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Joyce cocked her head. “You were halfway over the damn railing, you coulda’ fell in!”

“S-Sorry, I—” He stopped, rubbing his face.

What the fuck is happening to me?

“I don’t feel very well,” he mumbled.

Joyce smiled softly as she squeezed his shoulder. “Let’s go find somewhere quiet that ya’ can take a rest. Alright?”

Ethan nodded as Joyce guided him away from the railing and back through the crowd. The party continued on around them. A few guests gave him sidelong glances as they passed, but that was nothing new for him.

Ethan was sure about what he saw, positive that the voice he’d heard was Evie’s.

But how is that even possible? It wasn’t, that’s what he kept going back to and why he knew he desperately needed to lie down.

Ethan followed Joyce as they made their way to the back of the yacht, the party fading behind them.

“Here we go. I found this when I was tryna’ find the bathroom.”

Joyce pushed the door open to a small lounge. Leather benches were built into the walls, and a polished wood table was bolted to the floor. Porthole windows sat above the benches, overlooking the deck below.

Ethan slumped down onto one of the benches, resting his head against the cushioned backing.

“You just rest here for a bit, okay, sweetie?” Her voice was calmer now. “I’ll check back on ya’ in a few.”

“Joyce, I’m fine⁠—”

“You ain't fine, honey. You nearly threw yourself off the damn yacht.” She shook her head, and her tower of hair wobbled. “Just take a minute. I’ll be back in a bit.” She lingered in the doorway, studying him with concern before finally pulling the door closed behind her.

Ethan sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing. She was right. He had almost taken a swim in the Bay, and why? Because he’d heard the voice of the girl who wanted nothing to do with him calling out to him while glowing eyes stared at him from the water?

Fucking nutcase, he thought, shutting his eyes and attempting to steady his breathing.

Nothing made sense anymore. Not a single damn thing. Ethan couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t, but there was no doubt in his mind that he’d heard her, right?

No. It had been Evie’s voice, he was certain of it.

Ethan pressed himself against the leather bench. Maybe he did need to take a rest. He’d been pushing himself relentlessly, and then there was everything with Evie—his mind was just wrecked.

The yacht rocked gently beneath him, lapping at the hull of the yacht, but all he could hear was his pulse still racing in his ears. Fidgeting with his hands, he slowly counted to a hundred, something his dad had taught him as a child whenever he was feeling overwhelmed.

The sounds of the party filtered in through the porthole windows above him—music, glassware, the shuffle of feet, and the rise and fall of voices.

Ethan's eyes snapped open as Preston’s voice, loud and slurred, bellowed from somewhere outside.

He must be right outside on the deck, he thought. Can't fucking escape this guy.

Ethan tried to ignore it, but another voice chimed in. A woman’s soft and controlled, definitely the same from earlier.

Ethan sat up straighter, listening. Usually, he would be against eavesdropping, but Preston alone with a woman didn’t seem to bode well in his mind.

He climbed up onto the bench, rising up on his tiptoes as he peered through the porthole down to the deck below.

Preston stood next to the woman in black as they leaned against the railing of the bow. He was practically on top of her.

Even through the noise of the party, Preston’s voice was loud enough that he could hear it from here with ease. “Having a good time, babe?”

“It’s a beautiful yacht,” the woman replied. “You clearly have good taste.”