Wrecked Page 13

  “Christian!” Miranda yelled from a few strokes away. Christian glanced toward her, feeling happy and giddy and confused and overwhelmed, all at once. He lightly pushed himself off the sand bottom of the ocean and swam toward her. Once he got close, he realized that her teeth were chattering and her skin was pale.

  “You’re freezing,” he said, treading water in front of her.

  She nodded, clamping her teeth together to stop the chattering. “I know, but I don’t want to stop this. It’s nice.”

  Christian nodded. He didn’t want to stop either, even though they’d been in the water for hours.

  “Come on,” Christian said. The sun had completely set, and the sand was bathed in yellowish moonlight. “We can always come back.”

  Miranda nodded, disappointment evident in her eyes. Christian realized that Miranda must have thought he meant they had to leave. “We can stay all night, if we want,” he offered.

  “That’s crazy,” Miranda said, smiling. She treaded water harder, churning up the water beneath them. “You’d just hang out all night on the beach with a stranger?”

  “Better than the alternative. Besides, I can only really sleep well outside,” Christian shrugged.

  “Okay,” Miranda turned and swam toward shore. She was surprisingly fast and agile for a human, a reminder that she and he really weren’t that different.

  Once they got on shore, Miranda sat on a piece of drift-wood, hugging her knees to her chest. Christian sat next to her. He wanted so badly to put his arms around her, but was worried Miranda would take that as being too forward. He didn’t want to frighten her.

  “What are you thinking?” Christian asked after a beat.

  “It’s really big out there,” Miranda said with a half laugh. “You kind of forget that when you live on an island. You think the only thing that matters is this tiny place you live.”

  “Right,” Christian murmured. It was kind of the same Down Below. But Up Above was a whole new world, one where Sephie didn’t rule.

  Maybe there was hope for both of them.

  He allowed his arm to drape over her shoulders. Instead of pulling away, she snuggled into him and the two of them gazed out. Christian knew it wasn’t ideal—that this was temporary, that he needed to come up with a way to outwit Sephie’s plan, that he couldn’t take away any of Miranda’s suffering—but for right now, it was enough. They stayed until Miranda snuggled down so her head was resting on his shoulder, and until her breathing slowed into rhythmic ins and outs that reminded Christian of endless waves crashing against the shore.

  SHE WAS BACK OUT IN THE OCEAN, STILL STUCK IN A TRAP, STILL feeling helpless. This time was different, though. She could feel the waves crashing down all around her, but she also knew that it was a dream; knew that she wasn’t really going to die. But even though she knew, her dream self still did what it always did—kicked and stroked, desperately trying to get her head above water.

  And then, a figure appeared from the water, the same shadowy presence as always. Except this time, Miranda struggled to keep her eyes open. She had to see who it was. She allowed her body to go slack in the water, allowed her eyes to open, and she realized . . . it was him.

  Miranda’s eyes flew open, her heart racing, then slowing down slightly when she realized that Christian was next to her. So it wasn’t a dream. And if it hadn’t been a dream, did that mean . . . she touched his shoulder. He was definitely real. His skin, his large blue eyes, his dark hair . . . it had been him.

  “Hi,” Miranda croaked, then coughed. It was as if her voice had gotten caught in her throat. Her thoughts flashed back to last night, when she suddenly couldn’t breathe. Her gaze landed on her bare leg. In the hazy morning sunlight, her scar looked redder and more raised than ever before; the mottled flesh twisted and ugly and totally different than the boy’s smooth, almost sparkly, skin.

  Christian’s eyes opened and he glanced around in confusion before a slow, sleepy smile spread across his face. “Miranda,” he said.

  “You saved me,” she said steadily. “You were there.” But why had he been in the ocean that night? There hadn’t been another boat in sight; the last thing Miranda remembered doing before the boat hit the channel marker was checking the console. And they’d been a good three or four miles from shore, too far away for a recreational swimmer to find them.

  A flicker of guilt crossed Christian’s face, replaced by determination. “I did,” he said gruffly.

  “Why? Why me?” She asked, her voice choked thick with emotion. Why hadn’t it been Genevieve or Darcy or Lydia or anyone else?

  “Because I had to,” Christian said simply. “What else would I have done?”

  “You could have left. I’d be too worried about saving myself. If I saw a boat on fire, I don’t think I’d save anyone,” Miranda admitted.

  “I bet you would,” Christian said. “You hadn’t wanted to leave the boat when it was on fire. You wanted to stay so your friends were safe.”

  Miranda stiffened. He’d seen that. She’d blocked those last moments out of her mind. Now she began to remember: Fletch’s strong hands around her waist, the sudden icy water, frantically treading water and feeling the heat from the boat. It had been awful. Tears began to prick the back of her eyes.

  “Stop it!” she said roughly. She wasn’t sure if she was speaking to Christian or herself.

  “I apologize,” Christian said formally, crouching down next to her.

  “No,” Miranda said, angrily rubbing her eyes, trying to stave off tears. She was annoyed at herself for crying and annoyed at this guy, whoever he was, for keeping his role in her rescue a secret. So he saw that she tried to stay with the boat? Why couldn’t he tell anyone that?

  “What were you doing out there, anyway?” Miranda asked. “There weren’t any boats out there.” The tide was quickly turning, and soon, their dry sandy bed would be licked by the water, like frosting on a cupcake.

  “I was swimming.” Christian shrugged.

  “Well, you could have told someone. You could have talked to the police and told them what you saw. And you could have let me know. I thought I was crazy, kept having all these visions of you. I didn’t know if you were real or what had happened. I had so many nightmares,” she said, tears finally falling.

  “Shhh . . . ,” Christian said, reaching to pull her body toward his. Miranda began to push him away, but he continued to make the shushing sound, and finally, she relaxed into his shoulder.

  Finally, Miranda pulled back, her eyes searching his face, then started laughing. The sound was unfamiliar to her.

  “What?” Christian asked, a half-smile on his face.

  “You’re real. I really thought I dreamed you,” Miranda shrugged.

  “I’m real,” Christian said. “And I promise you, it was not your fault, and if I could have saved more people, I would have. As it was . . .”

  Miranda released a shuddery sigh. “I need to go. I need to think . . . It’s just a lot,” Miranda said uncertainly. She felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, her entire body leaning toward a chasm. She wanted so badly to trust him, but something was holding her back. “Actually . . . that night. What happened?” Miranda asked. She needed to hear it.

  Christian sighed and allowed his hand to brush hers. Miranda reflexively pulled back, then allowed his hand to remain on hers.

  “I saw the fire,” Christian said slowly, as if he were telling a story. “And there were bodies falling off the boat. Being thrown off the boat. I wasn’t sure what to do, and then I saw you, stuck, and I suddenly knew. I had to save you. So I pulled you toward shore. You kept screaming a word . . .”

  “Fletch,” Miranda said dully, her heart twisting. She’d remembered her terror, the way she’d kept calling Fletch’s name, knowing even then he was gone. “He was my boyfriend.”

  “Did he . . .”

  “Die?” Miranda asked sharply. “Yes. No. I don’t know. He’s in a coma. But they say he won’t come out of it
, so . . . yes, he’s dead,” she said. “My boyfriend is dead.” She yanked her hand away from Christian’s hand. What was she doing?

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Christian said slowly.

  “Thanks,” Miranda said. A silence fell between them.

  “Do you wish that I hadn’t saved you?” Christian asked, staring straight ahead.

  Miranda looked over at Christian, aghast. “What? No!” She felt self-conscious, like he’d read her mind and seen her deepest, darkest secret. “No. I’m glad I’m alive. I mean, I’m glad you saved me. Thank you,” she said, choking up. “I mean, if I’d died, it wouldn’t have saved Fletch. It’s just . . .”

  “What?” Christian asked.

  “I miss them. So much. So, so much,” Miranda said dully. “And I just don’t understand. How did you save me? Fletch threw me overboard and then . . . ?”

  “Shhh,” Christian said, continuing to rub her back. “Shhh.” But this time, the sound wasn’t as comforting as it had been before. “Your foot got stuck in a cable. I just let you free and brought you over to dry land. Anyone would have done it. And then, when I got back to the boat . . . everyone was gone.”

  “What do you mean?” Miranda asked in a tiny voice. She needed to know what, exactly, had happened. “What did it look like?”

  “There were pieces of the boat floating on the surface. A lot of debris, but the people . . . some people were clinging to the wreckage and then the rescue boats were coming in. They didn’t need me. Not the way you did.”

  Miranda nodded. “Do you think . . . it happened fast?”

  Christian nodded. “I’m sure they didn’t suffer.”

  “Good,” Miranda whispered. “I want to be happy you saved me, but the truth is . . . maybe I didn’t deserve to survive. I was driving the boat,” she said in a monotone voice. She couldn’t look at Christian. What would he think when he heard the whole story and heard she’d been the dumb girl who hadn’t really known how to drive the boat? Then maybe he would think twice about the fact he’d saved her.

  “Did you know that I was driving? I hit the channel marker. I should have done something. I should have known what to do when the navigation system stopped working. But I didn’t. And that’s why I don’t understand . . . I shouldn’t have gotten saved. It should have been someone else. But then . . .” Miranda trailed off. Bottom line was, as much as her life sucked, she didn’t want to die. That was something.

  “I saved you because you couldn’t die. You can’t die,” Christian said vehemently.

  Wordlessly, she allowed her hand to brush against Christian’s. She didn’t trust herself to speak in case she broke down into sobs. Something had lifted in her in the past few minutes. It was one thing to hear that the accident hadn’t been her fault. But to hear herself realize that her death wouldn’t have made a difference in the outcome helped alleviate some of the guilt. Not everything. But enough.

  “I should go,” Miranda said, noting the rapidly rising sun. She piked up her clothes from the pile in the sand. “It’s late. Or it’s early. I don’t know.”

  “Come back tonight?” Christian asked. “Please?” he added.

  Miranda bit her bottom lip. She wanted so much to say no, but she couldn’t. Not until she figured out who Christian was and why he made her feel the way she did.

  “Yes,” Miranda said shortly, turning her back before she could change her mind.

  FIVE DAYS. AS SOON AS HE HAD LOST SIGHT OF MIRANDA, HE dove under water, feeling the now familiar searing pain in his lungs. But now, his heart felt a dull ache. He’d known that from the moment he pulled her from the wreckage that she couldn’t die. And now, he knew there was no way he could ever take her soul, no matter what Sephie commanded. Because what Sephie had said was a lie. She wanted to live.

  And if he was truthful with himself, even when he attempted to pull her down, he knew he’d never follow through, knew he had to save her a second time, knew no matter what, she couldn’t die, not by his hand, not by anyone’s. He knew it as soon as he touched her.

  Because killing Miranda would mean his own soul would die.

  He had fallen in love that quickly.

  That was something he hadn’t realized until last night. After all, merfolk weren’t supposed to fall in love with humans. Neither were betwixtmen. The world of the sea and the world of Up Above were not supposed to mix. And yet . . .

  When Miranda fell asleep on his chest, he felt something tug at the very core of his being. It wasn’t his heart, and it wasn’t his lungs, constricting from too much oxygen. Those were all physical symptoms. This was something different, an unseen force that was telling him how much he needed Miranda, and how much she needed him.

  No, not needed.

  It was more that, when Miranda slept next to him, in his arms, he felt that she and he were one and the same—killing her would be killing part of himself.

  He needed a soul to bring to Sephie so he could stay with Miranda. When he said it that way, or explained it to his brother, Valentine, it sounded so simple. All he needed to do was find a soul. Any soul.

  After all, weren’t all souls the same? He’d seen himself after the wreck, as the glittering gold orbs had glided from the surface to Down Below. Up Above was full of souls, from the tiny ones in the seagulls that cawed overhead to the human ones. What if he simply brought her one that wasn’t Miranda? As Sephie herself always said, people weren’t respectful of the water. It would be easy enough to drag out any poor fool who waded in too deeply. Other merfolk who had Surface privileges did it all the time, presenting the souls as spoils to Sephie. And even though the official rule was that Down Below didn’t interfere with Up Above, she’d always gleefully accept them, without ever asking if they were obtained by nefarious methods.

  She wouldn’t examine it. She’d simply bottle it up and display it in her treasure room or wear it in a jeweled necklace around her neck as testament to her power over the ocean.

  He took another stroke down, closer and closer to Down Below. He remembered how soft Miranda’s hair felt underneath his hands. He remembered her sigh when he’d allowed his fingers to graze the raised scar that zigzagged across her milky-white skin. The way she fit in his arms. How her blue eyes widened with mischief just before she splashed him in the water, when they’d been quietly swimming side by side. And then, of course, he remembered her crying in the water, the days when he’d only watched her. That’s what had drawn him to her the first time. And now, he knew he’d be back. The question was, would she?

  MIRANDA DROVE THE LONG WAY BACK TO THE OTHER SIDE OF the island, feeling the beginnings of a headache throb beneath her temples. Instead of heading through the main stretch of town, where tiny boutiques selling Lilly Pulitzer dresses and Tory Burch flats stood next to weather-beaten cafes that opened at three a.m. to serve coffee and carbs to ruddy Bloody Point crabbers, Miranda drove on the windy dirt roads that were flanked on either side by red cedars and magnolia trees. Here, on the narrow road between the forest and the sea, it was impossible to geographically pinpoint which state, or even which country, she was in. She felt like it was some sort of fairytale world.

  Miranda felt that was even truer this morning. The entire previous night seemed like a dream. Christian couldn’t be a Coastal Carolina kid. Miranda couldn’t imagine him pounding forties in some sticky basement frat. And he seemed too sophisticated and knowing to be some teenage runaway drifter, hiding out on the beach until the weather got too cold. But that had to be who he was. He probably had some type of police record. Or maybe he was an illegal immigrant. Or maybe he simply lived off the grid, and was one of those anonymous good Samaritans who liked to do good deeds only if they didn’t get any credit.

  She parked in the garage and turned off the ignition, then inched the garage door open and snuck around the back of the house, sliding open the French door that led to the expansive kitchen. Hopefully, nobody would be awake yet, and she could simply sit at the granite counter with a slice of
toast, as if she’d just gotten up early for school.

  But Teddy was already perched on one of the stools that surrounded the kitchen island, an unopened box of Toaster tarts in front of him. A worried expression creased his brow, and his floppy bangs were lank against his forehead. Louisa was pacing back and forth against the heated tiles, hands cupped around her chipped pink coffee mug with the SHE WHO MUST BE OBEYED slogan, muttering to herself. “Needs to be watched . . . if only the Missus knew . . . what should I tell her?”

  “Miranda, baby!” Louisa yelled as soon as she noticed her hovering in the doorway. Louisa threw her arms around Miranda and rocked her back and forth. Then she pulled back, held Miranda at arm’s length, and roughly shook her.

  “What did you do? Scared me half to death. I had a mind to tell your grandma, but Teddy here told me no, told me you were fine . . . but then you were out all night . . .” Confusion crept onto Louisa’s face.

  Miranda felt a surge of confusion for Louisa’s maternal anger. “I’m fine. I slept in the pool house,” Miranda lied casually as she plucked the Toaster tarts from the counter and threw them back in the freezer.

  “Come on. We’re getting donuts,” she announced to Teddy, her stomach grumbling. She was seriously craving carbs. She wanted to eat donuts and let the crumbs scatter everywhere, followed by drinking an extra large latte with whipped cream.

  “Could have been killed . . . I could have lost my job. And here you come, acting as if nothing’s the matter,” Louisa muttered, glancing mutinously at Miranda from over the top of her coffee mug.

  “Love you!” Miranda sang, blowing Louisa a kiss. Louisa’s bark was worse than her bite, and Miranda knew she wouldn’t say anything to Eleanor about this. After all, Louisa had covered for her the time when Miranda was twelve and Genevieve had convinced her to sample the crème de menthe in her grandmother’s liquor cabinet. Both of them had ended up throwing up in the rose bushes all night. She’d covered for her all summer, when she’d snuck out of the house to meet Fletch on the beach. And she’d covered for her the nights that Fletch had curled up next to her in the pool house.