Page 116 of Dirty Mechanic
Derek and Misty.
Mike rises, voice sharpened by fury and thunder. “Why did my father leave his land to Skylar Bishop?! Where is that bitch hiding?!”
His rage echoes across the river, distorted by wind and distance.
No answer.
Then I see Misty step forward. Gun in hand.
Heart in my throat, I mouth their names?—
A shot rings out.
Mike jerks, a spray of red misting the air. Mike jerks, clutching his side. He stumbles, slamming into the outboard motor.
The engine snarls to life with a feral roar.
He scrambles, slipping—then tumbles over the side.
Gone.
The skiff bucks sideways, spinning hard as the motor thrashes without direction.
The world tips and we fly. Blake and I are flung into the dark.
Ice-cold shock obliterates everything. Panic tears through my limbs like a thousand volts. I surface for one breath—one ragged gasp—then the weight at my ankles drags me under.
Down, down, down.
The cold is a scream in my bones. My lungs seize. My limbs flail. And memories flood in.
Derek’s crooked smile at the orchard gate.
Blake’s laugh echoing through the fields.
Delivering my new nephew.
Misty, tasting my apple pie for the first time and licking her lips like it meant something.
It did mean something.
Everything does.
My lungs burn. My vision fades at the edges.
Every inch deeper into darkness feels like surrender. And I’m not ready to surrender.
As the current tugs me deeper, I whisper their names—Derek… Blake… Misty…—praying someone, anyone, will drag me back into the light. Then?—
Silence.
Not the kind that means peace.
The kind that means the world is waiting to see if you survive.
Only the river remains. And in its final rush, I see Derek again— His arms around me. His scent—motor oil and cedar and home.
Then the current takes me.
