Page 207 of One Bossy Disaster

The rumble of the engine is quieter—maybe even nonexistent—and our speed is basically zero if I’m reading those navigation screens right. We’re drifting as far as the anchor lets us, rolling on waves that pitch higher every few minutes.

Sweet Jesus.

Dad almost got himself killed in a merciless storm a lot like this years ago, and so did my stepmom, Eliza. He saved her at the last minute.

They were insanely lucky. I’m just worried that the Lancaster gene for good luck in rotten weather skipped right over me.

I’m also really hating my name right now and those crummy jokes about fate.

It’s so surreal I feel numb.

My brain still can’t handle what that kiss means—if it wasn’t just another emotionally-charged mistake intended to shut me up.

And all this after the frigid way he shut me down, the way he tried justifying sending me off into the sunset with more money and a cold goodbye.

That hurt like hell.

What even is my life?

One of the other crewmen comes rushing past, heading for the controls.

My breath is too fast, so I work on slowing it down.

Breathe. Just breathe.

Stay in the moment, they say. But it doesn’t help when this is an especially crappy moment following a direct shot to the heart.

What did it all mean? Will I ever get the chance to figure it out?

All the sex, the secrets, the warmth we shared, this crisis gesture with his lips...

I don’t know.

I hoped I could feel like this was all bigger than an us that can’t possibly last. I wanted to finish out the terms of what I signed up for with Young Influencers, with or without Shepherd Foster.

Now I know I’m fooling myself.

All the charity money in the world raining down on my head can’t erase these memories. But they’re definitely on hold as Molly whines louder and I hug her, pulling her face into my arms.

“Don’t fuss, girl. Get some rest. We’ll be just fine. We’ll be home before you know it.”

I hope.

But Mother Nature doesn’t care. The biggest wave yet lurches past, punching the yacht up and down like a toddler tossing around a rubber ducky.

I’m not one for motion sickness, but my stomach twists.

My free hand scrambles around, searching for something to grip, but there’s nothing on the floor. Molly and I go sliding against the wall, helpless to prevent it.

Thankfully the impact isn’t hard. But what about next time?

God.

My stomach churns like mad.

Sure, let’s add some traditional seasickness to the heartsick fever I’m already suffering.

I can hear the younger crewman yelling into the radio and—is that a voice in the static coming back?

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