Changing Tides, page 25
The boat sank.
Rachel shivered, and something scraped her cheek until, finally, she was looking into eyes so stormy-blue, they could only belong to one person.
“Joe?” She blinked as hope warmed a spot in her soul, but then her vision refocused. These eyes were rounder, the skin smoother—youthful. And the knowledge that these were not Joe’s eyes but Brady’s, struck her like a sledgehammer to the heart. Because Joe was lost at sea.
“Brady?” She sobbed.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and nodded. “It’s me. Mom said you were in shock or something. You weren’t answering her.”
“Joe . . .” She moaned like a wounded animal.
“I know.”
“Why?”
Brady wrapped his arms around her to shield her from the cold, and she shuddered from the sudden warmth. “It’ll be okay,” he said, his tone fierce. “I know my uncle.”
It was the kind of fearless hope only reserved for youth, and at that moment, Rachel envied him. The part of him that could ignore logic and cling to faith alone.
“Come on.” Sara appeared seemingly out of nowhere and placed one arm under Rachel’s shoulder, while Brady flanked her other side. “Let’s get you inside.”
Rachel stood on wooden legs, grateful for the support as they slowly ushered her into Sara’s home and to the couch in the living room where Brady sunk down beside her. After excusing herself, Sara returned a minute later with a hot cup of tea.
“Here”—she held it out—“why don’t you drink this. It might warm you up, help you feel better.”
Rachel accepted the mug and stared down at the teabag floating inside, her chest hollow.
“Do you have anything stronger?” Rachel asked.
Desperation clawed at her heart, while a knowing look flashed in Sara’s eyes.
“Yeah. Actually, I could use something stronger too.”
When she returned, she handed Rachel a small tumbler full of clear liquid. “Vodka. It’s all I’ve got,” she said. “I don’t drink much.”
Rachel nodded, then took a sip and fought the urge to wince. It was a cheap liquor that tasted like battery acid. Still, she nursed the drink, allowing it to burn her throat and warm her veins until the fuzziness in her head allowed her to think again.
They sat in silence for a while before Sara’s phone rang again, and she inhaled, explaining, “It’s probably just an update.”
This time, she answered without prompting and pressed the phone to her ear, her grip so tight Rachel thought it might crack.
Seconds slowed to hours as Rachel waited for Sara to finish the call with her heart in her throat.
If something happened to Joe, she’d never forgive herself.
When she hung up, she stared down at her phone. “They haven’t heard anything yet. They have a boat and chopper out looking for them, though they’re not sure with the wind if the chopper will be able to go far or if they’ll have to ground it.”
Rachel swallowed, taking in the pinched brow, the resigned look in her eyes. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
Sarah chewed her lip as she messed with something on her hand. One look and Rachel realized it was a wedding band, and Sara was twisting it around her finger.
“The biggest concern isn’t the strength of the waves, the water, or drowning. It’s the temperature.”
Rachel’s scalp prickled. “How long do they have?
“Pete said fifteen minutes, give or take. Unless they’re wearing their immersion suits.”
“How much more time would that give them?”
“Six hours.”
A whimper escaped the back of her throat like a wounded animal.
Rachel brought the hand holding her glass to her lips, unable to stop her trembling and the liquid from sloshing over the rim.
She rolled her lips, relishing the burn of alcohol, wishing with everything she had it might ease the pit of despair, threatening to consume her.
“So the guys have six hours, at most, and that’s if they’re wearing their suits?” When Sarah nodded, Rachel asked, “How likely is it they have their suits on?”
Sarah exhaled a long breath and shook her head, clearly frustrated. “I don’t know. It depends. Some crews never wear them. Some wear them every time they go out. Some only don them in emergency situations. Every boat is supposed to supply them and have them on board, but a lot of times, because they’re rarely used, they’re not regularly checked, so who knows how many they had and what condition those suits are in.”
“So we’re relying on possibly shoddy suits and a situation in which it’s likely the men had to put them on as the boat was sinking?”
“Yes.”
Rachel’s heart cracked beneath her ribs as she tipped her head back, draining the last of the booze from her glass, then stood, somehow making it over to the window on numb legs.
Staring out into the fading afternoon, she pictured Joe, lost in a turbulent sea, cold and alone with dusk settling in all around him.
Her eyes filled with moisture, blurring the snow into a blanket of white.
She imagined his fear—could practically feel the stinging cold, like a sharp knife in her bones.
Tears slid slowly down her cheeks, and she swiped them away with the back of her hand, angry with herself for crying. Emotion wasn’t something she gave into easily.
A hand touched her shoulder before she felt the presence beside her. “You really love him, don’t you?”
Rachel’s throat thickened, threatening to close entirely. “I do,” she managed.
Sara stared into the distance, her gaze lost in memory. “Losing Jason nearly killed me. If Joe . . .” Sara choked on the words. “I just can’t.” She shook her head. “He was so much more than my brother. I can never repay him, thank him for all that he’s done for us.”
Grief and fear formed a knot inside Rachel’s chest, twisting painfully as she shared a truth of her own. “And he’s the only man I’ve ever loved.” Silently, she reached out and clasped Sara’s hand, feeling her resolve strengthen. “So, I guess we can’t lose him.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
When Rachel woke sometime later, the day had turned to night. Shadows danced across the walls, and she frowned as she took in her surroundings, bleary-eyed from sleep. A dark lump she recognized as Sara slept at her feet while Brady dozed in the recliner across the room, snoring softly. Which is when she remembered with a gut-wrenching clarity where she was and why she was there.
She glanced at the time above the stove and sucked in a breath. Nearly seven hours had passed.
Pushing her hair out of her face, she grabbed the remote from the coffee table in front of her and flicked on the news. They’d watched it for a short time earlier, hoping to hear something. But their nerves were frayed, and they’d heard nothing.
She mindlessly scanned through several channels until she settled on a local news station and rested her head back against the sofa. Common sense told her they would’ve heard something if it was good news. It had been too long, yet she clung to hope.
The mention of a capsized vessel perked her ears, and her head jerked forward. She stared at the television screen with wide, unblinking eyes.
A reporter stood outside a harbor she didn’t recognize, the water a fierce backdrop in the dark.
Rachel’s heart pounded in her chest, an echo to her thoughts and fears as she nudged Sara awake.
She sat up with a groan, then stiffened the moment Rachel pointed, and she saw the reporter on the television screen.
“. . . word of a down ship when the beacon signal from the Dreadnought alerted the Coast Guard they were in distress. Five of the six men aboard the ship have since been recovered in the search, though crews are still searching for the sixth. There is no word on the men’s condition.”
Rachel turned and stared at Sara just as her phone rang. Panicked, Sara snatched it up with shaking hands, then glanced at Rachel, the mutual panic, hope, and fear of the last seven hours drifting between them.
With a nod, Rachel braced herself and said, “Answer it.”
Sara inhaled and did as she was told, pinching the bridge of her nose as she listened while Rachel tried to interpret her expression.
“You don’t know who the four men were?” she asked.
Rachel’s hopes took a nosedive.
“Where can we meet you?” Sara asked. “Dang-it, I’m tired of waiting, Pete. No more. I want to see him,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “I want to see my brother.”
And when she hung up a moment later, she stared at her phone so long, Rachel thought she must’ve forgotten about her when she finally glanced over, looking her square in the eye, and said, “Four of the five men recovered are alive.”
“Which means one is . . . “ Rachel trailed off, unable to say the words out loud.
“One is still missing,” Sara confirmed, “and one is dead.”
The drive to the hospital felt like hours. The Coast Guard recovered the men via chopper, and because of the perilous condition of the four survivors, transported all of them directly to Boston General. It was their only chance for survival.
Rachel still had no idea if Joe was among the men recovered, let alone alive. According to Pete, they were still looking for the sixth man, who they believed to be the captain. The identities of all the men would get sorted at the hospital when the deceased were sent to the morgue for identification. Then next of kin would be notified.
But Rachel and Sara both agreed, they weren’t waiting a minute longer.
When all three of them they arrived at the hospital, they headed to the emergency room, where they were promptly dismissed. The nurses weren’t authorized to tell them anything about the men brought in from the boat wreck, not even their names. If they wanted any information, they could leave their name and contact information, and she’d give them to the doctors assigned to their care. If they had any news, they’d notify them as soon as possible.
So they sat in the waiting room, ready for a long night. Some three hours passed before a doctor in blue scrubs, with a clipped stride, entered the waiting room. A mask hung from his neck, and the lines around his mouth were creased, his eyes weary.
Rachel straightened, preparing herself as he spoke with the nurse at the desk, then turned toward them.
“Miss Hastings?” the doctor asked.
Sara popped up from her seat and reached down, pulling Rachel and Brady alongside her. They squeezed each other’s hands, each a pillar of strength for the other. Something miraculous had happened between that very first phone call until now. Somehow, they’d become a unit of solidarity.
“Yes?” Sara answered.
“About your brother, Joe Hastings.”
Rachel’s throat went dry, while her heart stuttered in her chest. Puffing out her chest, she readied herself for the news, no matter the outcome.
“As you’re aware, he was one of the men brought in tonight. He suffered a good knock to the head, and he’s showing some mild signs of hypothermia. He also took a great deal of water into his lungs in the moments leading to the rescue, but I’m glad to say, he’s going to make it.”
Rachel’s knees threatened to buckle as she heard the good news. A hiss of relief wheezed from her lungs. She gulped at the air as Sara turned to her, with teary eyes, and embraced her.
Releasing her, Sara turned to the doctor and asked the question burning through Rachel’s thoughts. “Can we see him?”
The doctor eyed Rachel. “Only family.”
“Oh, of course.” Sara placed a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “This is his cousin.”
The doctor simply nodded, a smile touching the corner of his lips as he said, “Okay. How about one at a time, then?”
After Sara settled Brady in the waiting room, the doctor led her and Sara down the corridor. The linoleum squeaked under his shoes, and a fluorescent bulb flickered above them. The stringent scent of disinfectant burned Rachel’s nose as they passed a nurse’s station to a hallway of patient rooms.
A beeping sound filled the halls, along with the occasional ringing of a phone.
“You each have ten minutes, then he needs to rest,” the doctor said, his tone firm.
They nodded in unison and waited for him to leave.
“You go first,” they said at the same time and laughed.
“No.” Rachel shook her head. “He’s your brother. Go.” She nodded toward the room. “I’ll wait my turn.”
Sara nodded. “Thank you.”
“Sure thing.”
After Sara disappeared inside, Rachel pressed herself up against the wall for support as the culmination of the last ten hours settled inside her like lead. Truth be told, she needed a moment—to weep for what she almost lost, to wrap her head around everything that happened, and allow the fear and tension to subside.
By the time it was her turn to go in, Sara gave her hand a light squeeze, and the softest of smiles.
Pulse racing, she entered Joe’s hospital room, apprehensive and unsure of what to expect, but when she laid eyes on him, the fist of tension inhabiting her chest burst wide open.
He lay there in the bed, staring outside the small window. A tube of oxygen ran to his nose. Machines beeped, reading his vitals in a burst of red and blue peaks on the screen, and though he was pale, his cheeks were pink.
Relief, hot and bright, rushed through her veins, and she fought a sob in the back of her throat as she approached.
He turned, alerted by the sound, and it wasn’t until he smiled that she realized she had been nervous about his reaction to seeing her—like maybe he would blame her for getting on that boat.
She stopped by his bedside and stared down at him, reaching out to grip his hand, being careful of the cannula.
“Goldilocks,” he rasped, and in that single word, she came undone.
She leaned her forehead against his chest and cried until the cotton of his hospital gown grew wet with her tears. A hiccup spasmed in her chest, and she lifted her head, too emotional to feel foolish for the display.
“Don’t you ever do that to me again.” She poked him lightly in the ribs. “I was so”—she released a shuddering breath—“worried about you. And you told me you wouldn’t go. You told me—”
Joe silenced her with his lips.
They were cold and cracked from the wind and water, but they tasted like the salty sea and the peppermint candy he kept on hand, and at that moment, she wanted to drown in him. Forget the terror of the past twenty-four hours. Erase the worry and the images of him alone in the frigid water and the dark sea, dancing through her head.
When he released her, his fierce gray eyes met hers, and she pressed a hand to his chest, covering the damp spot where she wept. “I accept your apology,” she said with a grin. “But Joe—”
“I never should’ve gone. I’m sorry. I let my insecurity get the best of me. I thought . . .”
“That you weren’t enough?” she finished for him, and he nodded.
“Oh, Joe, you stupid, foolish man.” She fisted the soft cotton of his gown in her hands. “You are always enough. Don’t you ever think otherwise.”
“But—”
“Shhh.” She pressed a finger to his lips, then brought his hand up to her lips and pressed a kiss over the blistered skin. “I’ve done a lot of soul searching since I met you, about what I want, where I’m headed, and what I want my life to look like going forward. And the one thing I come back to, time and time again, is you. I want you, Joe Hastings. And I don’t care if we live in your little bungalow on the water or a castle fit for a queen. As long as it’s with you, that’s where I want to be.”
Joe closed his eyes. “What if suddenly, I lose my business? What if I can’t earn a decent living on the water anymore?”
“I know Carter threatened you.”
Joe blinked his eyes open, staring at her warily.
“And no matter what happens, we’ll figure it out.” She threaded her fingers through his. “Together.” She smiled before warning flashed in her eyes. “But the Dreadnought—”
“Is put to rest,” he supplied. “No more. I’m a one-man crew here on out.”
Rachel nodded, then nudged his legs. “Now scoot on over. I have five more minutes before they kick me out, and I want to spend it right here.”
Joe shifted and patted the empty space beside him while Rachel nestled in, gingerly laying her ear on his chest while he played with her hair. Closing her eyes, she focused on the rise and fall of his chest, the air rasping in and out of his lungs—the glorious sound of him breathing. His heart beat, strong and steady, a bass drum in her ear, more powerful and beautiful than any symphony in the world.
Because he was alive.
Chapter Thirty
TWO MONTHS LATER . . .
Rachel sat at a barstool in front of the island at Joe’s house, going over the plans for Andi’s wedding. Everything was ready. There was nothing left to do. The caterer was scheduled, and the menu confirmed. Flowers had been ordered. Linens, tables, and chairs rented. The last of the china bought. Invitations had been sent out and received. Place cards, favors, cookies, and the cake all taken care of. Even the instrumental band Rachel found had been secured and paid for, ready to go for the big day.
After all of her brainstorming and planning, it was only a month away. All she could do now was wait and hope it all came together beautifully. If all went well, she’d be giving her two-week notice at The Sea Oat—and not soon enough, as Mandy was already asking about coming back.
Joe entered the kitchen, and she glanced up from her binder and smiled as he placed a kiss atop her head. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” She beamed. “Andi uploaded those pics to your site.” Reaching out, she tapped the keyboard of Joe’s laptop, and the screen lit up, displaying the web page for Happy Fish.
Joe’s crooked smile and dimples lit up the screen. He stood aboard his boat, a lobster in both hands. The snapshot below it perfectly captured the sun rising over the water just off the marina, and though he was still shy about seeing himself on his website, he grinned. “It looks good.”
