The Redemption

by Nikki Sloane

  The boat pitched again, and water sloshed violently against the hull.

  He pressed harder into my pressure points. “Better?”

  I wished, but I was miserable. He searched my face like he would determine my answer himself, regardless of whatever I said.

  “I really don’t want to throw up on your yacht.”

  He frowned. “I don’t want that either.” He stood and used his hold on me to pull me up with him. “You might benefit from fresh air and the horizon.”

  “I’d benefit more if I wasn’t on this boat,” I grumbled.

  He helped me up the stairs, which was no easy feat with how the ocean rocked us side to side, and once we were above deck, I clung to him, not caring if this was appropriate or what his staff would think. The sea was the most dominating thing right now, and I’d become a slave to it.

  Macalister sat us down on one of the sun pads mid-deck, and when my head dropped onto his shoulder, he wrapped his arm reassuringly behind my back. His tone was quiet. He was trying to help, not boss me around. “Stare at the horizon.”

  I tried to focus on it.

  Then I tried to compartmentalize and shut down the part of my brain that was registering the nausea, but that didn’t work either. I wanted to enjoy sitting in the sun with him, nestled close while the waves cast seawater misting faintly over us . . .

  But I couldn’t.

  My stomach lurched, and once the panic set in that he might watch me as I vomited, it had a snowball effect. My anxiety made me feel so much worse. “Macalister,” I croaked.

  “I know.” He eased me down so I could lie across the lounge. “I’ll tell the captain we need to turn back.”

  I watched him clamp a hand on the back of the lounger and ride the undulating deck, gingerly making his way toward the cockpit. God, I envied him for not feeling the effects, and I despised my equilibrium.

  This was supposed to be our date, and my body had ruined what was going to be a—

  Tingles crept up the back of my neck, which was my signal I’d crossed the point of no return. The contents of my stomach were about to come up, and now it was simply a race to keep it down long enough to make it to the side of the boat.

  I scrambled up over the lounger, stumbling blindly toward the corded railing that skirted the perimeter of the deck. It was extra hard because the boat was turning and pitching so sharply I practically had to climb.

  It leveled off just as I reached the side.

  “Sophia!”

  Macalister’s horrified yell yanked my attention to him. I didn’t understand what was wrong or why he looked so terrified, but seeing him like that made my heart stop.

  It meant I didn’t notice the boom as it swung across the ship until it was too late to get out of its way. The heavy pole that jutted out from the mast slammed into my shoulder, the force of it sending stars of pain through my body and knocking me off my feet.

  I didn’t scream as I fell. My voice was too stolen by surprise, so I was silent as I tumbled headfirst over the side and plunged deep into the darkness of the Atlantic.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  MACALISTER

  Awareness scuttled over my skin like an army of insects. I didn’t believe in premonitions, but the sensation of danger descended on me so rapidly, I couldn’t ignore it. I’d asked Captain Ridley to turn us back to port, but it meant we were making a run downwind. The ship heeled over nearly forty-five degrees unexpectedly, veering us off course.

  It was the perfect setup for an accidental gybe—one of the most dangerous events to take place while sailing. If the wind hit the mainsail, it’d caused the boom to swing from one side of the boat to the other. The violent crash of it could rip straps, tear the sail, and damage the mast.

  Or it could sweep someone clean off the deck.

  The cockpit was lower than the midship and back aft so there was more than enough clearance for me and the captain, but as the wind shifted and began to fill the mainsail, Sophia abruptly stood. My reaction was slowed by fear as she moved directly into the path of danger.

  “Sophia!”

  She turned to look at me exactly when the boom came at her like a missile.

  Ice froze in my blood as it slammed into her body, knocking her over so quickly, one moment she was there and the next she was gone. The splash of her in the water was the same as if it’d been thrown in my face, spurring me into action.

  “Man overboard!” I yelled, loud enough for Hilde to hear below deck, and I dashed to the stern, scouring the water for Sophia. The ship was moving at a fast clip, currently sailing away from her, and with the rolling sea, it’d make it difficult to spot her.

  I’d approved her black dress this morning because I foolishly liked how low the neckline was, and she’d pulled on a black cardigan to combat the autumn wind. Her clothes made her blend in with the water, and her blonde hair wasn’t nearly as bright when it was wet. My heart beat furiously, and it intensified every second as I scanned the ocean and couldn’t find her.

  Fuck! Where are you?

  Ridley was dropping the sails, powering up the engine, and trying to turn, all while shouting things at me, but his commands fell uselessly at my feet.

  No.

  I caught a flash of her floating in the distance, unmoving, and that was all I needed to see. I tore open a compartment, plunged a hand inside, and fisted an orange life preserver. Then it was three steps to the edge before I dove off the side.

  The water smacked my face, and the briny, acrid taste of the ocean invaded my sinuses, but it was the chill of the water that grabbed me the most. It prickled and stabbed, and once I was submerged, my sweater became a heavy opponent, fighting to pull me down. But I looped an arm through the preserver and began to swim for her.

  “Goddamnit,” Ridley yelled after me, pissed that now he had two men overboard to contend with, but we could discuss this later once Sophia was safely back onboard.

  As I swam, I pushed all thoughts from my mind except the singular goal of reaching her as quickly as possible. My pantlegs tangled and impeded as I kicked, but I pushed through, letting my strong body power me forward.

  “Sophia,” I cried as I spotted her over the crest of a wave.

  She was facedown.

  True horror flooded every cell that composed my body. I launched forward, latching a hand on her arm, and dragged her toward me.

  “No,” I said, turning her over and slinging back a lock of her hair out of her face. Her eyes were shut, and I leaned into her, trying to gauge if she was breathing . . .

  But I heard nothing from her.

  Only the sloshing of the water around us as we bobbed in the churning waves.

  “Fucking, no,” I ordered her, as if she could listen and obey.

  The water was frigid, my sopping clothes exhausting, and it felt like the entire fucking world was against me as I struggled to get the bright orange life vest around her. The motor of the boat growled as it approached and then cut off before reaching us, so there was no danger of being struck by the propeller.

  As soon as I finished buckling the strap around her waist and cinched it tight, there came the hum of the hydraulics as the swim platform lowered. I coughed to clear the saltwater from my lungs, clenched a hand around the strap at the top of her life preserver, and swam for the back of the yacht with Sophia in tow.

  Hilde knelt on the platform, opened the compartment that housed the ladder, and swung it out, the end of it splashing down into the water and the handrails popping up to lock in place. The boat was riding the waves, and seawater sloshed over the swim deck, soaking Hilde’s knees. I was now faced with the realization I was going to have to board the boat while it rocked and careened wildly. It’d be difficult under normal circumstances, but I was weighed down with drenched clothes and had an unconscious person to hold on to.

  “I don’t think she’s breathing,” I said to Hilde, refusing to acknowledge the meaning of my words.
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br />   “Captain,” she shouted over her shoulder. We’d need all hands to help pull Sophia onboard.

  Ridley hurried down the stairs, bracing one hand on the ladder handrail, and staggered his feet for stability as he reached down and grabbed the shoulder of the life vest. I pushed from beneath as best I could, and as he began to drag her from the water, Hilde was there to help him.

  Sophia was hauled onto the deck and laid face-up, and as I latched a hand on the ladder and began to heave myself up, Hilde leaned over Sofia and put her ear to her mouth, while watching for signs that her chest was moving.

  But it wasn’t.

  My bare feet slapped onto the platform, and when my shadow fell across Sofia, her lips taking on an unnatural blueish hue, Hilde looked up at me stricken with fear.

  The word was in my voice, but it was so absolute, I barely recognized it. “Move.”

  Ridley bound up the stairs, hurrying to get to the helm and restart the engine while Hilde scurried out of my way and pulled up the ladder. I dropped hard to my knees at Sophia’s side, dripping on her as I jerked open the life vest blocking me from what needed to be done. I put the heel of my palm at the center of her chest, crossed my other hand on top, and locked my arms in preparation.

  “Thirty compressions, two breaths,” I said, looking for confirmation.

  Hilde nodded urgently. “Yes, sir.”

  It’d been years since I’d had CPR training, and never seen it performed when it mattered, but I had a sharp mind and an excellent memory. I could do this, and it would work, because the alternative was incomprehensible.

  I pushed hard, counting my rapid compressions under my breath and watched Sophia’s body move beneath the deliberate thrusts of my hands. Saltwater ran into my eyes, stinging and burning, but I blinked, trying to alleviate the worst of it. My hands were forcing her heart to keep pumping blood, and the oxygen it carried with it, through her body and to her brain. I wasn’t about to stop so I could wipe my eyes.

  . . . twenty-eight . . . twenty-nine . . . thirty.

  I tilted her head back to open her airway, pinched her nose, and lowered my mouth to cover hers. Her lips were cold as I forced air in. One breath—and another—and I sat back on my heels, struggling to catch my own.

  “No, Sophia,” I shouted.

  This time when I started the compressions, I leaned into them. I put the full force of my upper body into the sharp movements, jolting her shoulders on each stroke. I could feel a crunch beneath my palm, and the sound it made was audible, ripping through me like a gunshot.

  “Don’t stop,” Hilde barked.

  For once, it didn’t bother me to take an order from someone else.

  I resumed what I had to do, blocking out the idea of the physical damage I was inflicting on this beautiful girl who’d said she was in love with me.

  The thirtieth compression done, I pinched her nose and once again sealed my mouth over hers.

  I’d been alone when I’d discovered Julia in the forest, her head bloody and awkwardly resting against a tree stump while her horse aimlessly grazed nearby. My wife had been breathing at the time, and those shallow breaths were what held back my desire to move her until the ambulance arrived. I’d worried about her spine, not knowing it was already too late. The bleed inside her skull would only build in pressure as time advanced, and three days later I was a widower and my sons were motherless.

  And I’d been alone when I’d found Marist crawling up the stairs in her green dress, nearly too weak from the poison inside her to tell me she was dying.

  Twice in my life, I’d been utterly powerless.

  I did not have the strength to bear it a third time.

  “Fucking unacceptable,” I bellowed, loud enough for the world to hear me.

  Failure wasn’t a word I allowed in my vocabulary, and until this moment, neither was desperation. But I would take that word gladly now and let it have me, if I could avoid the first one. I heaved my hands against Sophia’s chest, pushing her physically and pleading mentally to not let this be the end. There were plans I’d laid and things I did not want left unspoken between us.

  The exertion of it took its toll.

  The cold wind swept over my soaked skin, making me shiver, and my chest burned with fatigue, forcing my eyes to water. Or perhaps those were tears trying to form in the corners of my eyes, but it’d been two decades since I’d last experienced it, and the sensation was unfamiliar.

  “Wait!” Hilde threw an arm across my chest, bringing me to a halt.

  Sophia’s lips parted, and her quiet, strangled attempt for breath sent a wave of emotion crashing into me that was so powerful, I let out a cry of relief.

  Hilde shoved her hands under Sofia’s drenched body, trying to turn her. “Get her on her side.”

  We rolled her carefully away from us into the recovery position.

  “You’re okay,” Hilde said over the steady drum of the engine, rubbing her palm in soothing circles on Sophia’s back, while I simply knelt there, my hand gripping Sofia’s shoulder. I couldn’t make myself let go.

  She coughed, and then retched with a pitiful sound, seawater expelling from her over the side of the boat. I’d told her I didn’t want her to throw up on my yacht, yet now I was grateful for it. It meant she was alive.

  “Oh, God,” she croaked, lifting a shaky hand to wipe her mouth.

  I exhaled loudly at her voice and squeezed her arm, saying it for my benefit as much as hers. “Sophia, it’s all right.”

  She tried to sit up, but instead I shifted her into my arms and pressed my lips to her forehead. The whimper she gave tore me into shreds.

  I went still. “Where are you hurt?”

  Her throat was undoubtably raw from the ordeal, so it was hard to hear her gravelly voice. “It hurts everywhere.”

  The swells were big, and we were going fast enough to put air under the bow, and as it came crashing down, the three of us jostled on the platform. We couldn’t stay here. Hilde had the same thought, and we exchanged a look.

  “I can carry her,” I announced.

  It was a bitter knife sliding through me as I collected Sophia in my arms and stood, making her moan with pain. Her wet, black dress was molded to her body, and damp clumps of her hair flew erratically in the wind as I mounted the steps, struggling to get us both to the lounge area just beyond the cockpit.

  I sat with her in my lap, her shivering in my arms, which likely didn’t provide much warmth, but there was nowhere else I would allow her to be. Her head rested against my collarbone, and I held her as tightly as I could without causing additional pain. Hilde retrieved blankets from storage and cast them around my shoulders, pulling them around us to help block the wind.

  Sophia’s cold fingers crept up to my collar, and her fingertips rested against the side of my neck, like she desired a connection with me where nothing stood between us, and I closed my eyes as I endured the intense relief it brought on.

  “I’m sorry,” she started.

  “No.” There was no reason for her to apologize. She’d done nothing wrong.

  But she continued. “I ruined our day.”

  I inhaled sharply. I was overwhelmed, unable to take any more, and so it burst from my lips as an urgent plea. “Stop talking.”

  She flinched, and I clenched my jaw. It was a response to protect my emotions, but I didn’t mean it how it had sounded.

  “Please,” my voice was grave, “just let me hold you and listen to the sound of you breathing.”

  Her hand curled around my collar, her knuckles against my skin. It allowed her to hold on to me without breaking our connection.

  She didn’t speak again.

  Not even when the marina came into view with an ambulance parked at the end of the dock.

  TWENTY-SIX

  MACALISTER

  Port Cove Hospital’s emergency room wasn’t busy, but the few people seated in the chairs in the waiting area watched me more
than the television playing nearby. Their thoughts were loud on their faces.

  What is Macalister Hale doing here, and why is he wearing hospital scrubs?

  One of the nurses had given them to me to stop my shivering. I preferred the cold, but even I had my limits, and the chill of the water wouldn’t leave my bones. Or perhaps it was the memory of Sophia splayed out on my yacht’s deck, looking very dead, and the realization that it was entirely my fault.

  It hurts everywhere, she’d said.

  I felt that now.

  The EMT in the ambulance had tried to reassure me as we’d raced toward the hospital that what I’d done was right.

  “Sometimes that cracking sound,” he’d said to me, “is the cartilage around the sternum separating. It doesn’t necessarily mean you broke anything.” When it was clear I wasn’t convinced, he added, “Remember, better to wake up with a cracked sternum or broken ribs than not wake up at all.”

  I leaned back in the uncomfortable hospital chair, letting my head rest against the wall. I didn’t care what anyone else thought for once, or this disheveled state they were seeing me in. All my energy was depleted, my emotions wrecked, and I shut my eyes to rest for a long moment.

  “Dad.”

  I jerked upright at the hand on my shoulder, and once my son came into focus, he stepped back and straightened. Vance was the last person I expected to see.

  There was a bag slung over a shoulder, and he pulled the strap off, holding it out to me. “Change of clothes.”

  I stood and took it from him. “What are you doing here?”

  “Lucas called and told me what happened.” He meant Ridley. I’d forgotten they’d been friends in high school. My son paused, and quiet worry filled his voice. “Is she all right?”

  Shame burned through me. “I was waiting for an update, but I’m not sure how long I’ve been out. She was conscious and talking in the ambulance.”

  Vance ticked his head. “Interesting. You didn’t think I was asking about the Checkmate.”