Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
“Is this why you really brought me here today? So you could soften the blow and then tell me to my face to leave?”
His face tightens.
The ending we saw rampaging toward us slams me in the face so hard I’m almost blinded. The elephant in the room, trampling over my heart and leaving it for dead.
I wonder if I already have ugly tears rolling down my cheeks when I notice I’ve bitten the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood.
This is so ridiculous.
I knew this big goodbye was bound to hurt, so why does it matter how he does it?
Why do I care so much?
I knew I was bad for him from our anti-meet-cute.
Just like I knew this was never destined to be anything more.
But my chest splits open, a black hole swallowing his words. If only it could absorb the icy stare etched on his face.
“We came here because I know how much this means to you. If I hadn’t gotten the tip about the whales, this conversation would’ve happened in my office,” he throws back.
“Okay. So now we go home and I fuck right out of your life? Easy-peasy, right?”
“Easy?” he snarls, hurt welling in his eyes.
I immediately regret my snark.
Even Molly pulls away, clearing the void between us to flop down on the rug in the center of the room again like she can’t stand the pain vibrating the air.
“Goddammit it, Destiny. What did you think was going to happen? I’m trying to protect you. Can’t you see it?”
Unfortunately, I can.
It just rips me apart to say it.
“...I just thought we’d face this together and I’d finish out my time,” I whisper. “You know I hate special treatments. I agreed to the terms you set when I signed on as your influencer. You seriously want to send me packing so I can’t do the work I was hired to do? Won’t that look worse when reporters circle back from the legal drama again?”
“They’ll agree it’s understandable, considering—fuck, everything,” he growls.
The rough confidence in his voice kills me.
I shake my head, turning away.
“For the record, I didn’t want it to go down like this. I wish you’d understand that. The best way to save your future is to get you the hell away. Staying on and leaving yourself open to more bullshit, you can’t tell me that’s a good idea.” There’s an urgency in his voice that draws me in, forces me to look at him and assess whether I believe him.
Do I?
Yes.
Do I want to?
God, no.
But before he can say anything else—before I let him stomp on what’s left of my heart—there’s a sharp static crackle from the ship’s intercom speaker in the corner.
The noise catches us so off guard we both whip our heads toward it. That’s when I notice how much the wind has picked up, battering the giant windows so hard they’re almost rattling in their frames.
Then Captain Juan’s voice comes through the racket.
“All hands, all hands, this is your captain speaking. The ship has declared a weather emergency. Please listen closely to the following instructions...”
19
A Little Crisis (Shepherd)
There’s no time to think about broken hearts and sharp words.
The whole conversation collapses as Destiny and I exchange a look and head for the stairs.
By the time we get to the bridge, Juan is standing by the console, grim-faced, his shoulders squared.
A familiar look I’ve seen in the Marines plenty of times.
Body language is one of the biggest tells, and his stance says more than a thousand words.
Whatever’s going on, it’s fucking bad.
There’s another frantic burst of radio static on his comm system before it cuts out just as fast. Juan tries to reconnect, flicking switches and checking digital readouts, but there’s nothing.
No signal. We’re cut off.
Fuck.
“What’s going on?” I snap.
“There’s a nasty storm blowing in, Mr. Foster,” he says, every word tight. He’s been on the sea since he was a kid; this is his entire life. If he’s worried, that’s a bad sign. “Coast Guard is advising all craft to get off the open water.”
“What else?”
“Damn comm system has been sputtering out for the past half hour. I can’t get radio and there’s something interfering with our navigation. I sent George down to the engine room and told him to comb through everything. Haven’t heard from him for the better part of ten minutes, though.”
“Wireless?”
“Also down,” he reports. “Haven’t gotten a signal on my personal cell either for a couple hours.”
Shit.
I glance around, stopping on the digital radar screen that maps the ocean and landscape around us.
We’re further out than I realized, having followed the whales away from the nearest islands.
Right now, we’re drifting toward the open sea.
“What’s the closest port?” I ask.
“Victoria for a ship this size. Almost forty miles away.” His dark eyes shift to me and then away.
“It’s mostly rain so far. A lot of rain, coming down in buckets. Maybe we’ll miss the worst of it?” Destiny says cautiously.