“I want you to lie back. Just float in the water.”
“No way.” If she could run in neck-deep water, she would—straight for the shore. He was crazy if he thought she was ready for that.
“Lou, how many times have you been in the ocean?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Lots.”
“Right. Lots. But this summer was the first time you’ve ever had a close call.”
“Yes.”
“And even you admit that could’ve been avoided if . . .”
“If?”
“If you’d been a little more careful.”
She glared at him, but the innocent expression on his face told her he wasn’t going to apologize for speaking the truth.
He put a hand on her back and sent a shiver straight down her spine. “I’m going to be here the whole time, and I’m not going to let go of you once.”
Goose bumps crawled up her arms, but they had nothing to do with the temperature of the water.
“Okay?”
She nodded. Her hair was tied up in a bun on top of her head, and she knew that taking it down after it was wet would be painful, so she pulled the elastic out and wrapped it around her wrist, shaking out her long hair until the ends of it landed in the water.
She glanced up and found him watching her, turning her self-conscious, but she didn’t look away.
His eyes dipped to her lips and hung there for several torturous seconds.
She’d tried to tell herself it was futile to fixate on this man, but when he looked at her like that, all reason went out the window.
“Ready?” His voice was husky, almost a whisper.
“I think so.” Slowly, carefully, she leaned back. Water crawled up her neck and into her hair, which spilled out in waves around her. His hand steadied her, strong and firm under her back as her legs floated up in the water until she was lying there, at the mercy of the water.
She closed her eyes, and for a moment it was as if she were on a cloud, floating through the air, weightless. She was aware of his body next to her, strong and secure and easy to lean into.
Water covered, then uncovered her torso as she floated, and the sun warmed her face.
It was tranquil, pleasant even. She drew in a breath, then another one.
But then, out of nowhere, the image of the waves, angry and hungry, forced itself on her, and she was helpless to ignore it. Her breathing picked up, and she tried to return to the peace of the moment before, but the memory of the violent water that had dragged her down assaulted her. It was like trying to outrun a much stronger and faster enemy.
Cody’s grip on her tightened, but only slightly as another memory penetrated the calm. She couldn’t breathe. It was like someone had two tight hands wrapped around her neck. Her eyes shot open, and the concern on his face nearly jolted her back to the present.
She gasped for breath and struggled to pull herself up, flailing around like she forgot how to move, how to swim, how to walk. But she realized in a flash she didn’t have to remember any of those things because he was remembering for her. He quickly swung a hand underneath her and picked her up, as if she weighed nothing (which she most certainly did not). He leaned closer, his lips brushing the side of her forehead, and whispered, “You’re okay, Louisa,” as he moved closer to the shore.
In the distance, she heard a dog bark, a child laugh, but soon the noise of the day was drowned out by the beating of her heart as her pulse began to slow and she told herself she was okay. She was fine. Cody was here.
When they’d reached shallower waters, he stood her upright, but instead of letting her go, he pulled her into him, wrapped his arms around her, and let her stand like that, head on his shoulder for so many minutes she wondered if she’d forgotten her own name.
Really, she was fine. But she couldn’t bring herself to move away from him. Not when his skin smelled like pine trees and his heart beat so clearly in her ear. She could’ve stayed like that forever and been perfectly happy.
After what felt like hours, he slowly peeled her body away from his and brought his gaze to hers. “I’m sorry. I might’ve pushed you too quickly.”
She shook her head. “I want to try again.”
His brow knit into a tight line of worry. “No. We can try again another day. The regatta isn’t that important.”
She steeled her jaw. “Not for the regatta. For me.”
He, more than anyone else, would surely understand that.
He thought about it for too many seconds, and while she didn’t like asking anyone for permission, she knew she needed his. She wouldn’t overcome this fear on her own, and he would keep her safe. It’s what he did.
Finally he nodded. “Okay.”
And he walked her back into the water and held her until the nightmare couldn’t torment her anymore.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
WHEN HE GOT HOME, Cody did the thing he’d been avoiding all day—he called his mom. She answered on the first ring.
“I was starting to worry you were off on a supersecret mission,” she said by way of greeting.
“Hey, Mom.”
“How are things?”
“Good.”
“You’re taking care of yourself?”
“Yep. Everything is fine.”
“Save any lives lately?”
The image of Louisa floating in the water pummeled him.
“I’m sure you have. You don’t have to tell me about it.”
It was like this with his mom sometimes. She thought everything he did—even cleaning the boats or checking the engines or running training drills—was top secret. But it was time to tell her the truth. And she wasn’t going to like it. Because while he’d been back in Nantucket for weeks, he’d yet to break that news to his mother.
“I actually called to tell you something,” she said before he could find the words.
“Oh?” His mind spun with possibilities. Maybe she’d finally started dating again. Wouldn’t that be something?
“I got an invitation in the mail.”
His heart dropped. Louisa. He’d asked her not to send it, but she’d sent it. Why was he not surprised?
“It’s for a birthday party for Maggie Fisher. You remember Maggie, right?”
He grunted an affirmative response.
“Well, it’s her birthday, and you know how big of a deal birthdays always were to us—I mean, of course you probably remember those big bashes we threw you kids—” She stopped.
“I remember.”
“I’ve decided I’m going to go.”
He must’ve been quiet for an unusual amount of time because his mom said his name as if she’d said it already and he hadn’t responded. He shook away the shock and focused on her voice.
“I think it will be good for me,” she said. “I think it might be good for you, too.”
“Mom—”
“I know how you feel about everything, about your father, and I was angry for a long time—mad at God, mad at your dad . . .”
“Mad at me?”
She paused. “Honey, I was never mad at you.”
He wanted to reach out and grab those words, to pull them close and let them wash over him, taking away all the guilt and shame he’d been dragging around behind him like a too-heavy backpack. Instead, he slapped them away. Because he knew better.