Page 4 of When We Are Falling
“You should do something that’sactuallyspontaneous and unplanned. It would do you the world of good.”
“Maybe.”
She shakes her head one last time, and the world narrows to the full, soft of her lower lip. I can’t stop staring at her mouth as she gives Bandit a final pat and me a small wave, continuing on her way to the Tavern, and I watch her go, unable to drag my eyes away.
She disappears into the bar and I take another drag from my vape, the taste not as satisfying as it was a moment ago, still thinking about Blake.
She’s a force of nature—unpredictable and completely captivating, totally wrong for me. And for reasons I can’t fully understand, I want her. Even though there’s no chance of that ever happening.
“She’s so pretty, isn’t she, boy?”
Bandit gives a woof, like he completely agrees.
Blake and I have known each other since high school, and she’s always had this energy. She’s fiercely independent, never wanting help from anyone—but there’s a sadness there too, a vulnerability, especially since Danny died.
She hasn’t dated since Danny, and every time I think about wanting her, guilt hits me all over again. Danny was my friend as well as her boyfriend, and it feels wrong to want her, like I’m betraying him somehow. Anyway, I’d neveractuallymake a move on her, so it’s a moot point.
I head inside the office, a small room we rent from the guys who run the marina, and get a start on some paperwork while Bandit promptly falls asleep on his bed in the corner. He’s getting older now, sleeping more.
Liam turns up an hour or so later, his trademark grin in place as he crouches over Bandit, giving him a tummy rub. He’s a good-looking kid, with dark blond hair and blue eyes—a taller, lankier version of his brother, Patrick.
While Liam and I are close, Patrick and I just about tolerate each other. Things have been better lately, ever since he started dating his now fiancée Emmy, but we’ll never be best friends.
Liam and I sit at my neat desk with a calendar spread out in front of us, preparing for the busiest month of tourist season, which starts next week. Pen in hand, I detail the specifics of each trip: we need to get this right to maximize our income and minimize any potential problems.
“The boat will be run back-to-back with minimal downtime. Every hour counts during the peak season.” Running my finger down the list of boat trips and jumps we’ve got planned, frowning. Liam’s got the laptop open, going through the bookings we’ve already received.
“Got it. Don’t forget to schedule in some time for fun. We don’t want to burn out.”
“You know me, Liam. Fun is jumping out of planes and diving into the ocean. Planning is part of the thrill.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I get off on filling out my planner for the next month, too. You know, it wouldn’t hurt to have some extra help, especially with bookings and customer service. An assistant could take a load off our shoulders.” He leans back in his chair, looking at me over his computer screen.
“Last thing we need is someone else messing things up. It’s easier if we handle it ourselves.” What is it with everyone getting on my case? It’s not like things aren’t working around here.
Liam shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “Just think about it, alright?”
I nod, but we both know the conversation’s over.
Later that morning, we’re on the deck of our charter boat, theFreedom, where it’s docked at the marina, preparing for the day’s first trip. The sun has fully risen, the heat of the day settling in as we check the equipment and ensure everything isin order. Bandit watches the seabirds as they circle overhead, calling out, and a warm, offshore wind gusts over us.
As we work, Bandit lets out a bark. I look up to see Frankie Baxter walking toward us, an older guy who works as a freelance photographer and spends a lot of his free time fishing. He’s done some photography for us and I’d even consider him a friend.
Normally Frankie’s got a quick smile for everyone, but today his weathered face is creased with lines of worry, his brows furrowed. He wears a faded, brimmed hat to shield himself from the sun, and one calloused hand grips a fishing rod, his gaze locked on the cell phone in his other hand, looking at something on the screen.
He catches sight of us on the boat and veers toward us, shaking his head.
Stopping what I’m doing, turning to face him: “What’s going on, fella?”
He stops on the decking beside the boat, hands palming his hips, still holding the fishing rod and cell. “It’s bad. Big oil spill close to us—beaches are already getting hit.”
My mind starts racing.Damn it.This couldn’t have come at a worse time. “What are we looking at?”
“A tanker accident off the coast of New Jersey, near Horseshoe Island. Oil’s floating right into Little Egg Harbor. Mechanical failure led to a massive leak. Thousands of gallons of crude oil have already been released. Tourists are being advised to stay away. It’s a mess.”
“Thanks for letting us know.”
“No worries. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”