Page 40 of Timber Ridge
KANE
Sleep is a luxury that the sea doesn’t afford me, not when each drop of rain pounds against the Aurora, not when every wave threatens to be the one that swallows me whole. My hands are numb from gripping the bucket, my shoulders aching from heaving water over the side, hour after relentless hour. The storm’s gone now, but it’s left me in a bad way.
Dawn’s first light brings no comfort, only showing the mess of my boat. She’s handled this better than I expected, but we’re not clear yet. I am aware of every bruise, every strain of muscle, as if my body is keeping track of the costs of survival. My arms throb in a steady rhythm, in sync with the relentless headache that’s been pounding since last night. The only thing that keeps me moving is the thought of Hailey. Her laughter is the sweetest memory. I have to make it. My family can’t survive another loss so soon. Then there’s Timber, who has entered my life and become more important than I ever imagined.
I need to eat, to stay strong. The cooler, secured by bungee cords, hasn’t budged. Timber’s thoughtfulness is inside—one of the turkey and cheese sandwiches she made before I left. The bread’s a little soggy, the lettuce wilted, but I’ve never been picky. The water bottles are a lifeline. I ration them in my head, planning for days, even though the thought of being out here that long is like a punch to the gut. I have no idea where I am or how far I drifted. I only hope that someone picks up the signal from the beacon and finds me.
My stiff fingers grasp a water bottle, its plastic crinkling in the quiet. I swig it slowly, letting the coolness settle in my chest, a small relief against the gnawing hunger and fatigue.
The sky clears, the heavy gray yielding to blue. The sea’s rough beauty remains the same, but now it seems like a prison. I count each minute, hoping someone’s searching for me.
I make one more attempt at the engine, praying with everything I have left. The motor coughs, sputters—a teasing whisper of life. For a fleeting moment, hope flares. But then, silence. Dead silence. Defeated, my hands fall to my sides, and that’s when I hear it—not the sea, not the wind, but my mother’s voice, as clear as if she were standing beside me. “The ocean’s no place for quitters, Kane.” Her words cutting through the noise like a lighthouse beam through fog.
She’s been gone for months, but she’s pulling me back from the brink of surrender. I can’t see her, can’t touch her, but she’s here with me, in the middle of the sea. Her strength, her resolve—it’s a legacy that’s my lifeline, even as my body protests every movement and my skin prickles with cold.
With a deep breath that does little to fill the sails of my spirit, I retrieve the binoculars from the cabin, their lenses foggy from the damp. I wipe them against my jacket, as much as it’s worth, and bring them to my eyes. The initial scan of the horizon reveals nothing but the merciless stretch of ocean.
Her voice comes to me again, a whisper in my mind. Try again, Kane. Always persevere. It’s something she’d tell us kids when we were about to give up on anything, from fixing a bike chain to solving a hard math problem.
The binoculars almost slip from my wet hands, but I tighten my grip, steady them, and look again. That’s when I see it—a speck, far off, a blemish on the endless sea. I track it. Are they coming for me?
I can’t afford hesitation. I scramble for the flare gun. My last chance. I fired two flares into the storm last night. Both went unanswered. This last one—it has to count.
The sea spray stings my face as I take aim. The flare bursts into the morning sky, a bright red cry for help. I watch, binoculars pressed to my eyes, as the speck alters course, growing steadily. Someone’s seen it. Relief is a wave that almost knocks me to my knees.
They’re close enough for their horn to carry over the water, but far enough that it’ll be some time before they reach me. Anticipation surges through me. Fifteen, twenty minutes, I calculate, squinting through the binoculars, the vessel growing larger with each tick of my watch. Each second feels like an hour, each minute a day, but they’re coming.
In my mind, I list all the things I’ll do if I get another shot. There’s Hailey, my little girl with her wild imagination and infectious laughter. I’ll spend more time with her, do whatever she wants. Yes, even if it means sitting with my knees crunched under a tiny table, sipping air from a plastic teacup, letting her paint my nails any color she likes, and my hair... Well, she can tie it in as many ribbons as she wants. I’ll listen to her stories, her dreams, and I’ll share a few of my own.
Next is Timber, steadfast, her subdued smiles and perceptive eyes that seem to cut through the surface straight to my core. I’ve circled the emotions I have for her, constantly telling myself she isn’t the one for me, that she’ll just be another to walk away. But even if she does, is that the greatest loss I could suffer? No. The true loss would be in never taking that chance, in living with the question of whether she might share the same feelings. Hailey’s in the mix, and it doesn’t make things impossible, but it complicates things. Yesterday’s trials brought it home—life doesn’t guarantee us any tomorrows. Time is a currency in short supply. Out here, where each breath is a victory over the void, I grasp a simple truth. It’s not about finding the right time. It’s about deciding to leap.
Then there’s the new boat I’ve been eyeing, sturdy and reliable, not like the battered Aurora, that’s barely keeping me afloat.
My regrets are stacked like unused nets at the dock, especially the almost-kiss with Timber. She leaned in, I pulled back, and it’s haunted me ever since. When I get back, I’m going to find her, pull her close, and not waste another second.
A shiver racks my body that has nothing to do with the cold. It’s fear and relief, balancing like a tightrope walker across my heart.
The horn blasts again, closer now, each sound quicker than the last, like it’s counting down. And I know, with clarity, that this is my turning point. This is where the promises I made to the unforgiving sea become the actions of a man who’s been given another shot at life.
The approaching boat grows bigger against the lightening sky, more detailed by the minute. It’s familiar, owned by Old Danny. The one I’ve seen cutting through the waters since I was a boy. Its presence has never been more beautiful.
A wave of relief washes over me as my pulse races. My brothers are the first I see as they pull alongside the Aurora, their faces a mix of anger and relief that’s as familiar as the lines of my own hands. Tears blur my vision as I fall to my knees, overwhelmed by the sight of them. I whisper a shaky thank you to my mother, knowing her presence guided me through the darkest hours.
They waste no time securing a tow line to my battered vessel, efficient despite the choppy waves that make the task treacherous. Sobs of gratitude escape my lips, and I shout, “Thank God!” My brothers' stern faces morph into joy. They understand the depth of my emotions. This moment, this rescue, seems like a rebirth.
“You idiot, Kane!” Rhys yells over the sound of the engines. “What were you thinking?”
I don’t have the words, just a weary shake of my head. But before I can attempt an explanation, I’m pulled into a crushing embrace. His anger extinguishes like a snuffed candle, swiftly replaced by a wave of relief.
“You’re lucky we found you,” grunts Nash, as he too wraps me in a hug that speaks volumes more than words could. Finn and Reid are next. At first, they threaten to throttle me, but hug me instead, and then help me onto the other boat.
The sense of family and belonging seeps into me, holding back the cold that’s settled deep in my marrow. They hand me a thermos, and I wrap my peeling, raw hands around it. It’s soup, still warm, tomato by the smell, made by Eliza. The first sip is cautious, but then I gulp it down, its heat a salve to the chill that’s claimed every corner of my body.
Matt turns the helm over to Nash and approaches with a slap on my back that’s got the force of normalcy behind it. “I’ve been back on land for a day, man. Barely had time to hold Cody before Timber called us to find your sorry hide.”
Relief floods through me. I knew I didn’t have to worry. Timber cares for Hailey like she’s her own. Gratitude swells within me for this woman who has embraced both me and my daughter, giving us a sense of family and belonging we didn’t even know we needed. My brothers wrap me in blankets, but my body shakes uncontrollably, a mixture of cold and overwhelming emotion.
“Welcome home man, and congrats on Cody.”