Chapter 9

Danielle

I’ve never been a wallflower, but Mystique Island has unlocked a whole other side to me. Here, I’m brave, carefree. I’ll have sex in the waves where anyone might see, so a banana raft is nothing, right?

The two-cylinder yellow craft floats alongside the makeshift dock, attached to the back of what has to be an expensive yacht, if the silver and white sheen is anything to go by. The driver wears a pair of aviator sunglasses—no mask for him—while the rest of us, ladies and billionaires—everyone’s rich here—line up on the dock, giggling, chatting, wearing these ridiculous masks.

We’re not allowed to take them off even now.

I adjust my bikini top, two tiny triangles of wet-gold fabric, and rub my upper arms.

I haven’t seen Holden this morning, and that’s fine. That’s the whole reason I’m down here. To prove that no matter what, I can still enjoy this weekend without being fixated on the man I shouldn’t have fallen for.

Last night was a mixture of amazing and disappointing.

I’m confused, and I despise that. I usually have my head on straight—it comes with the territory when there’s a five-year-old to look after.

Besides, a clear head is something I inherited from my mother.

A pang goes off in my chest, and I rub the spot over my heart. Years have passed, but I still miss her like hell.

“Lifejackets,” the driver of the boat calls out. “There on the dock. Strap ‘em on, people. We’re not going anywhere until you’re wearing them.”

We meander over to the pile of bright orange jackets, and I pick one out, then slip my arm through the puffed-out holes. I strap it on, while all around me, men help their sex partners slip into theirs.

I walk back to the banana raft then sit down on the edge of the dock and stare at it. I’m really going to do this.

I’m not afraid of the water. Cautious certainly isn’t my middle name, or I wouldn’t be on Mystique in the first place, but it still kinda gives me the chills. It’s the ocean, the beautiful turquoise ocean.

The color is a replica of Holden’s gaze.

That thought sends me into the water.

Others join me and clamber onto the raft one by one. I join the back of the line and heave myself on board with a little help from the burly man in front of me.

Women loop their arms around guys, and men chuckle. We’re ridiculous. The sun shines on our heads and bakes our backs, and our masks glimmer. We’re about to shed a metric ton of glitter into the water, and we’ll return to shore with sunburn in the shape of these damn masks, too.

That’ll be the hot summer look this year.

The boat’s engine roars to life, and I jolt, grabbing hold of the tiny blue handle in front of me. I squish around on the rubber and mentally prep myself.

It’s all right. Just a raft. Gonna be fun. You’ve got a lifejacket. What’s a little water up the nostrils between friends?

The driver eases the boat away from the dock and put-puts out toward the open ocean at a crawl. It’s nice, actually, what with the breeze whipping my hair back and the chill chasing off the sun’s heat.

I can get used to this.

Palm trees and white sands wane, and the sun’s glare on the open ocean is almost unbearable.

I release a sigh and squeeze my eyes shut behind my mask.

“Let’s go!” a man yells in front of me, and I jerk with shock, eyelids snapping open again.

The boat’s driver laughs and throws a thumbs up toward us, then rams the accelerator forward.

We leap forward, and I shriek, redoubling my grip on the stupid plastic handle in front of me. My stomach whoops. We zoom along the water, crash over a swell, and keep going. We’re far out, way too far out for my liking.

I cast a glance over my shoulder, and my insides burn.

The sand is a pale white strip, the trees barely visible. There’s a figure on the dock, but I can’t make out who it is.

“I don’t like this,” I say, but my words are taken by the wind and dissolved by the rush.

The boat turns in a long arc, and I let out another shrill squeal, along with several of the others on the raft. At least, I’m not the only pussy, ha. But there’s no comfort in that thought. My terror does not subside.

My eyes squint from the sun and the speed. The maniac behind the wheel turns again, this time sharply, and the raft flings out sideways.

One of my legs slips free with a rubbery squeak of doom. “No, no, no, no, no,” I yell, but once again, my words are snatched away, and my mouth is crammed with wind.

Violated by nature, god damn. This is not how I envisioned my weekend.

My other leg slips free, and I ram my mouth shut, tight.

This is it. This is how I die.

Melodramatic, sure, but warranted. I cling to the raft for my dear life, but it’s like my fingers are coated in butter and the raft’s handle is made of… well, butter. I slide free in a great swoosh and smack into the water so hard it takes the air from my lungs.

I’m under for a second, before the lifejacket—thank God for it—shuttles me toward the surface. I break it and splutter, choke. Hair clings to my forehead and gets in my eyes. There’s saltwater up my nose, and I sneeze-wince at the pain. It’s like my whole head is stuffed with water.

My neck pains, probably from whiplash, and that glittery mask is gone. I flail for a second, then calm myself.

OK, I’ve got a lifejacket on, and the boat will circle around, right? I can’t be the only one who’s fallen off.

I tread water and turn in a circle, ignoring the horror at what may be lurking beneath me. Sharks? Some great mythical beast, like, uh, the Kraken from Pirates of the Caribbean?

“Stop,” I say to myself, and saltwater laps into my mouth. I spit it out in a fountain. “Ugh.”

I search for the boat, but it’s already streaked off in the opposite direction. It’s way too far away. And it’s getting farther by the second. No one else has fallen off. They’re all still there on the raft, happy-go-fucking-lucky while I’m out here, crapping myself over sea creatures.

“Hey,” I croak, but it’s never going to work. I’m hoarse from screeching.

I lift an arm, then flop it down, turn toward the distant strip of sand and refuse to panic. It’s still there, and the palm trees, and the dock, but… wait, what?

It’s getting farther away.

Farther by the second.

I gasp and kick my legs, bob up and down like a cork. “No!” I can’t propel myself forward. I’m sucked backward by the sea. A rip current.

My mother taught me about these as a kid. She told me—

Don’t panic, if it happens. Don’t panic, there’s nothing you can do. You’re at the mercy of the ocean. Keep swimming. Swim parallel to the shore.

Tears streak down my face, and I do as she told me long ago. I try for an easy breast stroke, but it’s useless. My arms are weak. I choke and sob.

“Stop it, you can do it. Don’t give up,” I whisper and keep going. Water laps my lifejacket. My legs burn. “Keep—”

The sound of an engine cuts across my panic.

I stop swimming and turn in the water.

A boat!

“Hey!” I croak-yell. “Hey! Hey! Help me, help. I’m over here. Oh, my god, please see me.” I wave my arms over my head and bob again, go under, and resurface. My vision is blurred by rivulets of sea water. “Please,” I splutter.

Whiteness spreads in front of me.

It’s the side of the boat. The side of the boat! I’m saved, thank god.

Strong, tan arms reach down and grab hold of me. I’m lifted free of the ocean, astounded by the strength of the person who’s saved me and tugged me on board.

He wraps me in his arms, and I’m enveloped in spicy, slightly sweet warmth.

Holden. It’s Holden.

The thought brings a fresh wave of tears. I sob and rest my forehead against his collarbone, the top of my sopping wet head tucked under his chin.

“What are you doing out here? Why would you come out here? Don’t you know it’s dangerous? You could’ve died.” Anger snarls every word in the last sentence. “What would I do without you, Danielle? What would Jessie do without you?” He gives me a little shake. “I can’t lose you.”

I can’t speak, can’t think. I cling to him and choke on my own tears.

Finally, the iron grip softens, and he strokes my back. “It’s all right. You’re safe now. You’re safe with me.”