Callan’s focus shifted back to the group. “When I’m close to done, Ethan, you head back here.”
“I’ll start the engine,” Ethan said.
“Exactly. Have her running and ready.”
Jeff picked up the thread. “Tank full, we all run for the boat.”
“And get the hell out,” Ethan said.
“That’s the idea.”
The four of us sat with it, the ocean stretching empty in every direction around us, the coastline a thin, dark line to the west.
Jeff stood first.
“Well,” he said, brushing off his hands. “Sounds like aterrible plan.”
Ethan looked up at him. “So… we’re doing it?”
Jeff nodded once.
Callan’s eyes drifted toward the distant shore.
“It’s the only one we’ve got.”
* * *
Jeff stood at the wheel with one hand on the throttle, guiding the Mariner silently between the outer channel markers. The marina came into view ahead of us, rows of empty slips stretching out in long, narrow lanes.
Beal Marina.
It looked abandoned at first glance, with boats still in their slips, a few sails half unfurled in the wind.
But the stillness had an edge to it, almost too quiet, as if the whole place had stopped breathing.
Ethan stood at the bow railing with one of the gaff hooks in his hands, shifting his grip every few seconds, clearly wishing it were anything else.
Jeff eased the throttle back as he guided us into the marina interior, the engine growling low and ominous in the quiet air, the sound echoing off hulls and dock pilings and coming back to us.
The boat slid forward, barely making a wake as it sliced through the water.
Callan sat beside me on the bench, his injured ankle braced against the deck; he didn’t make a sound.
“You good?” I murmured.
He turned toward me, and his hand came up to my face,thumb tracing along my cheekbone. He leaned in and kissed me, slow and certain, his lips warm against mine, tasting of salt and something deeper—something that made my chest hurt. His other hand found the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, and I leaned into him, my palm pressing against his chest where I could count every beat of his heart beneath.
When we broke apart, neither of us moved far; his breath mingled with mine.
“Come back from this,” I whispered. “That’s all I’m asking—that we come back from this.”
He opened his eyes and looked straight into mine.
“We will.”
Then the mask came back; he straightened.
“Let’s get this done.” His voice resigned.