Page 125 of If All Else Sails
I wake up sometime hours later as I’m rolling into the wall. My forehead smacks the edge of the built-in shelves, and pain spears through my skull.
Lightning flashes in the tiny windows, and I realize how loud it is—sheets of rain hit the side of the boat and the wind sounds like an angry banshee. The boat tilts again, this time in the other direction. I barely manage to keep myself from rolling off the bed.
Using the momentum, I get to my feet, steadying myself against the walls as the boat tips and pitches, thunder rolling. How did I manage to sleep through the storm until now? I throw open the door to find Wyatt standing in the hallway just outside, hand raised to knock.
Lightning flashes, revealing the worry etched in his face— and a bump on his forehead. “Are you okay?” he asks.
“Areyou?” Keeping one hand on the doorframe, I reach up to touch his head just as the boat rocks hard to one side, sending us both practically flying into the saloon.
Wyatt grabs the table with one hand and wraps the other around my waist, keeping us both upright. Barely.
“Where’s Jib?” I ask, practically having to shout over the noise of the storm.
“Believe it or not, sleeping. She tucked herself into a little storage nook so she’s not rolling around.”
As though reacting to his words, the boat tilts again, accompanied by a bellow of thunder. Lightning highlights the gray in Wyatt’s eyes, and suddenly I’m aware of how closed off I’vebeen. Wyatt seems to remember at the same time, the expression on his face shifting.
Before either of us can speak, the hatch flies open. Instantly, rain is slanting inside the saloon. Wyatt grabs for the hatch, and I hold on to him when the boat sways again, the wind howling through the opening as water pours in.
“Do we need to check the sails or anything on deck?” I shout over the gale.
Wyatt hesitates. “I prepped things earlier, but sometimes things blow loose.”
“Let’s double-check. I’ll go with you.”
He’s already starting to climb out. “I’ve got it. You stay—it’s not safe on deck.”
But I’ve already slipped on my boat shoes and am following him up. We’re both soaked through by the time we get on deck. I swing the hatch closed behind me to keep more water from going inside.
It’s wild up here, and Wyatt steadies me with a strong hand on my arm, tucking me close as the boat dips. All around us, I can see boats being tossed wildly. We aren’t the only ones on deck, securing things in the rain, though there are just a handful of people in sight.
A few slips over, a couple is fighting with a sail that’s ripped right off and is flying around them.
Thankfully, our sails are in place. Wyatt probably secured everything while I was on the phone with Jacob. Or while I was asleep after.
A few ropes are whipping around, and Wyatt and I each grab one, firmly tying them up again. One of the bumpers has come loose, and Wyatt tucks it back into place, tightening the knot while I stand behind him, one hand on his back.
“I think that’s about all we can do,” he shouts. “Let’s go back down below!”
I nod, but there’s a pressure building in my chest. Remnants of my earlier anxieties are shifting, taking a new shape. Expanding until there is no longer any room for them inside me.
Before Wyatt can open the hatch, I grab his arm. “Wait!”
He turns to face me again, a sheet of rain plastering his hair to his face. Wet like this, it almost looks black. So do his eyes.
And still—even like this, he’s the handsomest man I’ve ever seen.
“I’m sorry about how I’ve been acting!” I shout.
Thunder booms and the boat tips. Wyatt’s fingers grasp my hip while another hand grabs a railing, keeping us balanced.
“You really want to talk about this now?!” Wyatt yells, tipping his head my way. Even so, it’s hard to hear over the storm’s din.
“Is this not a good time for you?”
I’m not sure where the sarcasm comes from or why I’m screaming at the man instead of telling him I think I might be in love him, but here we are—soaking wet, on deck in a storm, and shouting at each other in what has to be the worst relationship talk ever.
But Wyatt laughs, head thrown back until he chokes on rain, spluttering as he tilts his head back down, his eyes meeting mine.
