One to Love (One to Hold #4) (30 page)

The few times I’d glanced up at the sky, I’d noticed the lowering clouds, but I hadn’t paid much attention. At dinner I listened quietly as Anders swapped stories with the Boatswain about storms at sea.

“Wall of clouds rolling in portside.” Anders had a knife, carving a thumb-sized piece of wood.

My eyes moved across my plate, and I remembered the small storm we’d encountered on our way over and the night I’d spent vomiting. I decided I was finished with supper.

“We’re not in the Graveyard of the Pacific,” he continued. “Winter storms there can have waves... seventy feet high.”

The Bo’s’n studied his boot, thinking. “On a China voyage, we hit seas so bad, four hundred containers were lost. Boat was in ruins when we pulled into Alameda. The judge called it an Act of God.”

“God or no, we’ll roll tonight.”

Those ominous warnings were in my head as I lay watching the angle of my floor grow steeper with each passing wave. A banging on my door signaled the beginning of the worst.

“Water in the engine room,” AB Nguyen yelled when I opened my door. “Get down and help bail.”

Grabbing my windbreaker, I headed out, climbing the deck at an angle that seemed ninety degrees. The small, heart-shaped ring was still on my pinky finger, and I shoved it deep into the pocket of my jeans along with the little sailboat. By the time I reached the engine room, five guys were ahead of me with buckets and two with wet-vacs.

“Head up to the bridge,” Nguyen shouted. “McKinney will tell you what to do.”

My boots were wet, and I slipped on the ladder, but a month of lifting, scaling, and carpentry work had me strong enough to pull myself up the rungs. When I reached the bridge, papers were scattered all over the floor. McKinney was on the phone alternately yelling in German and barking commands to the first mate.

“Heave to!” McKinney shouted. “Turn the bow into the waves! Break the roll!”

Rain lashed the windows, and white flashes of lightening punctuated the black night. The bow of the ship went straight up, unbelievably high above the ocean surface before plunging straight down again throwing us all forward. White foam raced across the deck, covering everything with seawater.

“We’ve got to cut the big ones loose if we’re going to come out of it,” McKinney yelled to the Bo’s’n above the noise of the storm. “Tie ropes around two of our guys, secure them to the line and have them take out the edges, one port one starboard.”

“That’s a suicide order,” he shouted back. “They’ll never come back from that job.”

Another, taller wave threw us into the sky before dropping the bottom out again. A massive roller went clear across the bow, filling the bridge with shin-deep brine. All of us nearly lost our footing.

“It’s that or risk losing the whole ship and everybody on it!”

Anders appeared from below. “We’re barely keeping up in the engine room. We need more hands.”

“We have to cut lashings on the heaviest boxes,” McKinney answered him. “I need two men.”

Anders’ face grew slack, and I could tell he was thinking what had already been said—it was suicide. Jerking his arm back, I pulled myself to McKinney. “I’ll do it. Tell me which to cut.”

McKinney’s brow lined just as the ship dipped diagonally, throwing us all against each other.

“One more like that, captain, and she’ll break,” the first mate said. “We’ve got to get her lighter.”

McKinney studied the glowing green radar. “Aim for there,” he pointed. “It’s out of the worst of it. Show him what to do.”

He pointed at me, and Anders grabbed my arm, pulling me to the metal ladder leading down to the deck. “Wear this,” he pulled a life vest over my clothes. “If you go over, I’m cutting the line. Swim away from the boat so you’re not swept under it. We’ll send the dinghy to find you tomorrow.”

I didn’t bother telling him I couldn’t swim—there wasn’t time, and it wouldn’t have changed my decision. Instead I faced the tempest. “Which do I cut free?”

Another wave slammed us, causing us both to lay flat against the wall of the deck. It was smaller than the last two, but still powerful enough to increase the water filling the vessel.

“Go for the orange ones on each side,” Anders shouted. “Forty footers. They’re the heaviest!”

With a touch of my collar, I stepped into the storm. The noise sounded like something out of a war movie. The ship metal groaned and thunder rolled high in the clouds. Rain and seawater mixed to temporarily blind me, but I held on, making my way around the twenty-foot green and brown boxes to the forty-foot orange ones.

Starting portside, I made it to the first just as another wave hit, sending us splashing down, white foam shooting out like a rocket. My feet went out from under me, but I held onto the lashings with all my strength until the deck righted again, and I could find my footing. By the time I slashed the first straps, we were heading up again.

Two more cuts and it shot out from me so fast, I thought I’d go with it into the black depths. A quick grab, and I caught the rigging to my right. Pulling the weight of my body, my triceps burned with the exertion, and I yelled back at the blast.

White-hot lightening crackled across the sky like a spider web. It arched over my head, and I knew this was it. Pulling myself through the stacks, I made it to starboard, exactly parallel to the box I’d just cut. My strength was gone. I had to do this to restore balance to the ship, and I had to do it fast.

Another thirty-footer rose up before us. I didn’t see it because that was how it was—the waves were felt before they were seen.

One lash. I followed hand over hand, shouting as the bottom dropped out and we fell, canting dangerously to starboard. She was going to roll if I didn’t finish this lash. A dark-brown container shifted, pinning my boot against the rail. I couldn’t reach my target.

The black waters stared me in the face as we leaned hard toward the depths. Frantically untying my laces, I loosened the boot enough to pull my foot out, and just as the water was headed straight at us, I swung the knife, cutting the final lash. The orange cargo shot out into the wave, and the boat shot up like a cork, throwing me back against the remaining boxes.

The same brown container slid forward, meeting the back of my head in a
SMACK!
that caused me to see stars.

Or perhaps it was a flash of lightening above my head. For a moment, I thought it was the light of the sun shining in Kenny’s bright blue eyes.
Komorebi.

My fingers fumbled and another rush of foam swept around my feet. I smiled as I reached for a lock of her hair—my hands felt warmth, just as I took the final plunge into darkness.

~ ~ ~

T
o sleep, to dream, to go to heaven, and pluck a strange and beautiful flower.

To awake, and hold that flower in your hand...

––––––––

A
ll of my family was in Bayville for our annual Thanksgiving gathering. Lane was in heaven playing with his cousins. They were out in the yard throwing the football and running back and forth. I watched them for a little while, a sad smile on my lips.

My hand had only swollen a tiny bit, and no one had even noticed. The pain had receded by the day after, and tomorrow I wouldn’t even be able to tell anything had happened to me physically. Emotionally, I was struggling. I’d used everything Slayde had taught me to save someone—just like he’d saved me. I’d fought that burning anger to finish my attacker—the way he’d fought it for me. I felt how strong it was. The thought twisted that old pain in my stomach.

Laughter met me from the family room, and I wanted to be alone. I wanted to walk down to the pier and look out across the ocean in the direction he might be. A few words with my mom, and I sneaked away to my car to make the short drive to the water.

Being the end of November, the air was much cooler. I only wore a light sweater over my orange tunic and leggings, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay long or I’d catch a chill. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to see Patrick’s reply to my earlier text. I’d sent him a picture of Lane sneaking pieces of turkey when my mom wasn’t watching.

That’s my boy. Born troublemaker.
He texted back.

More like that’s your boy charming the pants off all his female relatives.

You can’t fight genetics.

I giggled at the memory of Lane burying his little head in my aunt Patty’s bosom and telling her she was “good to eat.”
Watch how you talk to Elaine when he’s in the room. He repeats everything.

The noise of a wave caused me to glance up at the horizon. We’d had a series of bad storms the last few days, and everything was still grey and swirling as a result. The shoreline was brown and trashy with seaweed.

Patrick replied,
He’s a freakin little ninja. I look up and he’s there listening.

He called my mom ‘heaven on heels.’

It’s better than ‘hell on wheels.’

That made me laugh.
True. Will call later. Lane misses you, and I want to hear about Stuart.

OK. Talk soon.

I shoved my phone back into my pocket and walked slowly down the length of the boardwalk. I tried so hard not to remember our last time here, the finger paint.

Doc had said the boat still hadn’t arrived in port. He’d called the shipping lines, and they were scheduled to arrive a week ago. He got no explanation for the delay, and I couldn’t help being afraid. What if something happened to him? Could I survive if he never came back? If the things I’d said, the angry words I’d shouted at him as I beat him with my fists...

Oh, God, those couldn’t be my last word to him.

The pier posts were as tall as me, and I counted them as I walked.
One... two... three...
“Please come back to me,” I whispered, feeling like a child plucking petals from a daisy.
Four... five... six...
“This missing... makes me sick.”

Seven... eight...

With a sigh, I stopped at the last post and leaned my forehead against it. I was out of rhymes. My heart was broken, and even having Lane here with me didn’t stop the hole in my chest from growing larger every day.

Turning my cheek to the damp wood, I closed my eyes and imagined it was him. He was standing here with me, his firm chest against my face. I spread my fingers against the post. “Slayde,” I whispered. “Won’t you please come back?”

“That depends.” The familiar voice made my eyes fly open.

I wasn’t sure I believed them. I wasn’t sure I wasn’t dreaming. He stood there in the same dark jeans and white tee, only now a long-sleeved red flannel shirt was on top. He was bigger somehow than the last time I’d seen him. His dark hair was longer, shaggy, and his beard fuller. One thing was the same—his pale blue eyes seared into me with an intensity that stole my breath.

Trying to calm myself, I asked the follow-up question. “Depends on what?”

“If there’s anything for me to come back to.”

I looked down. I couldn’t answer that yet. “When did you get in?”

“Last night.” He waited, watching me. I waited, unsure. “Doc’s at my place.”

I nodded. “He showed up a few weeks ago. Said you told him he could stay there.”

“He certainly can. I just wish I’d known he was here when I crawled into my bed in the dark.” He smiled that sexy, heartbreaking smile.

A gust of wind pushed my hair forward into my face, and I was glad because it hid the tears forming in my eyes. I reached up and caught the flying strands, holding them back and together in a fist at my neck. He only stood there, drinking me in as I did him. The sight of him was an image I could feel in my bones.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” He spoke quietly, trailing his eyes up my body. “You look... so good.”

“You look... different.” His brow lined, and I continued. “Bigger. Stronger, I guess—from working on the boat?”

“They worked me pretty hard, but it was good. Honest.”

“I can’t believe you left on a boat—I mean, you said you never would. You don’t swim.”

“Mariska is a fortune teller after all.”

Smiling, I blinked down. “Don’t tell her that.”

In two steps he closed the distance between us. He only hesitated a moment before taking my face in his hands. “The entire time I was gone, I could only think of you. Every minute I was away. I tried not to, but it was pointless. I’d close my eyes, and you were there, waiting for me in my dreams.”

His mouth hovered a breath above mine, and my lips throbbed with anticipation—but he pulled back. He lowered to one knee then dropped the other until he was on both in front of me. I tried to stop him, but he wrapped his arms around my waist, holding me so tightly, resting his cheek against my stomach. His face pointed down, and I carefully slid my fingers into his soft hair as tears burned my eyes.

“I can’t change the fact that I put that tear in your hand.” His voice was rough. “I broke your heart, and I don’t deserve to have you or even to ask this. But if you could find some way to forgive me... I’d spend the rest of my life making sure you made the right decision. Please forgive me, Kenny. Please.”

My heart ached for him as thoroughly as my entire body longed for him. “I have to forgive you,” I said through the thickness in my throat. “I can’t live without you.”

He sat back on his heels and looked up at me. It was more than I could bear. I dropped to my knees in front of him, reaching for his cheeks. I kissed him with all the pain and longing that had consumed me since that horrible night, and without hesitation, he gathered me in his arms and stood, holding me in a breathlessly firm embrace just like before.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to laugh and cry and hold him and never let go. He was here, holding me, kissing me in a way I’d only dreamed of for so long. He was asking me to forgive him. He was asking me for everything.

Pulling myself together, I leaned back. “It’s true. You put the tear in my hand.” He watched as I took his right hand and spread it open. Then I lifted mine and pressed our palms together. “You’re also the one who turned it into a heart.”