“Then why are we going?”
I glance at her again, working to lower my defenses that tunnel past vulnerabilities into a territory I loathe because I’ve spent too much time here in the past few months: weakness. “Last year after I blew out my shoulder, I was so determined to get back out on the field, but then my first game back, I was legit hyperventilating on the field. Even now, it will flare up and get tight and ache and it fucks with my head. I worry I’m going to hurt it, that I’ll be forced to quit. But, the doctors have assured me it’s fine, that tendons just take so damn long to heal. Most of my pain is likely mental. Psychosomatic because I’m so damn worried about getting hurt that I delude myself into thinking it does.” I clear my throat, trying to bridge this situation to one of the many subjects we’ve skated over. “Kind of like what I did with us.”
I make the right turn that leads into the marina, the gravel lot she’d fled to after Maggie had left and has since avoided. My tires crunch over the gravel as I pull into a spot, keeping the engine running in an attempt to comfort her.
The water is dark this morning, a shade of blue that is so black it reminds me of a painting in my father’s art collection where the waves are reaching for a boat like arms, ripping it apart. Rain falls against the windshield like tiny taps, encouraging us to step outside.
“Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning again,” her voice is quiet, but clear.
Her words gut me, making the regret that lives at the hearth of the fire that’s been burning in me for so many weeks expand. “You can’t allow that moment to define your future.”
She faces the windshield. “My fear of drowning keeps me from going out on the water, but things between my parents has had me thinking for weeks. Marine biologists aren’t exactly a booming market. It’s tough to get jobs in the field and tougher to get one with cetology. I don’t want to have to rely on someone else to support me.”
“Fuck that. Fuck him. Don’t lose your dreams over your dad and his mistakes. You can’t let that dictate your future. This is your dream, Rae. You can’t put a price on that.”
“It’s not that easy. My parents never had money. This lifestyle of catered events and trips to Europe is not what we grew up knowing, and it terrifies me that I’ll have to decide which bill to pay even if I’m successful.”
“You can’t think like that. You have to focus only on what you can control, and what you can control is overcoming this fear and doing what makes you want to get out of bed every morning.”
Still, she doesn’t look at me, her blinks slow. “They’ll never allow me to be on a team once they learn what I did. I endangered so many that night.”
“Someone once told me making my own obstacles was stupid.”
Her gaze kicks to me, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “I’m pretty sure I said something more insightful than that.”
I grin. “Fuck the rules. We make our own rules.”
“Is that your motivational speech that segues to us getting out and facing my fear? Or are you going to tell me about some historical figure who nearly drowned and then faced their fears and became something significant?”
I chuckle, shaking my head as I reach for her fingers to tie with mine. “That’s the end of my speech.”
She releases a long sigh. “Let’s go.”
“Do you remember all of it?” I ask her as our feet cross the gravel, our strides short as her gaze remains on the dark Pacific.
“I think so. I guess it’s hard to know for sure, though, right? I mean, I don’t remember getting out or the helicopter or any of that.”
Likely because she had one foot on each side of that fragile line.
“I remember hearing your voice,” she says, taking her first step onto the floating dock. “I remember how my muscles were so cold they ached and then stopped feeling anything. I didn’t feel anything when I’d cut myself.” She glances at her forearm, though it’s covered by her jacket. She moves her blue gaze to me. “Are you still angry with me for that night?”
I swallow the immediate yes that is both instinctual and instant because it’s the selfish response, and I’ve already realized that. “No. We should all be willing to fight for things that are important to us—for what matters.”
We stop several feet from the end of the pier. Rae’s chin is raised, her eyes closed. She looks like she’s having a silent conversation with the sea breeze and waves licking at the dock, a truce with the current and her fears.
Several minutes pass, and my sneakers and jeans growing wet, but I remain silent, waiting for her to find the peace that’s been missing in this vital relationship of her life. Then, she opens her eyes, her eyes glittering with tears. “Thank you for bringing me out here.”
“When you’re ready, we’ll take a boat out.”
She smiles, and though it’s faint and her eyes still hold tears, there’s something in it that makes me feel whole. “This was what I needed. I needed to just be here.”
Rae doesn’t expand, doesn’t mention if her confidence is restored or if she’s ready to be back out on the water, and after pushing her this far, I respect her space, not pushing her any further—not yet, anyway.
“This is what we’ve been working toward. We have two games left,” Coach Harris smacks his gum, pacing in front of us in a pair of slacks and his customary red Brighton sweatshirt. “I want to see focus. I want to see hustle, and I want to see you sending motherfucking Utah home with their tails tucked between their goddamn legs.”
Arlo’s leg bobs, knocking against mine before he stands. I pull in a breath, my thoughts tracing over the hours of tape we poured over last night. Each risk and opportunity for tonight running through my head like they’re already a memory.
Pax stands, angling toward the bathroom. I pat his shoulder before he moves away from us.
A clip to my shoulder has me snapping my attention forward as Derek passes.
“What the fuck?” I demand, shoving him.
He propels himself off the wall, getting in my face, his eyes burning with anger and resentment, void of the fear he ought to be feeling. “You need to stop meddling,” he warns.
I shove him back again, gaining a solid foot of space, enough for me to rotate my hips before driving my fist into his face, but before I can connect, Coach Harris appears, confusion and annoyance marring his silver brow. “Jones, what in the hell are you doing? If you derail my team tonight, son, you’re going to wish you never left Texas.”
Derek shrugs off his invisible grip, moving toward the tunnel. I stare after him, every cell in my body wishing to follow him and seek a revenge that’s been like a tide in my head, consuming too many of my thoughts and regrets. Coach Harris stares after him, waiting to ensure he doesn’t return before looking back at me. “You want to share what that was all about?”
“Beats the hell out me,” I say, though I know it must be about Rae. Thoughts of the cranes and their cryptic words infiltrate my mind, filling me with a rage that places a bullseye on his back.
“Hey,” Coach Harris barks, grabbing the front of my jersey. I slowly move my gaze to meet his. “Not here. Not tonight. This is your team. You carry them to another win or you carry them to a loss. It’s on your shoulders, President. Be their leader. Show these assholes what you’re made of.”