Page 62 of Pull Me Under

‘Airway clear. Breathing normal. Checking for⁠—’

‘You can stop.’ Cal’s voice cuts in. ‘That’s sufficient.’

Brynn sits back on her heels, breathing hard. Water drips from her hair onto my chest.

Her eyes meet mine.

For a moment – just a moment – neither of us moves.

‘Nice form,’ I say, and immediately want to drown myself. Nice form? What am I, a gymnastics judge?

But she just blinks, and the moment breaks.

‘Told you.’ She stands, offers me a hand. ‘Grandfather taught me.’

I take her hand. Her grip is strong, her palm calloused from work, and she pulls me to my feet with enough force that I end up closer to her than strictly necessary.

We stand there, both dripping, neither stepping back.

‘So,’ she says, voice carefully neutral. ‘Did I pass?’

‘You passed.’

‘Was there ever any doubt?’

‘Plenty.’

‘Liar.’

She’s smirking now, that infuriating half-smile that makes me want to either kiss her or throw her back in the pool.

‘Cal,’ I call out, not breaking eye contact. ‘She’s qualified. I’m signing off.’

‘Good.’ Cal’s already making notes on his clipboard. ‘Welcome to the crew, Trelawney. First training session’s Monday evening, six o’clock. Don’t be late.’

‘I won’t.’

She turns away, heading for the locker room, and I absolutely do not watch her go.

I do. Of course I do.

Cal appears beside me, following my gaze with an expression that’s far too knowing.

‘Professional assessment?’ he asks mildly.

‘Completely professional.’

‘Mm.’ He doesn’t sound convinced. ‘Get changed. You look like you’re about to catch pneumonia.’

By the time I’ve showered and changed, Brynn’s already back outside, standing by the harbour wall with her bag over her shoulder and her wet hair starting to curl in the salt air. She’s looking out at the water, arms crossed.

I should walk past. Should nod, keep it civil, go home to deal with whatever mood Dad’s in.

Instead, I stop.

‘Monday, then.’

She turns. ‘Monday.’