Afloat

Chapter 7

It was a beautiful day. The sun was arched high in the sky, the warm June sun beating down on the island with tenacity. But the breeze was strong, and cooler than usual, balancing out the summer humidity and bringing life to the salty air. I sat on the small dock from Monica's backyard, my legs dangling over the side as I stared at the intracoastal, watching as boats zoomed past, the sound of carefree laughter and clinking of beer cans echoing across the sound. I should've felt only bliss.

Instead, I felt sick. Like at any moment I might lean over and throw up a lung into the seawater. In my hand, I clutched my phone and watched the time tick by on my lock screen. Over the past forty minutes, I'd opened my contacts to hover over Mark's name seven times now.

I had so many things to say, yet the thousands of words swirling in my mind couldn't seem to form a single coherent sentence. Even in my own conscious, I felt helpless. Inarticulate, when all I wanted to do was preach.

MARK RYLAND

His name glared at me on my phone screen.

A first and last name, and a phone number. That was all I had of him.

He had a lot more of me than just my name and my number in his phone.

Another boat sped by, that carefree laughter trickling behind it, mocking me as I took a deep breath, and pressed CALL.

It rang once. I squeezed my eyes shut, my nerves praying it went to voicemail.

Twice.

Thr-

The static ringing halted. My entire body stilled as the line went live.

"Jamie." His voice was somehow light and seductive at the same time. I lost my breath at the sound.

And not in the good way.

"How are you?" he asked when I hadn't said anything. My voice was stuck in my throat. He added, "I'm glad you called... Not going to lie, I've missed you."

It was this comment that had my blood boiling.

Not going to lie.

Each word fired out of me like three precise bullets. "Where are they."

The unmistakable hostility in my tone had him chuckling uncomfortably. "Where are what?"

"The pictures," I hissed, and this time it was his voice that got caught in his throat.

I could feel the shift in him, even over the phone. I could hear his words fighting to get out.

Suddenly inpatient, I repeated, "Where the fuck are they."

"I don't know what you're-"

"Please, Mark," I croaked, taking a moment to swallow and reharden my tone. "Do not play dumb with me."

He let out a heavy breath, like he was upset, and my tongue ran across my teeth in fury at the sound. "Look. It's not- it's not that big of a deal-"

I pulled my phone away from my ear, willing myself not to scream into the wind that still echoed the summery sounds with uninhibited happiness. Or throw my phone into the Atlantic water-a body of energy that breathed life into me the second my toes touched it. The same body of water that could also take my breath from me, drowning me beneath its waves.

Barely regaining what little control I had left, I pressed the phone back to my ear. He was still fucking talking. I interrupted him, "This could ruin my life, you know. If these pictures get out, they could ruin my career."