Page 61 of These Summer Storms

For the first time since she got on this boat, she could see the words strike him.

“You were supposed to be a good guy. You told me you were.”

He nodded. “You’re right.”

“My father isn’t the only one playing a game, is he?”

“Alice.”

“No,” she said. They were approaching the east side of the island, the sun had moved higher in the sky, casting a deep blue shadow of the cliffside on a tiny cove there—Prussian blue, sharply delineated from the gleaming ultramarine of the Bay in the sun. Low tide had revealed the tiny beachhead that was one of Storm Island’s best-kept secrets.

“You’re playing a game, too. Aren’t you?”

Jack shook his head. “Not that night.”

“But now?”

Silence. Alice couldn’t help her laugh—shocked and full of the realization that she’d just told him more than she ever would have if she’d known. “Oh my god. We’re not just his pieces. We’re yours, too.”

“Alice—”

She cut him off. “You knew who I was. You knew I had to get to the island. You knew I had to stay here. You were theonly onewho knew I had to stay here. He didn’t write me a letter. He sent you.” She looked at the island, her father’s domain, full of memories. Whatever Jack was up to, it was a test, just as everything here always had been—impossible to pass. “Everyone thought we got a reprieve on the first day of the game. Seven days, but you didn’t arrive until day two. Except you did arrive for me.”

If his jaw clenched any tighter, he’d break it.

“We’renot your game.I am.”

He didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. She was right. “You’re not just here to judge the game, and your task isn’t just tosail. You’re my keeper. You’re supposed to keep me on the island because, what, he thought I might leave and ruin the fun? That’s it, isn’t it?”

A long moment passed, during which he looked absolutely furious. Triumph surged in Alice’s chest; she’d figured it out. And then she was moving—heading for the mainsail.

“Alice!” Jack shouted. “Let me explain.”

“Nah,” she said. “Now that I know this is the game, I know how toplay.” She slipped the line with ease, loosening the massive triangle of fabric as she called out, years of experience on the water making the words instinct. “Heave to.”

Luffing the sails would slow the boat enough that when she dove into the water, she wouldn’t get caught up in its wake. Not that it would have deterred her, as she was pretty drunk with momentary power and something much more dangerous—grief.

She kicked off her sneakers and climbed up to the edge of the boat.

“What the—” Jack was heading for her, fast.

His expletive was lost to the water as she dove offThe Lizzie,the cold whoosh of the Bay welcoming her like an old friend.

Like home.

She surfaced to the sound of her name, deep and angry, and moved immediately into freestyle, aiming for the little beach, letting the knowledge that she’d shocked and enraged him flood her with smug delight. Even if he wanted to stop the boat and scream, there was no way he could; there was no turning off the wind. Stopping sailboats with precision and speed required practice that came with hundreds of hours on the water (and no small amount of paternal castigation).

She made it to shore in less than five minutes, emerging from the water onto the little beach with her heart pounding and her breath coming in full, lung-expanding gusts. She pushed her hair out of her face and smiled.

Jack might think he knew about her and this family and her father’s boat, but he didn’t know everything. If her calculations were right,The Lizziewould already be out of sight, headed toward the northern tip of the island, around the cliff’s face. If he wanted to follow her, he’d have to circle the island once again. And by then, she’d already be up the hidden steps, headed for the house.

Alice looked to the water and stilled, surprise and no small amount of admiration coursing through her.

The Lizziewasn’t out of sight. It was stopped, pointed into the wind, mizzenmast anchoring it on the gleaming water, closer to the shore than it had been when she’d dived off.

He’d heaved the boat to like a seasoned sailor.

No. Not like a sailor. Not while he stood on the edge of the boat, arms crossed over his stupidly broad chest, watching her.

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