Page 87 of Prime Time Romance

I don’t draw another full breath until he reappears at the wheel a few moments later, and the sound of the roaring engine cuts across the water.

The boat makes its way back to the shore through the choppy water. The entire time, my eyes never leave Josh’s face. His dark hair is almost black with rain, and his brows are drawn low in a determined expression as he pulls the boat up to the dock.

I don’t even realize a crowd has formed behind me on the beach until there’s a collective gasp as Spencer steps onto the dock and holds out his hand to help Luce, who follows him on shaky legs.

She looks tired and scared, but otherwise okay.

I feel so relieved that I almost throw up and have to close my eyes until the nausea subsides as the adrenaline drains from my body.

Voices from the crowd swim around my head.

“Did you see that?”

“Spencer pulled her out.”

“He’s a hero.”

“He saved her.”

“What was she doing out there?”

“It’s Luce, you know how Luce is.”

“Who was driving?”

“I think it was Fletcher.”

“Well, that’s not surprising.”

I want to scream every single profanity that has been on the tip of my tongue this week. I want to scream about how screwed up this place is. About how screwed up we all are for just accepting it.

Are you all blind? I want to take each and every person standing here by the shoulders and shake. Spencer did nothing. Luce is a victim. It was Josh who saved her.

Josh!

Where is Josh?

My eyes scan the dock, the boat, even the beach.

But there’s no Josh.

There’s just Spencer, his arm around Luce, walking her toward another small crowd of people on the dock, who cover them with blankets.

I run from the beach toward the boat, my mind flipping between second-guessing the memories of the last few moments and inventing horrifying what-ifs.

What if he fell back in? What if he never got out in the first place? Did I actually see him get into the boat? Am I sure he was driving?

My eyes scan the water for snippets of white.

The ocean is nothing but black swells of water.

Just as I reach the boat, I hear a low moan coming from inside it, and I stop.

I peer down inside, making out an arm. A head. Two legs. A chest that fills with cold sea air and then contracts. Up and down. Up and down.

My body floods with a feeling of relief. Of something more.

“You’re okay.” I jump inside and sink down next to him. My cheek falls to his chest, just to make sure it’s not a trick of the dark.