Page 108 of Writing Mr. Wrong

“I’m going to get you to the mainland,” she said firmly. “Then we’ll see what our options are from there. Fly to LA or anyplace that can get us a flight up to Vancouver. Even if we can only reach Seattle, we can rent a car and cross the border. The game starts at seven thirty. You’d need to be there by seven at the absolute latest, right? As long as they know you’re coming.”

Another nod.

“We can do this,” she said. “As soon as we have a cell signal, we start looking for options. We’ll have everything arranged before we reach the marina.”

It would help if she knew where the marina was, but she’d figure that out. Head due east and pull up a map as soon as she could.

The main thing was that they knew no one was coming to pick them up, so they had to leave now.

“Ready?” she said.

He took some time getting to his feet, as if still numb. Then he looked at her and caught her up in a fierce hug.

She hugged him back. “We’ve got this. Now let’s go.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

MASON

The boat was dead. It had started up, sounding like it always did, just running rough. Gemma steered it out and headed east, and they’d left the island behind, weaving through a few others—all of them dark and seemingly empty—until they were in open water, the lights of the mainland ahead. That’s when the boat died.

Gemma kept her cool. Of course she did, because she was Gemma. Before they left, she’d checked the radio, obviously, but it had only blasted static. She’d also checked the fuel, and they had plenty. There were no warning lights on the running board. It just ran rough, as it had since day one. Then it started running rougher and rougher until the engine sputtered and died.

Gemma had spent the last twenty minutes trying to get it started while Mason messed with the radio, hoping for something, anything. Although the boat captain said they could expect a cell signal “a bit east,” they didn’t have any.

“It’s not going anywhere,” Mason said finally, touching her arm as she tried again.

Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have risked it.”

“I don’t know what the alternative was,” he said.

“Notbeing stranded in the ocean?”

“We can see land. We aren’t stranded.” He shielded his eyes against the rising sun. “How far off do you think it is?”

“Eight miles? Definitely not swimming distance.” She looked around, and then tears glistened. “I’m so sorry, Mace.”

He pulled her to him in a hug, and focused on breathing as his heart sped up and his lungs struggled to get enough oxygen.

Don’t freak out. It’s no big deal.

Except his gut said it was a big deal, a huge one, and if he missed tonight…

He couldn’t even mentally finish that sentence. Thinking it sent his pulse racing, his breath coming short.

Gemma stepped back. “If you have any ideas, I’m listening.”

The panic licked through him, and he could only manage a shake of his head.

“Okay, so…” She looked around. “The only thing I can suggest is that we drop anchor. Either another boat will come along, or we’ll pick up a cell signal or the boat will start again after a rest. That’s not exactly the foolproof plan I’d like right now, but…”

It was all they had. Waiting and hoping.

He dropped anchor while Gemma used binoculars to scan the horizon for boats. He could see dots in the distance, but they were much too far away to make contact.

She lowered the binoculars. “Let’s keep our phones out, in case we pick up a signal. I’ll watch for boats behind us if you watch in front.”

They settled in on the bow. Gemma sat with her legs against his, and he inched closer, the contact calming him.

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