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“She’ll wake up in about fifteen minutes,” he tells his grandfather. With shaking hands, Nathaniel strokes Ash’s dark hair. Watches the slow rise and fall of her chest.
His brave, brave girl.
He takes her hand in his and feels the beat of her pulse, that bright bloom of life that’s made his world come alive. Only whenher fingers flex and tense in his grip does Nathaniel remember the steps to breathe again.
Nathaniel paces. The sandwich, the bottle of water he’s been given lie forgotten on the bar top. He’s too keyed up, too fucking worried, too pissed off to stop moving. To do anything but think about Ash. As soon as the medic took her down to the infirmary to wait for her to wake up, his mother explained what happened.
“I’m so sorry.” Claire worries her lower lip between her teeth. “We didn’t know that the guides hadn’t taken a headcount.” Fucking Brad. “And when we disembarked, we thought you and Ash had already gone ahead to…” A little laugh pops out of her mouth. “You’ve been sneaking off this whole trip. We thought it only logical.”
He blinks at her. “You knew?”
“Oh, honey.” She places a hand on his arm. “Everyone did.”
Jesus. He tears a hand through his hair. “It’s not your fault, Mom.” That’s the least of his worries.
Claire explains that it was midnight before Tate noticed he had Ash’s backpack. That’s when the Whitfords realized Nathaniel and Ash were truly nowhere to be found.
“By the time we got ahold of someone, the charter company was stalling, trying to figure it out.”
He clenches his fists, seething. “Fucking ridiculous.”
The amount of time it took for their absence to be noticed, for the charter company to help, is unforgivable.
Ash could have died.
He’s already planning retaliation. “We should sue them. Buy their company. They’re fucking done.”
“I think your grandfather is already on it.” Claire gives him a sympathetic smile. “We didn’t wait around for help. It was clear the charter company was trying to evade responsibility, so your father went down to the pier andbought a yacht.”
“What?” Nathaniel lurches to a stop. “Dad?”
Claire nods. “You know that man. Any way he can get something, he’ll do it.”
Nathaniel peers over at his father. Don sits with Augustus at the bar. Their voices muffled, glasses of whiskey in their hands, despite the early morning hour.
Don looks over, catching his gaze.
Gratefulness seeps into him. Nathaniel gives his father a nod, and in return, Don lifts his glass.
“Doctor Whitford?” The medic’s coming up from the lower deck. “You can see her.”
He doesn’t remember moving. Doesn’t remember taking the stairs two at a time or opening the door to her room. All he knows is that suddenly he’s inside and she’s there.
She’s okay.
Ash is in bed, a blanket pulled up to her waist. A glass of juice sits on the nightstand. At the closing of the door, she stirs. Opens her eyes. Smiles.
“Hi,” she says.
His legs almost give out. His shoulders uncoil. His fists unclench.
“Buried or cremated?” he asks.
Those wide gray-green eyes blink. “What?”
“Buried or cremated?” He shrugs, fighting the urge to unravel. “You look like you’ve thought about it.”
“Neither. Lampshade,” she says with a smile. “Courtesy of Ed Gein.”
