“Heading north. Three hundred miles.” TheMarinerturned into the current, bow rising toward the horizon we would face together. I closed my eyes and felt Sloane’s heartbeat against mine as the boat carried us forward.
We were free.
Thirty
Sloane
Iwatched Callan lie there on the deck for a moment, his chest rising and falling hard as he fought to catch his breath. Water pooled beneath him, dripping off his clothes and running across the worn wooden planks of theMariner.
For a few seconds none of us spoke, just the boat engine idling and the sound of waves against the hull.
As his breathing started to even out, he dragged a hand across his face and pushed himself up onto his elbows.
The moment he moved, his face twisted, a sharp wince.
“You’re hurt.”
He looked up at me, face tight with pain.
“Broke or sprained my ankle,” he muttered.
“Shit.”
I dropped beside him, my knees hitting the deck hard enough to sting. His pant leg clung heavily and soakedagainst his skin.
“Let me see it.”
He didn’t argue as I pulled the fabric up past his boot, careful. The ankle had already begun to swell, the skin stretched tight and flushed an ugly red.
I pressed gently along the joint.
He hissed through his teeth.
“Yeah… that’s not great.”
“Move it,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow. “Move it?”
“Wiggle it.”
He sighed but rotated his foot slowly; pain crossed his face; but he managed the movement.
I leaned back and studied it, trying to look as if I had any real authority here.
“Probably sprained,” I said, putting on my most clinical voice.
Callan stared at me.
Then he smirked.
“Thanks, Doctor Sloane.”
I rolled my eyes. “Hey, Iama doctor.”
He tilted his head. “Marine biology doesn’t count.”
“It absolutely counts. Just… not in this specific scenario.”