Page 2 of Hot Water

“The real reason we all went in on the vacation is we’re fucking tired of dealing with your surly ass,” Sterling interjects before I’m able to accept their gift. “We’re hoping you come back in a better mood.”

I flip off my older brother before turning to his assistant. “Thank you, Adam. All of you,” I say, accepting my fate. “This is... unexpected, but I think it’s exactly what I need.”

Sullivan raises his glass. “To Sinclair—the best sheriff we could ask for, a damn good brother, and I’m hoping the best fucking wing man on earth.”

“Fuck me,” I mutter under my breath, already regretting my decision.

We all clink glasses before digging into the delicious meal Ginni prepared, and I finally allow myself to relax, to be in the moment. Though the job is demanding and relentless, tonight I’m taking a break from the stress with my family.

The refreshing scent of the ocean greets us as we step through the hotel room door. “Adam might be a pain in the ass, but he damn well knows how to pick a resort.” Sullivan glances around the two-bedroom suite in awe.

I nod my head, agreeing with him as my eyes sweep across the room, taking in the luxurious furnishings and modern decor. The large windows let in an abundance of natural light, illuminating the elegant living area and well-equipped kitchen. The centerpiece, however, is the balcony.

I stride toward it, opening the sliding glass door to let in the warm sea breeze. The view is nothing short of breathtaking; the vast, shimmering expanse of the beach stretches out before us, the gentle waves lapping rhythmically at the shore.

I tip the bellman and shut the door behind him before turning back to Sullivan. “I’m going to change and hit the beach.”

“I’ll do the same.” He grabs his suitcase and smirks at me. “We can check out all the single ladies and fight for dibs.”

I roll my eyes and step into the first bedroom. “You can have all of them.” The one thing I don’t need in my life right now is a complication, and women come with “complication” written across their foreheads.

After pulling on my swim trunks, I grab my towel and the book I've been trying to finish, the one that's been taunting me from the bedside table for days. Today feels like the perfect day to finally get through it.

I step out onto the balcony, and the salty breeze grazes my skin. Before my brother realizes I’m leaving without him, I trot down the staircase that leads to the beach, each step filled with anticipation.

The sand feels hot beneath my feet, and I regret not wearing my sandals. I navigate through a sprinkling of beachgoers to find a spot near the water but not too close—just far enough to avoid the tidal reach.

I grab an empty lounger and settle down. The rhythmic sound of the waves sets a peaceful background as I open my book. As the hot Caribbean sun soaks into my skin, I lose myself in the pages, escaping into the world of the story.

I must be thoroughly engrossed because I don't notice Sullivan until he's standing over me, casting a shadow over my book. "Really, asshole? You couldn't have waited for me?" he grumbles, his voice tinged with annoyance.

I look up at him, squinting against the sun. He's standing there with his hands on his hips like an impatient child. "Oops," I say with an unapologetic grin. "The beach was calling my name. Besides, I figured you'd want to wander your way through the bar before finding your way out here."

He rolls his eyes, dropping his belongings onto the sand next to mine. "I thought we were going to check out the bar together," he points out, flopping down on the empty lounger beside me.

I sit up, reaching into my beach bag to hand him the sunscreen. "Put this shit on. I don’t fucking want to have to take care of your whiny ass when you get sunburned."

“Asshole,” he mumbles under his breath. While applying the lotion, his complaints continue, a litany of his displeasure with me. Eventually, his voice becomes background noise, blending with the crash of waves and the distant chatter of other beachgoers.

Needing a break from his steady stream of grievances, I get to my feet and tuck my book away. "I'm going for a swim," I announce, stepping away before he can object. The water looks inviting, a beautiful shimmer under the bright sun.

I wade into the surf, the cool water lapping at my ankles, then my knees, and finally my waist. I push off my feet and immerse myself fully, feeling the warmth of the sun contrast with the bracing touch of the waves. Once I’m far enough out, I float on my back, letting the ocean carry me.

Out here, away from the shore, it’s tranquil. I can still hear Sullivan’s distant mumbling, but it’s muffled, reduced to a hum by the water and the distance. I close my eyes and let the water cradle me, the sun warming my face.

In the water’s gentle embrace, I let myself drift, eyes closed and mind clear. The Caribbean heat is a perfect counter to the water's cool caress. Time seems to stretch, and for a few moments, everything is perfectly still.

Suddenly, a powerful surge disrupts the calm, and I feel myself lifted and tossed by a massive wave. Panic seizes me as I'm pulled under, the world flipping as the water engulfs me. I twist and turn, disoriented, struggling to figure out which way is up.

I kick my legs and thrash my arms, fighting to find the surface, but the current is ruthless, dragging me deeper into its aqua depths. As my lungs begin to burn, I feel the pressure building in my chest. Fucking hell. I’m going to goddamn die on the vacation I didn’t really want to come on. I tell myself to stay calm, but fear cuts through my thoughts.

I look around desperately for any glimmer of light, any sign of the surface, but everything is a swirling blur of bright blue and bubbles. It's like I'm caught in an endless, spinning tunnel, with the water pressing in around me.

I keep pushing, kicking harder, but the wave's grip is relentless. My muscles ache from the effort, and my lungs scream for air. My strength wanes as desperation flows through me.

Just when I think I can't hold on any longer, I catch a glimpse of brightness, a small hint of sunlight filtering through the water. With every ounce of energy I have left, I propel myself toward it, my arms reaching, straining.

The water seems to be fighting me, pulling me down as I try to swim to the surface. But I don't give up. I can't give up, even as my energy evaporates. Out of nowhere, soft arms wrap around me and tug hard. My goddamn guardian angel is bruising a rib.

---