One Bossy Disaster: Chapter 22

I’ve felt emotionally confused before, but nothing like this.

The terror in the air is palpable, the atmosphere so thick it’s hard to breathe. It’s like an invisible wall between us.

But the minute I hear those words, the peril we’re in might as well be a bad dream.

“Destiny, I love you.”

Four simple words I never expect.

Yet it feels like they’re the most meaningful words ever spoken.

The ship groans, rolling with the waves as they intensify.

Everything is gaining intensity, honestly.

Especially the way Shepherd looks at me as he kisses me and pulls away.

He’s waiting for me to fall apart.

Honestly, I might.

Fear and love do that, two sides of the same coin.

They sever all the threads holding you together, grounding you, until all you can feel is the impossible, the flighty, the unreal.

His kiss rinses out my mouth.

Fear tastes like blood, gross and metallic, and there’s no telling how long it would’ve sat sour on my tongue without his lips.

But as long as I’m here with Shepherd, still tasting him, I refuse to give in.

Not when he hasn’t.

There was a flash of it in his eyes when his gaze locked on mine, but he pushed it aside and took charge the way he always does.

Before I can give him any reply worthy of the shock he’s given me, he’s moving, gesturing behind him.

“Come on. We can’t leave anything heavy sliding around if this storm isn’t done with us.”

We work together in near silence, taking everything we can from the room and forming a chain of bungees he pulls from a big white storage box, passing them from one hand to the next. Where Shepherd pulls his weight, I’m right there with him.

We fasten down the furniture with oversized straps and ropes.

Juan pops in a few times, helping batten things down with brisk efficiency.

Everything is happening so fast, but it feels like this weird time bubble where the outside world doesn’t move at all.

This yacht wasn’t designed to be caught in a storm like this. That’s what nobody tells you about multimillion-dollar luxury boats.

They’re nice toys, elegant and fun to ride, but they’re meant to stay out of harm’s way when the going gets tough.

This is a pleasure boat. We’re supposed to be lounging around boneless, sipping champagne and sampling caviar.

Not running around like hens on fire, securing what we can so we don’t get crushed by a flying chair.

And even if we do it perfectly, those floor-to-ceiling windows scare me a little, imagining a hundred ways they could break and send violent water surging in.

But at least the dread speeds me along.

We do what we can while Captain Juan and Peter work the radios and navigation systems, whenever they’re not tending to George in the sick bay below deck.

I can feel my heart beating in slow motion as I crouch down next to Molly in the corner. She’s curled up in a canine heap, drained from the stress, but very much awake.

It’s pounding nails outside again like an ominous rhythm counting down the fading minutes of my life.

I wish I’d been bored enough earlier in my life to look up storm survival at sea.

The wind picks up even more, just when it doesn’t seem possible. The yacht pitches and rolls and screeches from the stress, metal and fiberglass and God only knows taking a beating.

Soon, I can hear Captain Juan yelling overhead.

“Almost there, girl. You’re being so good. Just a few more hours.” It’s all I can think to say as I kneel next to Molly, pressing my face into her fur as she stress-yawns.

Her familiar smell comforts me, even if she’s a few days overdue for a bath.

My stomach drops into my toes before it leaps up my throat again.

Molly whines, and the sound eats into me.

Stupid, stupid me. If only I’d left her with Lena for this trip…

“Shhh. You’ll be okay,” I tell her again.

I guess it’s a blessing in disguise that she can’t smell my lies.

She doesn’t need to know there’s a chance we won’t make it through this.

She’ll also never know the heartache of a man who keeps shocking me to my core with he loves me, he loves me not words and gestures.

All while we don’t know if we’ll still be breathing in an hour.

I count my breaths to stay calm, inhaling and exhaling slowly.

There’s a sharp curse from somewhere behind me, and I stand up, untying Molly’s leash from the wooden column around the wet bar.

Shepherd told me to stay in the observation room, but there’s no way I’m going to sit down here on my own while he’s out there risking his life.

I can’t lose my nerve.

We’re not going to die like this if I have anything to say about it.

All we have to do is get through the next few hours.

How much worse can it get?

I amble up the stairs as the yacht pitches and creaks, guiding Molly to the bridge.

It’s blacker than ever outside. Not even a hint of sunshine breaking through the chaotic clouds that match the fuming waters.

And the waves… they’ve gone from stabbing white caps to lashing silver towers.

They toss us up ten feet at a time, the ocean forming mountains that want to swallow us whole.

If we completely capsize, there’s no chance of escape.

I know that.

Another blast of wind rattling the windows makes me squeak as I stumble in to where Shepherd stands with Juan.

“What are you doing up here?” His voice is cutting when he speaks.

“Seeing how I can help. You need as many hands as you can get, don’t you?”

He moves beside me carefully, widening his stance as we roll again. The nose of the yacht rises up a terrifying amount before we drop down the other side of the wave.

“Destiny.” My name sounds so small through the shrieking wind.

“I can’t do it. I can’t stay down there,” I flare. “Not unless you come with me.”

“That’s not going to happen. I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive, and Juan needs all the help he can get.”

“Then tell me what I can do. There must be something,” I say.

Thunder growls loudly again.

Shepherd curses. Juan is pale-faced and tight-lipped, totally focused on the screen in front of him, system readings that are very—red?

So much red everywhere.

Even I can tell this ship is in serious trouble, more than I thought.

I secure Molly to the nearest crew chair, which is bolted to the floor up here, and give the leash a firm tug. Her eyes are wide and fearful.

“Stay. Let me do some work and we’ll be home soon.”

The worst part is how faithfully she listens. Even now, when so much is happening and she’s clearly terrified, she trusts me to see her through.

If only I had the same confidence.

I comb my fingers through her fur and kiss her nose one more time, telling her she’s a good girl. My words are nonsensical, reassuring and empty, filled with real affection and false promises.

But I will myself to believe them.

Molly’s tail wags as I loop my arms around her neck.

“At least tell me the plan?” I demand, staring at Shepherd.

“We’re pulling anchor since the comms are shot. With any luck, the current should push us toward land. Last Coast Guard vessel that responded was almost an hour out, and it’ll never make it in this mess. We need to break out of the storm zone, so we’ll steer the yacht as well as we can. We’ll meet the waves head-on,” Shepherd says.

His steely eyes are narrowed on the view in front of us and the mounting waves like skyscrapers.

How do they keep getting bigger?

My whole mouth tastes like copper now, and I think I bit my tongue.

Captain Juan slams his hand against the screen in frustration.

“This doesn’t make sense, sir. It says we’re taking on water in the storage bay, but Peter ran down there and said it was bone-dry. This crap must’ve fried our sensors. Hard to tell what’s going on,” he snaps.

Sweat beads down his neck in rivulets.

I dig my fingers into Molly’s harness, holding on as I watch them go back and forth about the best course of action like two combat vets planning a raid. The tension between them almost hits breaking point.

And I guess that goes for everyone in this room, too.

It’s not just worry lining their faces.

It isn’t just concern wrapping hands around their throats with strained words.

The two men in front of me aren’t sure what to do, and their uncertainty feeds my fear, potent and commanding.

Shepherd curses again, pounding the wall before he sends me a quick glance and turns his attention back to the instruments.

Screens are flickering now, strobing right along with the overhead lights.

And I realize there’s something worse than getting pulled under by the storm.

The very real possibility that this ship might be pitch-black when it gets swallowed up.

Lucky me.

And my luck gets even better three seconds later when the lights blow out.

For the first time, I’m truly paralyzed in the roaring blackness.

I can’t even get back to Molly, but somehow, I stumble into Shepherd and grip his arm for support. “Tell me what to do. Please.”

“Just hold on to me, sweetheart. That’s all you can do now. Hold the fuck on and don’t let go.”

I can’t see the rain out the windows, but the sound, it’s everywhere.

A thousand angry hammers pounding on the windows, the cabin, the mess of things strewn around the deck outside.

Endless streaming noise like a waterfall, and that racket means water, so thick and cold and imminent, even if we can’t see it.

Oh, God.

There are no working lights on this thing anymore. Somehow, the power loss took out the emergency lights, too.

We’re blind, spinning through the waves in almost total darkness.

If it wasn’t for his arms wrapped around me, I think I’d pass out from the fear.

But he holds me so gently, stroking my hair, pressing me against his chest until I think I might just escape if I could only melt into him.

“Shit, shit. Destiny—hold on!” He senses the motion a second before I do.

The yacht groans like we’re inside a whale as it heaves up higher than ever before.

There’s a final blinding flash of light through the glass and we’re—

Holy shit!

We’re practically vertical.

The wall of water we’re climbing blots out what should be lightning and clouds and endless killing rain.

My heart stalls.

I don’t even worry about making Shepherd bleed as my nails sink into his skin.

A startled bark erupts just as we start falling, and for a weird second, it’s almost like we’re floating in zero gravity.

Dear God.

Please be all right, Molly.

Please don’t let us die.

Please, please don’t let this be the end.

A desperate plea, a prayer for an end that’s coming way too fast as I’m tumbling in Shepherd’s arms, too dizzy to know if we’re still standing on the ground or completely airborne.

I just feel the bone-jarring crash a few seconds later and my vision shorts out.

Everything turns white and then instant black.

“Destiny? Dess, wake up!” Shepherd’s voice floats down from a mile away, but it only takes a second to become so much closer.

I blink my eyes open as he shakes me.

“Oh, fuck. Thank God.” He’s holding me while I shake off a numbness that feels like I’ve been sleeping on my arms and legs for ages.

I blink my eyes awake and sit up in his arms.

“Can you stand? Go slow, lady.”

“What happened? Are… are you okay?” There’s a dull ache behind my eyes, but I’m grateful I’m still breathing.

“Took a nasty fall. We can’t tell if the hull’s been breached and we’re taking on water.”

Yep, here we go.

It wasn’t just a terrible nightmare.

“Shepherd, is Molly—”

“She took less of a beating than you. Shit, if I hadn’t pulled you aside in time, I don’t want to think about it.”

I look past to where he’s staring and see a dent in the wall. Next to it, there’s a heavy chest on its side with equipment spilling out, the bungees that should’ve secured it broken.

It isn’t hard to see I would’ve been crushed.

“Stay with Molly,” he tells me, gesturing to the dog.

She’s standing up and looking at me, her tail curled and her ears perked, but mostly she seems relieved I’m on my feet again.

She’s not the only one.

I settle in next to her, rubbing a bruise on my leg, while Shepherd goes to work with Captain Juan, who has a nasty new gash across his head.

The instruments are still out, but we’ve got a few faint emergency lights back.

The men work furiously at the main controls, manual levers and a steering wheel which take their combined strength to turn.

The only thing we have left is pure muscle, forcing the rudder this way and that, steering this thing manually. At least that must mean they were able to pull up the anchor and save us from being stranded out here.

We’re still riding hills of waves, smaller now but no less deadly.

I fight to keep my eyes open through the lightning flashing through the windows.

If these are my last moments alive, I want to be present, even if it’s just with my dog and the man who saved me.

Waves wash over the side of the yacht. I hope no one ever stepped out, because there’s no way they’d survive being washed overboard.

It’s raw. Violent. Impossible to believe, considering how the sea was so calm barely an hour ago.

Now, it’s a chore to remember what daylight looks like, or how it feels to not be afraid.

I don’t want to drown.

I almost regret downplaying everything during the last call to Dad and Eliza, but there was no good reason to have them sharing my misery.

It’s all on the line now.

If we go down here, we’ll disappear in the ocean. One more mystery lost at sea, a footnote of human interest.

Another wave crashes across the deck, slamming the windows. The silence in the cabin disappears in the growling rush.

Yep. We’re climbing another relentless wave taller than most buildings.

Have I mentioned I don’t want to drown?

As we crest with Shepherd and Juan fighting, Molly whining, the door to the stairs outside blows open.

Water streams in, so frigid it’s like knives sliding across my skin.

Shepherd spares me another glance.

“Hold on tight. We’re moving now,” he tells me, voice strained and knuckles white from his grip.

“Starboard!” Juan yells, turning the wheel.

The yacht sways like a dazed dragon, groaning in protest, and I’m sure this is going to be it as another wave picks us up like we’re a paper plane.

This one feels endless, almost as bad as the last one that knocked me out.

When we reach the top, we’re nearly vertical again.

I hug Molly as tight as I can.

I know from the stress building in my stomach what’s coming next and I try to brace myself.

Our descent is too swift, too furious, and the ship plunges back into the murky waters like a bad carnival ride.

The impact throws me forward until I lose my grip on poor Molly.

So much water billows in through the open cabin door.

A quick, angry wave grabs me, pulls me, freezes my fingers, dragging me toward the door.

“No, no!”

Before I can finish screaming, we’re moving over hills of water again. The ship tilts and the flood that came in starts spilling back out—only this time, it has me by the ankles, and it’s taking me with it.

I can’t breathe.

I make a strangled, gurgling sound, muffled by water.

Shepherd turns, sees what’s happening, and visceral panic crosses his face. He leaps across the room and grabs me, his fingers splayed, grasping, desperate.

He misses.

There’s no stopping gravity. Not when I’m careening helplessly toward the open door, the mouth of ocean doom outside.

Then Molly lunges and her teeth snag my jacket sleeve.

She bites down hard enough to bruise.

Yes, enough.

It keeps me from losing my fight against the water.

Everything hurts and I’m winded, but I’m still alive.

Still on board the ship.

Still in this.

I throw up a hand, praying for something to grab on to. My fingernails slide across the smooth surface.

Then another wave roars in through the open door and this time, even Molly’s tormented grip isn’t enough to save me. I’m all out of chances.

Down.

Down.

Down.

I brace for the worst, pinching my eyes shut while a dark voice laughs in the back of my mind.

Irony of ironies.

Your fear of the ocean was always right, and you didn’t listen.

I’m just hoping the final plunge that turns my lungs to ice and rams its way up my nose, my mouth, is quick.

I’m not expecting a hand.

Not a defiant grip, strong fingers digging into my flesh.

Shepherd swings me around so I’m almost out of the water.

We lunge backward, tangled together, hands searching and fingers wrapped around the freezing metal of the bolted chair against the wall.

It’s way too late for any dignity.

As the ship bounces and sounds like it’s splitting clean in half, I bury my face in his chest, too numb to feel his warmth.

But he’s there.

I know he is.

Frozen, miserable, and angrier than the storm itself, but he’s there for me.

The thud of his heart matches mine.

Alive, even in the jaws of death.

Still blinking water out of my eyes, I look over his shoulder.

First I see Juan, dead-eyed and staring in disbelief.

Awesome.

There’s another killer wave charging dead at us.

I’m almost bored of dying at this point.

If we get out of this alive by some miracle, I will never not respect the sea.

Shepherd’s swift movement is the only thing that keeps us watching and waiting for the end.

“Hang on to the chair!” he yells hoarsely.

“Wait, where are you—” I never get to finish.

Not before he’s bolting for the door that keeps flapping with the wind, the latch broken or jammed. He looks like he’s holding up an avalanche as he flattens himself against it, still staring at me.

Holy hell, no.

There’s still too much water pooled around my feet, the floor so slick. There’s no way he’ll have traction if—no, when—the water blows it open again.

“Shepherd!” My scream tears my throat, but he doesn’t move.

Then the wave hits and everything goes upside down.

I’m panting and sobbing and fighting but—I don’t feel that familiar suffocating flood, do I?

He’s actually doing it.

Like some kind of freaky, grumpy superhero, he holds back the deluge.

He saves us yet again.

I don’t breathe until the ship stops turning.

The final impact isn’t as terrible this time, or maybe I’m just used to being heaved around like I’m in a blender.

Everything goes deathly still.

I have to check to make sure Molly’s still there. I swear, if I didn’t know any better, she’s holding her breath just like we are, waiting for the next wave we can’t hold back.

But although we’re tossed around for a few more minutes, the next hills of water are kittens after dealing with a lion.

Minutes pass.

Quiet grows.

The ship moves like it isn’t about to break apart, and amazingly, there’s no sign we’re sinking.

I can’t stand it anymore.

Flying across the room, I throw my arms around his neck before I know what I’m doing, and he’s holding me just as tightly.

I’m sick with adrenaline, my limbs quivering, and he strokes the ropes of wet hair away from my face like he knows.

Of course he does.

“Are you hurt?” he whispers, leaning back and cupping my face, looking at me all over again. “Dess?”

“I’m alive. All thanks to you.”

“Don’t go soft on me now,” he whispers. “We still need to barricade this door before my damn arms fall off.” He switches his attention from me, searching for something not tied down or bolted he can use.

Eventually, he finds a long chain that spilled out of the storage chest and sets to work with Juan, wrapping it up tight.

The thunder grows more distant now, and the waves are more like the aftershocks of some tsunami, a shadow of the lethal danger they were.

I watch him the whole time, crossing the room to comfort Molly, trying to allow ample space while she shakes herself dry.

Capable, glorious, caring Shepherd Foster.

Molly whines and I let her lick the salt from my face.

I have no clue if it’s from tears or just water. I don’t care.

My chest heaves with emotion, more of it tangling up inside me with every passing minute.

We’re still breathing, though.

We’re alive and well as the darkness churns, an eternity passes, and soon, we’re plunged into a calm black night.