Page 44 of Redemption

“Yeah. I know.”

“No. Not because of us. I’m worried about her.”

“So am I,” I said, hating the way my body reacted to Jackson referring to an “us.” As if there was an “us.” I wanted to laugh at the idea. That was past tense.

“Also…” He glanced over at me and smirked. “I know what the two of you are like when you get together.”

I rolled my eyes and gave him a playful shove. “We all make stupid decisions when we’re young. I’m not the same person I was back then.”

“Neither am I.” His eyes were filled with an emotion that looked a lot like, well, regret.

Regret about the past? About us?

I turned away and focused on the water, checking our location. It didn’t matter. That ship had sailed long ago.

CHAPTER TEN

“That doesn’t sound good.” I frowned as the engine RPMs dropped, and my stomach along with it.

We were only two hours into what promised to be a long day. Yet again, we were sailing into the wind, our bow smashing into the waves. And these weren’t small waves—I was staring down eight-foot seas. Waves that were considerably taller than even Jackson. Jackson and I were wearing our life jackets and personal locator beacons, and I stayed focused on making it to Clarence Town.

When the engine cut out completely a few minutes later, it wasn’t surprising. But that didn’t make our reality any easier to swallow.

“Shit,” Jackson said, voicing my thoughts. “Didn’t you just change the filter?”

“Yes, but I’ve had to change them more frequently lately.”

Fuel supply issues were the worst. Notoriously difficult to diagnose, and there wasn’t much we could do about it at the moment.

Think. Think.

I’d read a post on this issue recently, so I didn’t think the problem was a particulate in our fuel. I had a theory, but it might be only part of the issue. It was at least something to go on.

“I think there’s a leak somewhere in the vacuum side of the fuel supply line.”

Jackson nodded. “Okay. What do you recommend? Change the filter again?”

I considered it as something crashed to the floor inside the cabin. My stomach was roiling, my breakfast threatening to make a reappearance. I didn’t think changing the filter again would make much difference.

“This might sound crazy, but we could bleed the system and try to ride it out as long as possible.”

He grimaced. “That means we’d both have to go below deck.”

“Yep.” It wasn’t ideal. The last place you’d want to be in rolling conditions was below deck. But we didn’t have many options.

“Okay.” He sighed. “Let’s do it.”

We let out the jib, turned ninety degrees off our route, and set the autopilot. With the boat under full sail, we headed down below to bleed the engine. With one hand braced against the wall, I placed the other to my mouth, willing my nausea away. And Jackson looked just as miserable.

“Let’s make this quick.”

While Jackson cracked open the bleeder nut, I watched the mechanical fuel pump. Those few minutes we spent below deck felt like hours. I tried not to think about barfing. I tried to distract myself by watching Jackson’s forearms. By imagining our next destination. But if I didn’t get up on deck and soon, I was going to?—

“Okay. Let’s go.” Jackson practically pushed me toward the stairs.

I rushed ahead of him, desperate for some fresh air. His hand was on my back, steadying me. We burst onto the deck, and I gulped in the fresh air.

“Let’s see if it worked,” Jackson said.

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