason I’ve ever given myself to play small.
I tip my head back, laughing as the wind rushes past, lifting me higher, setting something free inside me that I didn’t even know was caged.
And then, without warning, the wind turns.
A sharp gust slams into the sail, yanking it sideways. The boat lurches violently, one side lifting out of the water, and my laughter shatters into a startled scream. My stomach plummets. The once-soothing rhythm of the waves transforms into a crashing roar beneath me.
“Shit.” Alder’s grin vanishes as he scrambles to steady the rudder.
My fingers dig into the edge of the boat, my breath ragged as panic seizes my chest. “Shit?” I echo, my voice pitching higher. “What do you mean,shit?”
“We’re off course,” he says tightly, wrestling with the tiller. The boat groans in protest, the sail flapping wildlyoverhead. His calm demeanor is gone, replaced with tightly wound urgency. “The wind’s too strong. If we don’t get it under control, we’re going for a swim.”
My stomach somersaults as the boat tilts again, the hull groaning against the surge of the waves splashing dangerously close to the edge. “Swim? As inthe ocean?”
“Unless that island is closer than it looks to be,” he shouts back, his voice strained as he fights the wind. “Gemma, I need you to help me.”
“How?” My heart hammers so hard I feel it in my throat. “I don’t know boats! I’m not a sailor!”
“You don’t have to be,” he hollers, tossing me a coil of rope. “Just pull when I tell you. Got it?”
I hesitate, my fight or flight response settling on securely on freeze.
The sail flaps violently, the wind screeching through the rigging. The boat could capsize at any second.
My palms sweat against the rope heavy in my hands. “No, I definitelydon’tgot it.”
“You do! You’ve got it!” His blue eyes meet mine, clear and steady despite the storm of movement around us. There’s fear there, sure—but also belief. In me. “You can do this.”
I nod, swallowing hard.
“On my count—one, two, three, pull!”
I yank the rope with everything I have. It burns my palms, and my muscles scream as the wind fights me at every turn. Alder is beside me, bracing the sail, his jaw clenched and his body taut with effort. The boat pitches wildly. Saltwater sprays my face. But I grit my teeth and pull harder.
“Almost there!” Alder shouts, his voice barely audibleover the howling wind. He’s a windswept mess, but he doesn’t waver. “Pull, Gemma!”
