Over the Falls (Ryder Bay Book 1)

by Jordan Ford

  The idea burns, but not as much as Griffin’s worried expression. “I think she might be in trouble.”

  “What?” My heart does a painful squeeze, then starts drumming out of control, fear burning the edges of my brain.

  “I saw her drinking with that guy Axel, and then she jumped into his truck with all his friends and they took off.” Griffin hisses and shakes his head. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m reading it wrong, but I just got a bad feeling in my gut. If I’d been able to get to my truck fast enough, I would have followed them. But…” He sighs. “I don’t suppose you have any idea where they might have taken her?”

  “Shit.” Panic sets in, thick and fast. After my encounter with those jerks at Hatchet Cove, all my imagination can conjure is ugly ways of them hurting Harley. Without a word, I sprint to my car, nearly tripping as I jump off the sidewalk and land against the door.

  “Where are you going?” Savannah chases after me.

  “I think I know where they might have taken her. At least I hope I do.” I wrench my door open and am just starting the engine when Savannah jumps in next to me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “What? No you’re not. It could be dangerous.”

  “Then you’re going to need all the help you can get,” she retorts.

  “I agree.” Griffin leans down to speak through my car window, then gives Savannah a little smile. “I’ll jump in the back.”

  “Okay.” She seems excited by this little adventure, but she’s freaking crazy.

  She doesn’t even know Axel or any of his crew.

  And what the hell is Griffin doing? I don’t even know this guy!

  He plunks into the back seat while Savannah snaps the passenger seat back into place and slams the door shut. “Let’s go.”

  I seriously don’t have time for this shit.

  With a dubious scoff, I reverse out of the lot and start figuring out how I can ditch Savannah at the entrance to Hatchet Cove.

  Shit, what are those guys doing to Harley?

  Fear roils through me as I accelerate out of the parking lot and head south.

  Maybe having Griffin with me isn’t a completely terrible idea. I may not know the guy, but I trust him more than I trust those surfers. I think I trust anyone more than I trust those guys.

  If they’ve hurt Harley, I’m gonna kill them.

  I grip the wheel, trying to dodge the pain of knowing this is partly my fault. If I hadn’t let Savannah kiss me, Harley wouldn’t have seen. She’d still trust me, be on her way to becoming my girlfriend. I wouldn’t be hauling ass out of Ryder Bay to reach her, because she’d be sitting where Savannah is, not hanging out with a bunch of assholes who are doing who knows what with her.

  48

  A Really Bad Idea

  HARLEY

  Of course no one’s helping me.

  With my jelly fingers and octopus limbs, it takes me five tries before I finally win over the bungy ties holding the surfboards against the side of Axel’s truck.

  Task one: done.

  Now I have to get the board out of the truck and into the water.

  I can do this.

  I jump—more like kind of fall—out of the truck, and have to take three fumbling steps before the world stops moving. Giggles continue to rumble in my belly. Spinning back to the truck, I grab the end of the board and pull it out.

  It’s so much heavier than usual—I don’t understand why—but finally manage to secure it under my arm and start walking for the shore.

  The guys are all laughing and pointing at me now.

  I flip them the bird and trip over in the sand, landing on my knees.

  This only makes them laugh harder. They topple against each other, obviously enjoying the show.

  With a humph, I stand up and forget about carrying the board. Flipping it over, I just drag it across the sand until I reach the shoreline.

  The water tickles my feet and I feel instantly better. Its cold touch is a welcome home. With a sloppy smile, I flop to my butt and wrestle the lead out from under the board. It takes a couple of tries, but I finally get it free. Wrapping it around my ankle, I secure it firmly.

  “Never surf without your lead attached.” I murmur the words that have been drummed into me.

  By “that guy.”

  A heavy rock forms in my gut and tears threaten to overwhelm me.

  I clench my jaw, warding off the memories, and force my body up.

  My jean shorts are sticking to my butt cheeks and I probably have two big wet patches. Maybe that’s why the guys are laughing so hard.

  Ignoring them, I drag the board into the water, until it starts to float on its own. And then I jump on and start paddling.

  Wow. It’s harder than I remember.

  The water feels thicker tonight, like I’m trying to paddle through chowder. I grunt and push a little harder, my tentacles complaining at the workout. A wave rolls in the farther I get out and I brace for a duck dive but screw it up. My board ends up tipping and I get swallowed by the wave, churning in its power until I can kick my way to the top.

  Spluttering against the salty sting in my throat, I gulp in some air and rest my arms against the board. Another wave is rolling in, and I quickly dip below the surface before it can attack me.

  Popping back up, I feel my senses struggling to align. It’s like they want to switch on, alert and ready for action, but this thick fog is getting in the way. Goose bumps rise over my skin as the cold water sends spikes of awareness through the cloud cover.

  With a grunt, I struggle back onto my board. I should probably turn back for the shore.

  But I don’t want to be on the sand with those guys.

  I want to be here.

  Riding these waves.

  Liberated from the pain of the past. The things that haunt me. The people who have let me down. I want to eradicate the ache in my chest. The new burn that Aidan inflicted.

  The water can heal it.

  Cool it.

  Paddling farther out, I see a new set building in the dim light. Darkness is nearly complete, hindering my view, but the moon is a pale spotlight and I can sense the energy in the water.

  Closing my eyes, I listen to the faint roar as the wave begins to mount in front of me.

  This is it.

  Riding time.

  With a sleepy grin, I wrestle my board in the right direction and wait for it. Wait for it.

  As the wave rises beneath me, I force my arms to paddle. Order my body to do what is automatic.

  And just as I rise to my feet, a thought hits me sharp and clear.

  Harley, this is a really bad idea.

  49

  Drunken Disorder at the Cove

  AIDAN

  By the time we reach the turn off to the cove, my muscles are wound so tight, my brain so consumed by worry, that I totally forget about kicking Savannah out of the car.

  It’s not until I reach the end of the road and spot the bonfire in the sand, hear the drunken laughter, that I remember she’s with me.

  “Stay in the car,” I bark as my car skids to a stop beside Axel’s truck. I shoulder the door open, fired up and maybe just a touch scared. These guys could pummel me where I stand, but not until I’ve made sure Harley is safe.

  “Hey!” someone shouts at me. I can’t see who it is in the fading light. “Get the fuck out of here!”

  I ignore the warning and race around the truck, grabbing the first guy who tries to stop me and roughly demanding, “Where is she?”

  The guy snickers, spurting his putrid breath all over me. He’s so drunk that when I shove him back, he crumples to the ground with a stupid laugh.

  “Axel!” I roar, about to race over to the guy when the asshole who messed up my car appears on my left.

  His fist is poised and ready to deliver a blow. I duck, ready to defend myself, but I don’t have to bother because Griffin is right behind me, capturing the guy’s fist and pu
shing it back. I glance over my shoulder in surprise, my eyebrows rising as I see the heated warning on Griffin’s face.

  Turns out Mr. Dreadlocks can look scary as hell when he wants to.

  I duck around Ripper, leaving Griffin to keep him in check, and run to Axel’s side.

  For some reason he’s staring out at the water. He looks a little unsteady on his feet, but he’s not laughing. His arms are crossed and he’s frowning at the waves.

  And that’s when I know.

  She’s in the water.

  I run up to Axel’s side, scanning the dark waves for any sign of Harley.

  There she is! My heart lurches out to her, fear catapulting up my throat when I spot the blonde, murky flash teetering back and forth on the board.

  “She’s drunk!”

  It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out. The smell of alcohol is ripe in the air.

  “You let her in the water?” I shout, grabbing Axel’s shirt and wanting to demolish the guy.

  He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even look at me. All he can do is stare at my surfer girl, his face etched with fear.

  I glance back to the water as the wave takes control of the rider, powerfully surging over her and toppling the board sideways.

  The wipeout is a nasty one, and I don’t even hesitate.

  Ripping off my shoes, I sprint into the Pacific, begging my body to be the champion it used to be.

  Harley’s head hasn’t popped into view. She’s still below the water, no doubt fighting the washing machine as the waves topple over each other.

  Diving into the salty spray, I start my crawl. I’ve never wanted to swim faster in my entire life. Even rescuing Skylar the night before didn’t feel as desperate as this.

  I didn’t know who was in the water then.

  But I do this time.

  And I have to reach her before she never surfaces again.

  50

  Tasting Death

  HARLEY

  My lungs burn as I scrape the water, trying to propel myself to the surface. My jelly legs have no power, and it takes way too long for my head to breach the surface.

  As soon as it does, a second wave is over me, crashing into my face and forcing me below the surface again.

  Something heavy is dragging on my right ankle. My fuzzy head can’t figure it out, and as I fight the churning water, I try to kick it off. But it won’t leave me. It’s tugging, pulling, making it hard to fight.

  The water, usually so friendly, has turned into my enemy as I grapple to figure out which way is up.

  Air.

  I need air.

  And I can’t reach it.

  The realization that I could drown hits me like a brick to the back of the head. My flailing arms falter as a circle of clarity grows in my brain.

  I’m alone.

  Helpless.

  No one is going to rescue me, because I have pushed everyone away. In an attempt to protect myself, I’ve made myself vulnerable. Isolated.

  I have no friends.

  I open my eyes in the salty blackness. Fear laughs in my face, mocking me.

  This is it, Harley. You’ve dug your own grave.

  Now drown in it.

  My lungs are screaming, begging me to open my mouth and take in air. As my floppy limbs lose power, I tip my head back and let my lips ooze apart. I have to release the pressure inside of me. I have to breathe.

  And then a blur appears.

  I flinch.

  Shark!

  It’s my first thought and I flail, trying to get away from it. I open my mouth to scream, air bubbles spewing forth like foam in the water.

  It grabs me. Yanking hard.

  It’s taking my arm!

  I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die!

  But I’m not.

  As a solid arm encircles my waist, propelling me to the surface, I realize that I haven’t been robbed of a limb. I’m not in pain. I’m not going to die.

  I’m being saved by some kind of guardian angel.

  When we breach the surface, the air hits me like a slap to the face and I start sucking oxygen in big gasping breaths.

  “I’ve got you.” The strong arm pulls me close. “I’ve got you.” He’s repeating the words over and over like he needs them for life support.

  Aidan.

  He’s here.

  Clinging to his shoulders, I let him support my full weight as he rests his other arm on the board.

  He came for me.

  I’m alive because he’s here.

  I blink at that reality, my body too shocked to laugh or cry or do anything other than hold tight to something more than water.

  Something more than just me.

  51

  Worlds Change

  AIDAN

  I use the surfboard to help get us back in, gripping tight to the side while holding Harley against me and riding the waves back into shore. They take us there easily, and as soon as I feel sand beneath my feet, I let the board go.

  Harley’s body is acting like seaweed, flopping against me as I wrestle her ankle strap off.

  “Harley.” I shake her, worried that she’s suddenly blacked out on me.

  “I’m fine,” she mumbles.

  “Bullshit,” I mutter, flinging the lead aside and then scooping her into my arms when her knees buckle after only one step.

  She feels so lightweight and fragile, her head knocking against my shoulder as I carry her past Axel and his drunken buddies. I glare in their direction, a growl rising in my throat when one of them makes a move to block me.

  “Back off!” Axel barks.

  The guy stumbles back and sways a little on his feet but doesn’t take his laser-beam glare off me. I focus on my car and getting Harley into it as quickly as I can.

  Griffin is waiting for me, his arms crossed as he guards Savannah, who totally ignored my order and got out of the car anyway.

  I want to tell her off. Shout at her.

  Anger is raging through me. Or maybe it’s just fear.

  Harley—the super-strong, tough surfer chick—is cradled against my chest, weak and barely lucid.

  I could have lost her tonight.

  The thought is an actual pain in my gut.

  As I approach the car, Griffin leads Savannah into the back seat and I carefully set Harley down, buckling her up in spite of her slurred protests.

  “You can’t do it,” I snap. “Let me help you.”

  Her hand slips off my arm, thumping onto her lap as her breath tickles my face.

  Surfing while drunk. When she’s better, we’re having serious words about that.

  I was racing to Hatchet Cove because I thought she was being held there against her will. I was expecting to drive up and rescue her from drunken idiots who were messing with her.

  I didn’t think she’d be stupid enough to get drunk and go surfing.

  Anger and fear churn together, creating a storm in my chest that is taking too long to ease.

  “Let’s go to the hospital so you can get checked out.” I reverse the car in the sand, my wheels spinning as I floor it to get out of Hatchet Cove as quickly as possible.

  “No.” Harley smacks my arm with the back of her hand. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine!” I retort, my voice cracking. “You nearly drowned!”

  She blinks, her head popping off the back of the seat like she’s suddenly sober. Her swallow is thick and audible as we bump along the unpaved road. And then she sniffs. Just a quiet one, but it sounds like she’s about to cry.

  I wince, not sure I can cope with her falling apart on me. I’m barely holding it together. One little whimper from her will undo me completely.

  Softening my voice, I glance at her. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I am,” she whispers. “I don’t need to go to the hospital. I just want bed. My bed. Please.” Her voice starts to break apart and wobble.

  How can I argue with that?

  She’s brea
thing, not injured. She’s just drunk and probably feels like shit right now.

  Bed is probably the best place for her.

  We reach the main road and I turn towards Ryder Bay, watching my speed and making sure Harley gets home in one piece.

  The drive back is quiet and awkward.

  Savannah and Griffin are squished together in the back, not saying anything.

  Harley rests her head against the glass and stares out into the night.

  I don’t know what to say to her. How to make this better.

  I think I’m in a little shock myself. As the adrenaline drains out of me, I’m swamped by a tired sadness that I can’t even explain.

  Pulling onto her street, I thankfully remember which house is hers and stop outside the carport.

  Harley fumbles with the door handle as I unbuckle my seat belt.

  She says she’s fine, but she’s not. She’s too drunk to even open a door.

  I run around to the passenger side and ease it open, catching her as she flops against my legs.

  “Come on.” I help her out of the car.

  She groans and leans against me. “I feel sick.”

  “I bet you do,” I murmur.

  I’ve never been drunk enough to puke before, but I’ve been drunk enough to remember how hideous the nausea can be. If Harley was drinking straight from those bottles, she wouldn’t have needed much to intoxicate her small body.

  I’m guiding her towards the front door when her body jerks and she suddenly starts heaving. With a soft yelp, I direct her to the uncut weeds alongside the house and stop her from toppling over while she pukes. Wrapping my arm around her side, I hold her up and scoop the hair over her shoulder before she gets sick all through it. The vomit splashes onto the side of the house, reeking of recklessness and regret.

  “It’ll make her feel better,” Griffin calls out to me.

  I glance over my shoulder. He’s leaning against my car with his arms and feet crossed, looking way too relaxed for what tonight has been.