“Which keeps your nose above the surface and water out of your lungs, provided you can keep that mouth of yours shut. However, knowing you, I seriously have my doubts.”
“Funny.” If I didn’t love him so much, I’d kick him in the nuts. My stomach flopped at the thought of stopping my legs from spinning and standing as he instructed—and if he were anyone else, that would be a big hell no. But there wasn’t another soul on Earth I trusted more than my big brother. Nash never lied.
So, I dropped my legs.
My toes hit dirt.
And I stood.
I hated when he was right. “You’re a shitty swim instructor, you know that?”
“Maybe you’re just a shitty student?” He grinned, flicking water in my face.
Flipping him the finger, I nodded toward the beach where a herd of girls almost wearing bikinis stood pretending not to drool. “Don’t you have a fan club waiting to worship the ground your crusty feet walk on?”
“Ouch. What’s wrong, did the red tide roll in last night?”
I scrunched my face. “Ew, gross, Nash. Jesus, would you shelve that shit already? A woman can get mad without having her period, thank you.”
“Woman, huh?” His grin widened as he flipped onto his back and floated like it was so damn easy. Fucker. “You’re fifteen, Edie. I’m not sure that constitutes being a woman.”
“Well, you’re eighteen and considered a man, yet your balls still haven’t dropped.”
Lifting his head, he made a claw with his fingers and scratched the air while hissing like a cat.
“Just forget it,” I growled, giving his chest a good shove, and of course, the idiot didn’t even go under the water. “Who says I need to know how to swim anyway? I’m more of a dock kind of girl.”
“And what if you’re walking along that dock, trip on a loose board, and fall headfirst into deep water?” he said, standing and running a hand through his drenched hair. “I won’t always be around to save you, Edie. The water won’t always be five feet. You won’t always be able to stand, and no matter how hard you spin those skinny legs of yours, it won’t always be enough. Eventually, you’re gonna have to learn how to swim on your own. Otherwise, you’re gonna sink like a rock.”
“Well, this has been fun. Thanks, Debbie Downer.”
“Not tryin’ to be.” His face got really serious all of a sudden, and it twisted something inside me. “Just protecting my baby sister. Us Lacheys are made of strong stuff, but sooner or later, life throws us all off the dock and we have to choose.”
“Sink or swim,” I murmured.
“No matter what, you always swim, Edie. You always fucking swim.”
“Swim…” The word tasted like ash on my tongue. My whole mouth felt thick and sticky as if it were stuffed with wet sand and rubber cement. I tried swallowing, but the burn from the sand coating my throat choked me so badly, I felt tears roll down each temple. “Swim…” I managed again, the word barely a whisper.
It’s too dark. I need to see. I need to kick.
I tried opening my eyes underwater, but they were too heavy. I was too deep, and the water was too black. It held me immobile, dragging me farther down into its depths to a watery grave.
I sank.
I’m sorry, Nash.
I tried to embrace what was coming—accept the end with peace—but I couldn’t. It wasn’t in my nature. I didn’t just give up. This wasn’t how it all ended for me.
“No matter what, you always swim, Edie. You always fucking swim.”
So, I swam. I kicked. Harder and harder, until my lungs burned and my heart weakened. I swam until my head broke the surface.
And then all hell broke loose.
Sirens wailed so loudly, I winced. The shrill, ear-piercing sound pounded inside my head, but my arms were useless to block it.
“Swim…” I rasped. “Swim…”
“Señora!” a female voice shouted above me. “Dr. De León! Dr. De León! Señora Carrera! ¡Ella está despierta! ¡Ella está despierta!”
Stop shouting and help me out of this lake, you crazy bitch!
Wait. Why was she yelling that I was awake in Spanish?
And when the fuck did I learn Spanish?
Before I could figure it out, hands descended upon me, poking and prodding and thank Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, silencing that damn siren. I wanted them off me, but I still couldn’t make my limbs work. However, I swore to shit, when I got them loose, if I didn’t have every stitch of clothing on my body, I knew of two men who would gladly introduce these assholes to a Louisville Slugger.
With a shuffle of feet, a new voice leaned over me. “Sí, Señora! Abre tus ojos.”
If this motherfucker doesn’t stop ordering me around…
Did he not notice I was trying to open my damn eyes?
Drawing as much strength as I could, I fought against the lake, the hands, and whatever rope held my arms from throwing a punch. Just when the strain dropped a cement block on my chest… Just when it felt like my heart would burst if I pushed myself any harder, I saw it.
Light.
I could’ve cried.
But I didn’t. Instead, I crawled on my bound hands and knees, dragging that damn cement block behind me by its chain. I grunted. I growled. I cursed.
But son of a bitch, I did it.
I reached the light. I touched it. And when I did, my eyes opened, and it blinded me with the brightest flash of white I’d ever seen. It fucking hurt, and I let out a scream.
Well, more like a whimper.
I still had wet sand in my throat.
A collective sigh filled the room. “Alerta al señor.”
They could alert the Pope for all I cared. I just wanted to bask in my victory for a few seconds and then demand they take me to the one man who could always make everything right.
My safe place. My forever hero.
“Nash,” I whispered, the dry skin on my lips splitting along with his name.
More hands. More Spanish.
I kept blinking until the excruciatingly bright light dimmed, and the outline of a room started to take shape. It was white as well, but smeared with designated splashes of color. A bright blue chair. Red, white, and black window moldings, almost reminiscent of stained-glass. A mural painted on one solitary wall depicted a beautiful sunset. Once my eyes settled on it, I couldn’t look away. It was haunting. It was as if the sun had permanently set, trapped by the sea.
Sea.
Water.
Where the hell was I?
The pressure on my chest returned, and I tried once more to move my hand. This time, it twitched, and I reached for the concrete block still pressing down on me.
“No, Señora Carrera—”
My eyes shot up to where an older man wearing a white lab coat and a worried look held my hand still. “Who are you—”
As if charged by a herd of elephants, the door to the room swung open, slamming against the wall so hard it stuck. The man in the white coat and I both swung our heads around to find another man standing just inside the room, his hands fisted by his side, his chest heaving.
Shit, he looked almost as bad as I felt.
Dark hair, as black as midnight hung in disarray. Chunks fell over his forehead, and a few pieces stood straight up, while the others stuck flat to his head. It looked like he’d spent hours, if not days, tugging at the roots. Although a heavy beard covered the lower half of his face, there was no mistaking the chiseled jawline—one sharp enough to carve out a heart or a soul, depending on his mood.