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The water is completely still where he disappeared. I look around frantically. The crew teams are too far away. The boat that caused the wake is already speeding off, oblivious. The other scullers haven’t noticed. No one is reacting. No one sees it.
Where is Cameron?
Why isn’t he surfacing?
Are his feet trapped? If the boat flipped, if he’s disoriented, if he’s panicking—he’s stuck.
I throw off my jacket, kick off my running shoes, and jump. The water is so cold it feels like knives stabbing into my skin. My lungs seize. My muscles lock up. But I force myself to move. Force myself to dive under. The water is murky, but I feel him. Cameron is struggling underneath the boat, his body thrashing, his hands clawing at the foot stretchers. I grab his ankle. Feel the shoe still attached to the foot stretcher, the heel cup holding him in place, and I pull. The shoe comes free. Cameron immediately kicks upward, breaking the surface. I follow him up, gasping as my head breaks through. Cameron takes huge, desperate breaths. His eyes are wild. Panicked. Then he sees me. Shock washes over his face, and he drops back under the water. I reach down and grab him, hauling him back up.
“Get off me!” he snarls and shoves my hand away.
He swims toward the bank, his strokes choppy and uncoordinated.
I grab the scull and pull it with me as I swim after him. The boat is surprisingly light. It’s carbon fiber. No wonder it flipped so easily. I drag it onto the bank and set it down carefully.
Cameron is already there, sitting on the grass, his chest heaving, water streaming off him. He’s staring at me. I sit next to him, my own breath coming hard, my clothes plastered to my body, freezing.
“Are you okay, Cam?” My voice is full of panic.
He doesn’t answer immediately. Just keeps staring at me with hurt, devastated eyes.
Then he asks, “Why?”
“You were going to drown, Cam.”
“No. Why did you do it?”
I don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to explain the years of desperate need, the way he’s consumed my every thought.
“I don’t know,” I say finally. “Cam, it’s cold.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“With what?”
“The picture.” His voice is dead. “Are you going to blackmail me? Post it somewhere? Show it to people?”
The question hits like a missed step in the dark, a sudden, jarring drop into nothing.
“What?” I stare at him. “Is that what you think this is?”
“What else could it be?” Cameron’s voice rises. “You’re a fucking psycho, Lucien. You catfished me for months. You manipulated me into—into—” His voice breaks. “Just stay away from me.”
He stands, still dripping, and starts walking away.
I stand too. “Cameron—”
“Stay. Away.”
He doesn’t look back.
“You’re welcome.”
He doesn’t respond or even pause.
I stand there on the bank, soaking wet, freezing, watching Cameron walk away from me. I just saved his life. And he still hates me. Maybe he’s right to hate me. Maybe my proximity to him is poison. Maybe the best thing I could do for Cameron Rhodes is disappear completely. But even now, even after everything, I can’t let him go.
I reach for my phone to call him, to try one more time.
