Eyes Turned Skyward

The next wave smothered my cry, hurling me under in a twisted death grip. My body was jerked in the opposite direction of where I wanted to go. Salt water burned my nose. I kicked viciously, reaching for the surface. Where was it? I flipped over again. And again.

No surface. No air. Where was it?

My heart raced in a dangerous beat, too fast. Way too fast. If I wasn’t going to drown, I was going to have a heart attack. But I still have 231 days!

A wave swept me to the surface, and I flung my head back, desperate for air. I spent a precious second pulling the hair from my mouth to get to the sweet oxygen and took a gasping breath. I couldn’t manage a scream before I was swept down again, my mouth full of seawater.

The urge to breathe in overwhelmed every other thought, but I couldn’t do it. I swept my hands up, trying to get to air, but the wave wasn’t bringing me up this time. No, another one came, knocking me farther down. My chest was going to burst if I didn’t let the pressure go. It would be so easy just to let it go. I’m going to die out here.

It was supposed to be peaceful, right? Drowning? This wasn’t peaceful. This was terrifying, and it hurt. I wasn’t giving in that easily or drowning because some drunk boy threw me into the ocean. Mama wouldn’t survive it. Peyton would have fought…if she’d had that chance.

Her face brought me the fight I needed, those green eyes that mirrored my own. I kicked harder, aiming for the sparkling surface above. Kick harder, Paisley. Don’t give up. Not now. I heard her voice; lack of oxygen was shutting down my brain. It wouldn’t be long before my reflexes took over and I either lost consciousness or sucked in a lungful of the Gulf of Mexico.

Another wave assaulted me, stealing the last bit of oxygen from my lungs. There was nothing…left. Which direction was up? Where…was I? Don’t breathe in…don’t…

I heard my mother’s voice, but that was impossible, right? “Paisley, stop that nonsense. Peyton will always be older. That’s never going to change. When you’re six, she’ll be eight. When you’re sixteen, she’ll be eighteen. Even when she’s eighty-two, she’ll be older.”

“No, she won’t. She’ll be dead.”

The wave tossed me into the pier, and I felt the impact on my shoulder before my head struck the wood.

Then I felt nothing.

Chapter Two

Jagger

One day I’m not going to fail, and it’s going to shock the hell out of you.

Holy shit. Did that guy just throw that pretty little blonde off the pier?

I ditched the redhead in my arms and jumped the last two stairs onto the deck. Run. My strides consumed the distance to the railing where she’d gone over, my arms pumping furiously. Get there. Faster.

The asshole had thrown her into the water when she’d begged him not to. What the fuck was he thinking? Goose bumps erupted over my skin as she screamed, the sound tearing through me long after the water covered her.

I shoved the juicehead out of my way as he stood there gawking like he hadn’t been the one to drop her twenty feet to the ocean. The waves weren’t fucking around today, obscuring the normally clear water. I climbed the railing and balanced on the edge, scanning the water. Come on, Little Bird, where are you?

There.

Her blond hair popped above the surface for a priceless second before a wave dragged her under again, but it was long enough for her to cry out.

“Get help!” I shouted at the fumbling idiot, whose slack-jawed expression suggested he might finally understand what he’d done.

Stepping out into nothing, my arms circled to slow my impact. A deep breath, and I cut into the water, submerging with brutal force.

I scanned around me fruitlessly before I had to get to the surface and breathe. One breath later, a wave came in and pushed me toward the beach, away from where I’d seen her. The hell with that. I wasn’t leaving without her.

The salt water scraped my eyes as I dove, kicking deeper. There she is! Limp, her arms semi-raised, her hair floated in a morbid halo, the blond catching the light from the sun through the water. Fuck. I was not too late. I refused to fail. Not in this.

I swam down to her, looped one arm around her waist, and kicked furiously for the surface, my lungs burning. Give me skates and ice and I’d decimate everyone, but I was mediocre in the water. Mediocrity wasn’t something I handled well.

We burst through to the air. I rolled onto my back, pulled her face up onto my chest, and kicked for the shore. A wave washed over us, sending water rushing up my nose, but I brought us back to the surface, keeping my arm like a vise around her. She wasn’t breathing, but she wasn’t too blue yet.

My legs caught the material of her skirt, and I untied the knot at her waist, letting it wash away. A few dozen sure, solid kicks later, we reached where the waves stopped fighting us and instead pushed us closer to the shore. Just another minute. She could make it another minute.

Stark relief gutted me when my feet touched the sand. I lifted her into my arms, trying to keep her head balanced against my shoulder. Still not fucking breathing.

I pushed my way through the resistance of the water. “Dude! Is she okay?” The juicehead asked from shore. He was lucky my hands were busy at the moment.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” I seethed, pushing past him. I made it onto the beach and put her down, then checked for breath. None.

Lowering my ear to her chest, I caught her faint heartbeat.

I would have thanked God if I’d believed he existed.