“Demand, huh?”
Dex breathes into my ear, “Yes, demand, since you like when I bring out the best in you. You’re going to be my girlfriend,” he says, pulling back to undress me with his eyes, “because I want everyone to know you’re my girl.”
How does he know that’s exactly what I was thinking? A day, years—it feels like yesterday and forever that we’ve been like this and my days crushing on him just a silly memory. He remembers how I hate when people cheat by asking questions instead of learning about what that person wants. And he’s absolutely right. More than half my family is gone and Dex has been my strength and tears and laughter and love too. I want everyone to know he’s mine.
He waits for my response, which I make my “yes” clear by pushing his shoulders back and straddling him, tucking my feet under his calves. After, I remember to nod my answer.
I can’t kiss him like this. His eyes tell me the same thing, filled with a yearning so strong, it fires up my heart into my throat. I stare at him, and realize in this moment that…
“Dex,” I say, gulping. Just say it! “I, um, I l—”
“Heeelp!” A voice screams from below.
It’s from our side of the boat. Dex and I stick out our heads out the window, to see little Adam disappear under the surface of the river, the inflatable once on either arm shot out to either side of him. “Adam!” Tahny shouts.
In the split second I assess the water below, Tahny’s ear is stuck to her shoulder as if something is stuck—an earring? An adult-sized inflatable ring is a body length from her. No one else is in view. I don’t have time to look at Dex.
I bend through the window and slip outside, letting the air take me. Water is my love and my fear. I am my fullest self in water, and I am also at my most terrified of letting people down.
As I fall, a thousand thoughts cross my mind. I’m seeing my student who almost drowned swim freestyle without aids. I see my dad cheer me on from the stands, a dot in the crowd, my name bursting from his lips. I see Darcy swimming laps of our pool at home. I see Dexter almost falling into a coma at the bottom of my pool.
The trees in the distance are perfectly lined, all standing in zigzagging patterns near the edge, where the muddy water meets the earth. The sky is a brilliant blue today, topping off the stunning scenery.
Then I hit the water and sink deep, the cold river a shock after the warmth of Dex’s arms, and pop back up to the surface. In my peripheral vision, I see a small figure plunge from the deck of the houseboat and shout for Darcy to get Tahny without looking his way. It’s his linguini arms, his gangly legs and the particular way he handles the water that tell me it’s him. He’s too far from Adam, and I’m too far from Tahny.
Adam’s fingertips dip under the surface, his neon bathing suit my guide as he flails under the water, sinking.
I dive under, kicking my legs above me to thrust deeper and swoop my arms. I catch him by an armpit. Pulling him up, I cradle him and thrust him above the water. Thankfully, he coughs right away, spitting out water.
I hold him to my chest with one arm and kick my legs out, propelling us back, using my other arm to paddle us. Except Tahny is now a shadow under the water because Darcy hasn’t reached her yet. Her arms flap frantically above the surface. In survival mode, I go for her too. Hoisting Adam in a one-hand cradle above the water by the cuff of his bathing suit, I try to keep his head above the surface. With my other arm, I reach below me, but Tahny’s shoulder slips out of my grip like an ice cube. I manage to hook my toe under her armpit so I can pull her back up.
Tahny is in full-on panic mode, shouting in every direction for her son, but I easily block out her hysterics as I lug her under my arm—over her shoulder to under her other armpit—and with Adam in my other hand. I’ve practiced this for my training before but I’d always failed trying to drag two people. Having Adam is easier since he’s little but…
I suddenly realize I. Don’t. Feel. A. Thing. I didn’t let myself think or panic. I just did. And look what I’m doing.
I concentrate on continuing to frog kick, bringing us back slow and steady. The boat seems to come too quickly. It’s only when hands reach for Adam that I realize I’m not there yet. I let Darcy take Adam from my arms.
“Like this,” I say, my voice hoarse.
Darcy understands and holds him the same way I have Tahny.
Several feet from the boat, a soaking Dex is hauling up Mick, who comes out of the river coughing up water. In the rush, I didn’t notice Mick in the water. Dex had gone in to get him while I was after Tahny and Adam.
Lisa reaches down to take Adam from Darcy, bundling him in her arms before she takes him over to a lounge chair to examine him. Tahny frantically climbs up onto the boat, darting over to her mother and son. I make sure Darcy gets out before me, so I can see exactly where he is. Then I grab the inflatable rings from Tahny and Adam and bring them in, too.
As I grab on to the railing to pull myself up, an arm catches me and Dex lifts me clean out of the water by my waist, landing me on my feet. We exchange a smile. Then I spot my little brother drying off with a towel.
“Darcy!” I cry, running and wrapping myself around him.
I kiss his forehead then pull back to study his face, to take him in. He looks fine—wet, but otherwise no different than usual. Somehow, I expected a flashing warning sign somewhere in his expression or written on his body.
“Charlee, you saved him!” Darcy shouts. He whoops into the air. “You saved Adam!”
“Darce,” I say, stroking his cheeks. My voice chokes up, which I hate myself for because I really need to say how proud I am of him. I settle for a heavy feeling in my throat and a raspy, “Thanks”.
Darcy tells me how Tahny and Adam went in for a swim, when Tahny slipped from her ring, her earring getting tangled between her hair and bathing suit. It was then that Adam toppled over, lost his inflatables.
“You got there so quick. You were amazing, Charlee!”
“I’m so proud of you, too, Darcy. Not just because you saved Adam’s life, but for everything—being such an adult and the one to help me when Dad was sick. I love you so much.”
Once everyone is dried and dressed we settle back inside, Lisa telling us Adam swallowed a mouthful, which he coughed back up immediately. And that apart from a bit of shock, he’s fine. Tahny takes the next few hours to calm back down, and even when the sky begins to darken, she still hasn’t stopped shaking.
Lisa recruits Tahny and Dex to help with making salads and steak for dinner. Darcy has the sole responsibility of looking after Adam while he plays around with his toys.
“Charlee,” Mick calls from the back of the houseboat. He’s standing on the mesh section, the water below nothing but black now that the sun is almost gone for the day. The remaining light spills over him, his smile beckoning me.
I join him outside, wrapping my sweater tightly over my chest.
“Thank you,” he says.
“Mr. Hollingworth, it was nothing. I did what anyone would have done.”
“I jumped in, knowing full well I was hopeless. I sank about a second after I hit that water, and all I could think was that I was going to be gone too, and I’d have so much mess and all your lives ruined if I drowned and didn’t save my grandson. Thank God for what Dex did for me, and what you did, saving my child and grandchild. That Darcy is incredible for helping save my baby boy.” He clears his throat. “That little brother of yours is some swimmer.”
“I know,” I say, stealing a glance behind me, where Darcy is on his belly, making funny faces for a giggling Adam. “He’ll do so much better than I ever did some day.”
“I want to speak to you about something,” Mick says, his voice low. “Your father would have said the only bad thing about life is not living it.” He clenches and unclenches his fingers on the railing and looks down at the “V” of gold spilled over the black water, where the lights from our houseboat spill luminescence around us.
Mick f
aces me, says, “You can be sure Walter will always be with you. He makes me want to show my children how much I love them, just as how he loves you kids.” Then Mick’s sunken look pricks up. “I didn’t know Dexter and you were together, but if nothing else works out since the Mason’s accident and Walter’s passing but you guys, I reckon I could die a peaceful man seeing our families together again. Your parents were incredible friends who loved me unconditionally and I see that quality in you. It’s an honor to have you with us.”
At that I blush and Mick’s face darkens slightly, the air feels stiff and neither of us can say another word. Inside, Darcy is now sitting at the table, stirring something in a bowl next to a plate of marinated steak and a bowl of garden salad.
Lisa is lounging on the couch, where Mick joins her, and the look on her face is similar to that as if she’d seen a ghost, but it’s just her husband finally joining her. At his touch she smiles.
Tahny is cuddling Adam, cooing sweet tunes to him, the toddler snuggled close in his mother’s arms.
Dex is waiting for me in the middle of the room, eyeing me with his dark fringe flopped over one side of his forehead.
“Girlfriend,” he greets me.
“Boyfriend.”
He slips his arms around me, dropping his hands to my lower back and nudges me to him, joining us at the hips. Our foreheads meet and looking into each other’s eyes, we share whispered words breathed between our lips.
“I love you.”
<<< >>>
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Acknowledgements
My beta readers, my first readers, my beautifuls. Namely, Beth Horwood, Emily Mah Tippetts, and Lauren McKellar.
Beth, you had the manuscript back to me in record time. Very suspicious. But, you were ecstatic about Drowning in You, you were confused at other bits but you loved the story completely. Your confidence and suggestions were both amazing. Thank you for giving your time whenever I needed it and for not getting sick about my manuscript when I kept going on and on.
Emily. I don’t know how to do you justice. Your suggestions turned this story into something so amazing—beyond what I thought I could write. Your killer tips for many sections still blow my mind. Drowning in You has your mark (a good mark).
Lauren! Woman, by the end, when I was all dragging-my-feet-along-the-floor you were the reason I finished. Your hilarious comments highlighted throughout the manuscript and honest-to-God suggestions for the sucky parts were funny and always right. The way I could email you to “Quick! Please! Read this!” goes beyond your writerly friend duties and I appreciate it.
Sarah Hansen from Okay Creations. You gave my manuscript a cover to show off to the world. Thanks for photographer Jacqueline Barkla and models Dan and Yulia for such a beautiful image, which is now a cover I love staring at. Daily.
Tanya Saari, my editor. You took this manuscript and smoothed it over so my awkward phrases weren’t there anymore. I thank you for your fabulous job.
Thank you to everyone who has supported me on this journey including a group of ladies who act suspiciously like my personal fan group. Your big cheers of excitement, your shout outs on social media, and your support in all forms is appreciated.
To my little brother (not so little anymore). I can’t help but see parts of us in Darcy and Charlee. Thank you for caring in ways that continually surprise me.
To my parents for loving me. Dad, you’re my world, and I could not have written about a father who loves his daughter so much if it weren’t for having you in my life.
To Ashley, my boyfriend. I’m loved by you in ways that will last forever.
About the Author
Rebecca Berto is the author of the dark contemporary/literary novella, Precise and the new adult contemporary romance novel, Drowning in You. She is also a freelance editor.
Rebecca writes stories that are a bit sexy, and straddle the line between Literary and Tear Your Heart Out. She gets a thrill when her readers are emotional reading her stories, and gets even more of a kick when they tell her so. She’s strangely imaginative, spends too much time on her computer, and is certifiably crazy when she works on her fiction.
Rebecca Berto lives in Melbourne, Australia with her boyfriend and their doggy.
You can find Rebecca at:
Website/blog, Novel Girl
Facebook profile or page
Twitter
Read an excerpt from Rebecca Berto’s first book:
Precise
(A Novella)
I am kind and beautiful. I have a soul.
It’s better to be known for what I am not. Isn’t that how the saying goes?
Chapter One
Paul pins me on our bed with his knees. He knows I can’t escape him like this. As I look up at his chest, he launches his fingers at my stomach.
Sickness stirs inside me. I’m accustomed to the feeling twisting my insides out, the bitter taste at the back of my mouth. I swallow repeatedly, still squirming, but it’s helpless. I’ll vomit, right here, all over us.
When Paul and I mess around, I’m like we were at sixteen. I laugh from the pit of my belly. And I like sharing part of me with my husband. But I’m going to ruin this moment. I hate myself, like my mom hates me, for this.
Squirming under him, the sunset pierces my eyes, just at the right time of the day. I can’t move up because Paul’s knees are clenched beside my legs. I shut my eyes and shoot a look to our door, which might as well be locked now with how I’m trapped.
He smiles his banana-like grin, so big that at times like this I just want to rip it off his mouth. He’s proud—he thinks he has me tickled to the point of torture.
“Pauly,” I mumble, curling my legs half to the side, my shoulders turned in.
He notices this reaction isn’t normal. Usually, when he traps me like this and pleasures from my pained reaction I’d call him names, but I wouldn’t have a pale face, a sour expression or look this desperate for escape. I’m sure that’s exactly what I look like.
“Kates?” he asks, crawling backward down the bed.
I sit up—mistake.
Paul back steps to the carpet, hands frozen on either side of him. His eyes dart around the room. While another hit prematurely makes me heave, Paul searches.
On my desk are the piles of sketches and designs still waiting to be filed away from when I was in school four years earlier. There are trophies surrounding that pile. Ones I won at inter-school competitions where Dad drove an hour to watch me walk to the stage and grab my trophy while Mom always happened to have too big a day at work or her allergies had flared up again, rendering her bedridden. There isn’t much else to my room besides those. I guess it makes me useless because I was only ever good at drawing and I don’t do that anymore.
After another moment, which has only been a couple of seconds despite my drawn-out panic, Paul launches at my cowboy hat hiding under a corner chair and thrusts it under my face.
I dart to the bathroom with the hat sticking under my chin to catch the vomit.
Mom’s afternoon tea sandwiches? They come up in time to thoroughly coat the sink in the bathroom.
Why did I have to throw up? If Mom sees… I should not throw up. It’s disgusting, but more than that, it shows that I don’t respect the trouble Mom’s gone to for me, Dad and Paul.
Maybe it was my fault for playing with Paul. If Mom knew I’d been sick all this time and I still chose to risk ruining her room—not Paul’s and my room, but hers—she’d have me pay for dry cleaning to fix up the carpet and grout in the tiles if I’d marked either even remotely.
Ducking under the sink, I search below. My sickness doesn’t seem to have ruined anything. I breathe, relaxing, but my breath shudders as a reminder to harden myself in case Mom comes in.
A
few days ago, I wasn’t as lucky. I told Mom I was feeling off after being sick but she reminded me of how much pain it’d cause her knees to bend, and that her wrist was sore and any self-respecting daughter would help their Mom. That the least I could do was wash, scrub, rewash and rescrub the counters after my mess. The chemicals set off my stomach. I’d tried to hold it in, but she shoved the sponge and bucket away, forcing me to throw up in my hands.
At least my best friend, Liam, didn’t hate me. In fact, he cleaned it all up last night when I visited and he forced me to rest, claiming he’d been cleaning up after me since we were kids anyway.
Hearing a noise behind me, I say, “Pauly?”
“It’s me, Katie,” Mom confirms. She’s never called me by my nickname ‘Kates’ as everyone else does. I guess it’s too personal for her. Mom’s arms are shoved into each other, the look on her face much the same.
I’d like her to say it’s okay, and ask me if I need some water or to sit down. With my energy spent, it’s hard not to care that my mom seeing me like this causes her more frustration at my hopelessness than anything else.
She grumbles through closed lips. That’s how much I anger her. I’m not even worth a full-on noise of frustration.
I’d like to say Mom storms up to me, but in those stilettos she wears around the house, it’s an unmistakeable strut. At a four-foot radius marker, she hits the invisible wall and screws up her face.
“You look horrible, Katie. You’re just horrible,” Mom says, and struts off, mumbling something about ‘regretting’.
“Hey,” Paul says, when he joins me.
He kisses my forehead. Paul bends down and gazes at me with a soft look. So I flinch. Paul’s more likely to blowfish on my lips—which is a lovely hot mouthful of air blown into my mouth disguised as a kiss—than anything romantic.
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