1•
The air at the marina didn’t circulate; it just sat there, a heavy, diesel-soaked weight that pressed down on the back of my neck the second I stepped out of the Uber. It was only mid-morning, but the Louisiana heat was already baking the concrete docks, radiating upward to melt the glue in my sandals and turn the humidity into a physical barrier. Around us, the masts of a hundred multi-million-dollar yachts clinked and groaned against their slips, a restless, metallic forest swaying in the sluggish current of the canal.
I stood by the gangway of *The Sea Nymph*, my canvas duffel bag slung over one shoulder, feeling the strap bite into my collarbone. I didn't want to step onto the deck. Every instinct I had, the quiet, persistent voice I’d spent the last six months trying to tune out, told me to turn around, call another car, and go back to my air-conditioned apartment where the air didn't smell like Julian’s expensive cologne.
“Cassidy! You’re actually here!”
Elena’s voice cut through the drone of a nearby generator. She was already onboard, leaning over the teak gunwale of the forty-foot cabin cruiser. She looked like a resort advertisement—white designer sunglasses pushed up into her dark, sleek hair, a silk scarf knotted around her neck, and a glass of sparkling wine already sweating in her hand. She waved frantically, her gold bracelets clinking a bright, frantic rhythm. “I was beginning to think you’d back out. Get up here before the sun melts us!”
I forced a smile, adjusting the strap of my linen cover-up. “I’m coming,” I called back, though my feet felt like lead.
As I reached the boarding gate, Julian stepped into view from the flybridge. He looked exactly as he always did when he was in his element: king of the world, or at least king of anything paid for by his father’s trust fund. His navy linen shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, showing off a deep, even tan and a gold chain that caught the blinding glare of the sun. He had a pair of polarized aviators resting on the bridge of his nose, and when he saw me, he slid them down just enough to look over the rims.
“Look who decided to join the living,” Julian said. His voice had that smooth, familiar drawl, the one that used to make me feel warm and now just made me feel cold. He didn’t offer to help with my bag. Instead, he leaned against the stainless-steel arch of the helm, his posture casual but entirely performative. “Beginning to think you were running scared, Cass.”
“In your dreams, Julian,” I said, keeping my tone light, masking the sharp spike of irritation that flared in my chest. I stepped onto the deck, the yacht swaying gently under my weight, its twin inboard diesels already idling with a deep, expensive rumble that vibrated through the soles of my shoes.
“Here, let me take that.”
Brody appeared from the companionway, his broad frame nearly filling the cabin door. Unlike Julian’s pristine designer gear, Brody wore a faded grey t-shirt that had thin grease stains near the hem and a pair of worn boardshorts. His skin was already flushed from working in the sun, and a light sheen of sweat coated his forearms. He reached for my duffel, his fingers brushing mine as he took the weight. His grip was warm and steady.
“Thanks, Brody,” I said, letting out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
“No problem,” he said, his voice a low, grounding rumble. He kept his eyes on mine for a second longer than necessary, his thumb brushing the canvas of my bag. “Put you in the port cabin. It gets the best breeze when we’re underway. I already checked the hatches for you.”
“Appreciate it,” I murmured. Brody had been the one who kept me sane during the ugly, protracted fallout of my breakup with Julian. He was Julian’s childhood friend, the one who worked at the boatyard and actually knew how to maintain the vessels Julian liked to destroy, but over the last few months, the boundaries between us had started to blur in a way that made my chest ache with a complicated mix of guilt and anticipation.
Julian watched the exchange, his jaw tightening just enough for the muscle to tick beneath his stubble. He tapped his fingers against the throttle levers. “Yeah, thanks, Brodes. Make sure you secure the fenders once we back out. Don’t want the gelcoat scuffed before we even hit the Gulf.”
It was a small dig, a reminder of who was paying for the fuel and who was hired help, even if Brody was supposed to be a guest. Brody didn't flinch. He just gave Julian a flat, unreadable look, tossed my bag down the companionway stairs, and walked toward the stern cleat without a word.
“Where’s Jax?” I asked, looking around the deck to break the silence.
“Downstairs, trying to cure his hangover with the hair of the dog,” Jax’s voice answered from the cockpit door. He staggered out into the blinding light, wincing as he pulled a green baseball cap down over his eyes. He already had an open can of IPA in his hand, the metal sweating in the heat. “Or just preparing for the inevitable. It’s never too early to start when you’re trapped on a floating palace with this crowd.”
“Jax, it’s ten-thirty,” Elena sighed, though she didn’t look up from her phone as she took a selfie against the harbor backdrop. “Can you at least wait until we clear the channel?”
“Why?” Jax muttered, taking a long, noisy gulp of the warm beer. “The water’s the same color whether I’m sober or not. Besides, Julian’s driving. I need to be sufficiently lubricated to survive his navigation.”
“Hey, my navigation is flawless,” Julian called down, his chest puffing out slightly as he gripped the chrome steering wheel. “I’ve got the chart plotter set for the barrier islands. We’ll be anchored by three, drinking margaritas while you guys try to figure out how to bait a hook.” He looked back down at me, his eyes lingering on the hem of my cover-up where the hot breeze was lifting the fabric. “You still know how to swim, Cass? Or did you lose your edge in the city?”
“I’m doing just fine, Julian,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest, wishing I’d worn something heavier despite the sweltering heat.
“We’ll see,” he said, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face. He turned back to the controls, his hand dropping to the thruster joystick. “Alright, cast off the lines, Brody. Let’s get this show on the road.”
I walked toward the stern, away from Julian’s gaze, and leaned against the hot metal railing. Brody was at the starboard cleat, tossing the thick dock line onto the concrete slip with a clean, practiced motion. As the boat began to slide away from the dock, he stepped up next to me, his shoulder brushing mine.
“You okay?” he asked quietly, his eyes fixed on the gap of dark, oily water widening between the hull and the pier.
“Just wondering if I made a massive mistake,” I muttered, my voice barely audible over the hum of the blowers.
Brody let out a dry, quiet laugh. He reached down, his fingers lightly touching the back of my hand where it rested on the rail. “Probably. But we’re out here now. Just stay close to me, okay?”
I looked up at him, the heat of his skin radiating against mine, and for the first time since we’d left the highway, the tight band around my ribs loosened. “Okay,” I whispered.
Behind us, Julian throttled up, the cruiser’s stern dipping as the big props bit into the muddy water of the canal. The music flared from the deck speakers—some upbeat, driving indie track Julian had selected to set the mood—and the white-painted docks of the marina began to slide away, shrinking into the hazy, shimmering distance.
On the bow, Elena was laughing, her hair whipping around her face as she held her glass up to the sun, and Jax was already cracking open a second beer. It looked like a vacation. It looked like the kind of trip people took to forget their problems, to spend three days drinking expensive alcohol under a generous sun. But as I watched the green-brown water of the harbor slowly turn to the deep, heavy blue of the open channel, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were leaving the safety of the world behind, and that the illusion of control Julian was holding onto so tightly was going to run out long before we reached the shore.
