Page 55 of Moving Forward

“Peaches, my control does have limits,” I admit to her.

She bites her lip. Damn. Images of thrusting deep inside while she screams out my name swirl through my brain. I need cold water now before I do something stupid. I walk to the edge of the deck and freeze. Call it a teasing mood, but I face her as I take off my shirt and toss it aside. The way her eyes travel across my body, tracking every inch and every muscle, has me on the verge of finishing what we started. The heated look in her eyes, mixed with slight embarrassment, makes it worth it.

I wink—seriously fucking wink—at her, then dive.

By the time I surface, the cold water has done its job. “You comin’ in?”

She’s standing on the edge, arms wrapped around her middle. “Is it cold?”

I smirk. “Cold enough.”

Her eyes go round.

I chuckle. “It’s not so bad. Promise.”

“Uh-huh. That’s an empty promise if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Peaches, I’d never make a promise to you I don’t intend to keep.”

Her eyes twinkle and my chest thuds. “You’re kind of perfect, you know that?”

I shake my head, not bothering to correct her. “You are too, beautiful.”

“Beautiful Peaches to you, buddy.” She grins and sprints forward to jump into the water.

The next few seconds seem to happen in slow motion. She slips on the wet deck. I’m not sure what is worse—the sound of her head hitting the edge of the deck or her yelp. Both will haunt my nightmares. Then it’s just silence as she disappears beneath the water.

I dive immediately. Heartbeats thud in my ears as I swim deeper, searching for Max. You’ll make it through this, Cain. You’re a strong man. Grams had said those words to me with such visceral conviction, I wanted to believe her. We were in the hospital, and she was holding me while I cried as if I were still a little boy and not an adult. I should have been the one comforting her—it was her husband we had just lost. Instead, I started sobbing and couldn’t stop. Everyone I loved either died or disappeared. Mom, Grandpa, Dad.

I remember telling myself if I could just pretend to be strong, then I’d earn the right to go home and get belligerently drunk—the right to hide away. I was a fucking coward.

I’m worthless.

This time, I’ll be strong. I won’t let Max leave me. Hell, I won’t let her leave anyone. She brightens this world so damn much, and it would be a sin to let that light be extinguished. If that happens, I won’t even try to swim to the surface, I’ll let myself drown with her. Max. . . . I can’t come back from her. Losing her isn’t something I can, or want, to survive.

In the dark, murky water I finally catch a glimpse of her golden hair, shimmering like a halo above her head. Her body is arched back, blood flowing from a wound in her head, as she sinks. The thudding stops and my heart goes completely still. That’s not a natural position. And that blood . . . shit, there’s too much blood.

I swim as fast as adrenaline will let me. Every second that passes is a poignant reminder of the time we’re losing. So I kick harder, reach farther, and pray to God and Ethan that she lives. This can’t be her end. Not this. She deserves better. A long, long, long happy life.

When I finally reach her, I wrap my arm around her waist and swim us both toward the surface. We’re about ten feet from the boat, but I get us there in record time and somehow manage to pull us onto the deck.

I press my ear to her chest. A heartbeat, thank God. A faint, barely-there heartbeat, but it’s still a sign of life. Only she isn’t breathing.

Thank fuck I know CPR. I start alternating between chest compressions and breathing into her. “C’mon, Max. Don’t leave me, Peaches.”

There’s a space of silence and stillness that cracks my chest wide open, and then the most beautiful, wonderful, spectacular thing happens. The smooth skin over her ribs flexes and relaxes before she coughs, water trickling out of her mouth.

“Cain?” Her voice is far away and lost.

I bend over her, running my hand over her forehead, not caring about all the blood. The wound is near her temple—a deep gash that disappears into her hairline. “I’m here, Peaches.”

She murmurs something, her eyes fluttering.

“Shh,” I whisper. I kiss her cheek, well aware of the tears streaming from my eyes. I place my hand over the wound, hoping to stop the bleeding. My other hand spans the side of her face, tracing her cheek with my thumb. “You’re going to be okay. You’re not going to leave me.”

“Cain . . . I don’t . . . my head . . .”

“I know. It’ll be okay.” I don’t even know what to do. I can drive a boat, but I can’t do that and keep pressure on Max’s wound. Panic settles in as I realize that just because she’s out of the water doesn’t mean she’s safe.

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