Page 58 of Pull Me Under

‘This crew operates on competence,’ he says quietly. ‘Not on who someone’s family is, or who someone’s dad has a grudge against, or’—a breath—‘or anything else. If you can do the job, you’re on the crew. That’s it.’

I think about what this means. The RNLI. A role. People relying on me. A reason to stay that isn’t just a half-restored trawler and a list of plans I can’t afford. If I do this, I’m not just fixing a boat and hoping. I’m weaving myself into the fabric of this place – becoming part of Sea Salt Bay in a way I haven’t been since I was seven.

The thought terrifies me.

The thought is exactly what I want.

‘One other thing,’ Jude says, and I can see him bracing for it. ‘I’m the one who’ll be training you. Weekly sessions. Until Kit’s back and the rota’s sorted.’

‘You and me.’

‘You and me.’

‘For five weeks.’

‘Minimum.’

The silence stretches. Outside, a gull screams. Inside, Ghost’s purring rattles like a small engine.

‘Thursday,’ I say. ‘Two o’clock.’

‘Thursday. Two o’clock.’

He nods. Turns to go. Gets as far as the door before he stops, one hand on the frame.

‘Brynn.’

My name in his mouth. Still doing things to my nervous system that I refuse to catalogue.

‘What.’

‘For what it’s worth—’ He’s looking at the harbour, not at me. ‘Cal’s right. This crew needs what you’ve got. The engine work, the—’ He swallows. ‘You’re good at what you do. That’s not me being – that’s just true.’

He leaves before I can respond.

Which is probably for the best, because I don’t know what I would have said. A barb, most likely. A shove disguised as words, because pushing is easier than the alternative, which is admitting that Jude Harding just walked into my shed and offered me the thing I’ve been trying to build since I drove that Land Rover back into this village – a place in it.

I pause in the doorway for a long moment, watching him walk up the harbour.

‘This is fine,’ I say aloud. ‘This is completely fine.’

Ghost looks up from his corner, one scarred ear twitching.

‘I’m going to be training with the man I slept with on the deck of my own boat, in this exact shed, less than forty-eight hours ago,’ I tell him. ‘On a lifeboat crew. In life-or-death situations. While his father – who apparently despises my entire family – slowly loses his mind in the background.’

Ghost yawns.

‘Yeah,’ I mutter, turning back to the engine. ‘That’s what I thought too.’

I climb back up onto the deck. Pick up the spanner. Get back to work.

But before I do, I pull the notebook from under the workbench and add a line to the list.

RNLI training – Thursday 2 pm. Assessment. Knots, water rescue, equipment.

And underneath, in smaller letters, like a secret:

Betty.