Page 11 of Ship Outta Luck

We’re both in shock.

It’s the only logical conclusion.

“No.” My stomach roils noisily. “Maybe.” I swallow. “No.” I take a breath.

“Uh-huh,” Charlie says, glancing sidelong at me. “Cleaning up your puke in the car wasn’t part of the deal I was offering.”

“No, Charlie, listen…”

I trail off, and she slides another meaningful look my way.

“I just figured out what he was holding,” I squeak out. I glance down at the hand in my lap, pretending to cradle something in it. “Did you see it?” I look back to her. “He was holding a gun. Oh my god. He had a gun? Why would he have agun?”

My nerves fray, crackling like a downed live wire after a bad storm.

“Whywouldhe have a gun?” Charlie repeats the question in a sing-song voice. Her fingers thrum against the steering wheel.

The rippling ocean comes into view, reflecting the late afternoon sun as we round a corner. I take a steadying breath as we get closer to the marina and bar.

“I felt like someone was watching me all day. What if…” I push my hair back with one hand. “What if he was watching me?”

Charlie makes a non-committal noise.

Now that I’m talking about it, I can’t seem to stop, the words rushing out of me.

“You saw the gun too? Didn’t you? Is that why you didn’t care that he was hurt?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, my brain catches up to the facts. “Is that why you hit him?”

I stare at her, uneasy. How well do I really know Charlie?

“I don’t make a habit of running people over.” Reaching over, she cranks my window down noisily, filling the car with the salt-heavy tang of ocean air. “If you’re going to barf, do it outside your truck, please.”

I hang my head out the window, willing myself not to be sick.

This is a nightmare come to life, feeding on memories from the week leading up to my thirteenth birthday. A week I’d done everything in my power to forget.

This might not be anything at all. We’re in South Texas. Open carry is practically a given at any time.

Still.Still.

I’d spent the last fifteen years thinking about what would happen if I encountered the people who inspired my nightmares again. The people who caused my paranoia—who’d earned it.

Charlie glances over at me as the speedometer inches past seventy. She guns my old truck over the speed limit, singing at the top of her lungs.

Doing her best to act like nothing just happened.

I turn back to the ocean. It can’t be related to what happened to me when I was a child.

Clenching my jaw, I banish the thought.

The man could’ve been a random carjacker, deciding it was easier to run away after getting, well, run over. Could be he was just out taking his gun for a walk.

I blow out another breath, watching the sun ripple off the water. Searching out the shrimp boats heading back home to the shelter of the bay, specks of white against the endless blue.

It’s just a coincidence.

All kinds of people flock to the South Texas beaches for relaxation, especially during the summer. Maybe he was a student enjoying the solitude of the empty campus.

I should alert campus police.

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