Page 103 of Pull Me Under

‘I’m not a reassuring person, Harding.’

She’s smiling, though. That small, private smile I’m starting to learn is just for me. Her hair is a disaster – tangled and wild, spread across the pillow like seaweed – and there’s a crease on her cheek from where she’s been pressed against my shoulder.

She’s beautiful.

I’m in so much trouble.

The thought should come with panic. Doesn’t. It just settles like it’s been there all along and is waiting for me to catch up.

‘What time is it?’ she asks.

I fumble for my phone on the floor. The screen is cracked – must’ve happened sometime between the rescue and here, though I can’t remember when. The time glows through the damage: 7:42.

‘Nearly eight.’

‘Shit.’ She sits up, the sheet falling to her waist. I try not to stare. Fail completely. ‘Don’t you have to be on the boat?’

The boat. Dad. Reality, creeping back in like the tide.

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I should call.’

I don’t move.

Neither does she.

The roof groans again. The draught finds new skin to torment. Somewhere in the village, a seagull screams its fury at the morning.

‘You should call,’ Brynn agrees.

‘I know.’

‘Your dad will wonder where you are.’

‘I know.’

‘This is the part where you get up and find your phone.’

‘I found my phone.’

‘And use it.’

‘Right. Use the phone. Call Dad. Be a responsible adult.’ I still don’t move. ‘In a minute.’

Her smile widens. ‘Harding.’

‘Trelawney.’

‘Go call your father.’

‘Fine.’ I throw back the covers – immediately regret it as the cold hits – and snatch my phone from the floor. ‘But I’m holding you responsible for any frostbite I sustain.’

‘Noted.’

I find my boxers tangled with my jeans, pull them on, and pad out to what generously calls itself a kitchen. The floor is freezing. The light through the window is grey and watery. The tap drips with a rhythm that would drive a sane person mad.

I dial Dad before I can talk myself out of it.

He picks up on the second ring. ‘About time. You coming or not?’