Page 63 of Unmoored

From here, I can make out Dawn’s Embrace. I can even just about tell which of my friends is on the stern. The flash of pink hair must be Kieran, but we’re a little too far away to make out the rest yet.

We’re approaching from behind, and they’re all looking the other way toward the harbour where the race is underway.

Obviously, George insisted on waiting until the most chaotic window of time—right when the actual competitive bathtub racers are about to start arriving, while the amateurs are floundering about in the hopes that they might not sink.

There—I can see them now. I tick off their names in my head as I squint through the bright sunshine, looking for one face in particular—or, at the very least, a bright orange lifejacket.

I don’t see it, and I sure as hell hope that doesn’t mean they’ve skipped the lifejacket.

“Still this way?”

“Uh huh.”

My heart pounds with excited trepidation. We’re finally almost within hollering distance of Dawn’s Embrace. I think my friends—and Eden—are going to get to see this whole show. If it turns out to be a debacle, at least they’ll get front-row seats.

“Come on. Where is he?” George hisses, raising his binoculars. And he doesn’t even have normal person binoculars—or the rich guy kind that you’d see at a hunting lodge.

No, he brought these tiny, tacky, bright gold binoculars.

“Look, man. Help me help you. I told you, if he’s one of the competitive racers, they’re not going to stop until they get to the finish line. We’d be better off waiting closer, so he doesn’t have to get back out?—”

“He’s not,” George snaps back at me. “Just head for that piece of shit.”

I cut off my words, glaring right back at him.

My hackles are officially raised.Imight make fun of Eden about Dawn’s Embrace, but that’s different. When this asshole is casually saying that… there’s no warmth underneath.

“It’s a houseboat,” I tell him calmly. “An old one, but it’s still a boat. Treat her with as much respect as you’d treat this one,” I pat the side of my barge.

George scoffs. “Sure. Respect.” I might be wrong, but… there’s something weirdly bitter in his tone.

Something isn’t right here.

“Holy fucking shit. Murph?” That’s Alph, turning and shielding his eyes against the sun. “What are you doing here?”

Shit. WhatamI doing here? The pieces are clicking together.

I’m not going to be a paranoid new boyfriend. We’re not even boyfriends yet. But…

But there’s this rich asshole who happens to know someone out on the water today. And did I mention he’s an asshole? And he’s gay. The boyfriend is someone I don’t know about yet. Sure, I don’t know every gay guy in Nanaimo. But the circle of gay guys who would take part in the bathtub race is a hell of a lot smaller.

Who do I know that once dated a guy from Vancouver with way more ego than he deserves to have?

I don’t know a lot about Eden’s ex, but I know the shape of the storm clouds that haunt the man I’ve found myself falling for. And this is exactly the kind of guy who would suck Eden in, suck him dry, and laugh about it later with all his friends.

Shit.

I cut the throttle almost back to nothing, slowing our approach as I calculate whether there’s enough room to turn around and take us straight back to the Nanaimo side.

Alph leans on the railing, frowning at me. “Murph?”

I shake my head once, tensely cutting him off. “Where’s?—?”

“Inside. Making h’ors d’oeuvres.”

The relief I feel is brief, yet intense. There’s no time to waste. I think I need to protect Eden—and if I’m right, I have to do itnow. We’re inching closer and closer to Dawn’s Embrace, and all my manoeuvring can only buy us so much time.

George’s whiny voice is back, in full force. “Hellooooo?” He waves a hand as if trying to get my attention. “What’s going on? Who the hell is that guy? I’m paying you to pay attention tome. Focus!”

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