The Summer of Chasing Mermaids (25 page)

You sure?
I wondered it, even as I grasped his hand and climbed aboard.

Christian smiled. The real one. It broke over my lips in a single kiss, deep and certain. With his forehead pressed to mine, he said, “Get your sparkly hot mermaid ass on that tiller. We've got a boat to race, Stowaway.”

Chapter 33

Seas the Moment, Daring
Delilah, Chasing Sunsets, The Other Woman, Black Star
. Like photographs, the name of every boat told a story.

But of the two dozen vessels lined up for the regatta, there were only two stories I cared about:
Queen of Cups
, and our number one competitor,
Never Flounder
.

This was it.

Race day.

I looked up to the sky, and though I couldn't see the constellations in the daylight, I stared into the brightness until white sparks appeared before my eyes.

Please, Lyra. Vega,
I thought.
Keep us steady. Look out for us today.

“Ten minutes,” Christian said, and I nodded, headed belowdecks to get ready.

As Christian made his final checks, I changed out of my dress, putting on a sweatshirt and a pair of drawstring pants Christian had left on the boat. There was no time to wash off the makeup or twist the ornaments from my hair, so for now, part mermaid I remained.

Steadying myself for the race, I scanned the cabin one last time before the start, taking in the final items Christian had brought on board this morning: First aid kit. Extra food and clothing. Two fire extinguishers. Flare gun. Foghorn. Life buoy.

I took a deep, salty breath, counted the waves lapping against the boat until the fear finally left my limbs.

We wouldn't need any of those things, I told myself. They were just precautions. This wasn't even a real regatta—not like the hardcore competitions you'd sometimes catch on television. This was the Pirate Regatta of Atargatis Cove. Loose rules. Shorter course. Untrained weekend sailors. Cheating encouraged.

“This is it,” Christian said, peeking at me through the companionway, and his enthusiasm was sudden and contagious. Captured by the warmth in his smile, I forgot about the houses, the stakes of this race, what it meant if we lost. I forgot about my fears. Instead, I imagined us together on the open seas, here and in Tobago. Maybe, I thought, I'd take him there. From the deck of the
Atlantica
we'd float on the warm Caribbean, and I'd show him my places, all the old haunts that still haunted me.

“You ready?” he asked. His eyes sparkled like the sea, and I answered him with two steps forward and a kiss as vast and deep as our dreams.

A shot rang out across the great Pacific, and the line of boats wavered and broke, all of us jockeying for the best position.

I manned the tiller while Christian worked the sails. Per my captain's orders, we'd started behind the line, building up speed and crossing the line the instant the race began. The strategy paid off; we'd gotten a clean lead, breaking away from the knot of inexperienced boaters and successfully avoiding their bad air.

From his position at the boom Christian said, “Noah's main weakness is
Never Flounder
herself. He's so protective of her that he gets skittish when other boats get too close. He'll round the marks too wide or too tight to avoid a hit, and he'll back off if we're coming at him too hard. That'll be our best chance to gain on him.”

I nodded, reviewing the course again in my mind, just as Christian had mapped it out for me. There were three marks we'd have to round, plus other obstacles, and that tricky spot by Seal Rock.

“Elyse,” he said, and when I looked up at his face, he was alight with joy. “We got this.”

As the mainsail captured the sea air, fluttering and then smoothing quickly, Christian's smile was unchecked. The breeze was moderate as we headed upwind, and after a moment he flattened the sail to pick up some speed. While the cockier sailors put more draft in their sails, banking on more power, we maintained our lead, moving at a steady clip through the first leg of the course.

Christian was so at ease on the water, such a natural sailor. It was
the first I'd seen him really let loose, and though he was focused and serious, he was also at peace. Completely in his element. No matter the outcome of the race, in this moment I was as proud of him as I'd been of his little brother at the parade. I hadn't even told Christian about the big parade win; I had a feeling Sebastian wanted to share that news himself.

As Christian predicted, we easily left most of the boats several lengths behind, and if any caught up, it wasn't long before we ­outmaneuvered them again.

Only
Never Flounder
pulled ahead, soon taking and holding the lead. Despite the inexperienced first mate, Noah seemed more than capable of handling the boat.

“Let's jerk the sheet,” Christian said as Noah gained another length on us. “She's luffing.” He followed through on his own order, gaining a little on Noah when the sail filled smoothly again, carrying us out.

So far we were doing everything by the book, and our calm tactics were keeping us steady. The Pirate Regatta wasn't about entertaining the crowd with fancy tricks and daring moves—things that could mess with your head during a race and lead to sloppy mistakes and showboating. It was about speed and strategy, about getting to the finish line first.

Still, the
Queen of Cups
drew a graceful, elegant wake through the water, gliding across the waves as though she barely touched the surface. She was stunning, and I was at ease in a way I hadn't thought possible.

“First mark,” Christian said as we neared it. I shifted the tiller as he worked the boom, guiding us through. The boat heeled into the first turn, picking up speed as Christian trimmed the sails.

Against the other boats,
Queen of Cups
and
Never Flounder
were unmatched. The course seemed too easy, the wind and water too ­cooperative, it almost felt as if we were just out with Noah for a friendly sail. I could just about taste the picnic lunch we'd drop anchor for, just about feel the cold water on my skin as we jumped in the ocean for a quick, refreshing dip.

“This is where it gets tricky,” Christian said, bringing me out of the reverie. He nodded at the choppy water ahead, the area around Seal Rock whipping into white peaks. “Something's really churning it up today. Hold on.”

Up until now the tiller had barely given me any trouble. But I grabbed it with both hands, preparing for the jagged waves ahead.

Christian let some wind into the mainsail. Over his shoulder, he turned to check on me, my position. “You good?” he shouted.

I nodded and stood up straight to get a better look at him and the rock ahead, still gripping the tiller, holding steady.

The look in his eyes changed in an instant.

Caution to fear. Impossible, bone-chilling fear.

“Elyse!” he shouted, unable to let go of the boom. “Hang on! Hang the fuck on!”

The desperation in his eyes told me exactly what would happen next. I didn't have time to react—I couldn't even sit down. I could do
nothing but close my eyes and try to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest.

The wave slammed into us portside, and
Queen of Cups
­hiccupped.

The tiller jerked away, stinging my palms, and the boat leaped up again, then crashed down. My teeth smashed together. Christian was shouting and there was blood in my mouth and then the sky turned dark and I was floating among the stars.

Look, Natalie,
I said, but it wasn't my voice. It was Granna's, and then it changed to my father's. I reached out, touched the air before me.
So many stars, baby. I think you can hold them.

“Elyse!” Christian made it across the deck in a blur, grabbing me and pinning us both against the coaming just as another wave hit. The unmanned sails flapped wildly in a gust of rabid wind, jerking us about.

Instinctively my arms wrapped around him, held on with a death grip.

Christian shouted in my ear, so loud and fierce it hurt. “Don't let go!”

We'd lost control of the boat, and the sea tossed us like a toy. Water shot up before us, crashing down on me in an icy plume.

My body was bathed in salt water. The shock of it yanked me back to my senses.

Queen of Cups.

Atargatis Cove.

Pirate Regatta.

Christian Kane.

Just as quickly as it had hit us, the wind died. The waves passed. The boat leveled out beneath our feet. Bobbing gently, innocently, ­the rigging squeaking softly as though nothing had happened.

Christian held me to his chest, his breathing ragged. I couldn't feel his heartbeat through our life jackets, but I suspected it was as wild as mine. Overhead, grommets and ropes clanked against the mast.

He pulled away slowly, searching my face for signs of distress.

“Talk to me,” he said gently. His fingers probed my head, my neck. “Are you hurt?”

I couldn't move. Not even to shake my head.

“Elyse!” he said. “Say something!”

His urgency chased away the fog. I snapped to attention, checked the inside of my mouth with my tongue. I'd bitten it, but it wasn't bad, just a little blood. My teeth seemed intact, despite the jarring impact.

I shook my head.
Not hurt.

Christian let out a gust of breath. “Okay,” he said. “Can you get back to the tiller?”

No.
I couldn't get my legs to work, and no way was I letting go of Christian.

It was happening again, playing out in my memory, flashes of water and pain. The stars and the moon. Choking, no air. The blade on my throat. The end of it all.

I wouldn't risk it, wouldn't budge. I knew if I moved, if I let him
go, the sea would rise up again. Sweep me away, suck me down to the underneath.

“It's okay,” Christian said, soothing. He ran his hands over my arms. “You're safe. The boat is fine. We've just got to steer her around Seal Rock, then it's a smooth ride to the finish. We can easily overtake
Delilah
. And after that, Noah's not that far up. Look.”

He pointed ahead, and I caught sight of
Daring Delilah
,
Never Flounder
's yellow-and-blue sails just beyond. Behind us,
Seas the Moment
was closing in, a trail of slower vessels bringing up the rear. We still had time to make this up, if we hurried.

There was excitement in Christian's eyes; he'd done the same calculations.

But I couldn't move.

Just go,
I told him.
I'll be okay.
It was a lie; I was paralyzed with fear, but I was holding us up, wasting time.

“Come on, Stowaway,” he said through a smile. “Don't fall apart on me now.”

He'd said it playfully, but still, I snapped. I shot him a desperate glare.
Just go, Christian! Hurry. Go! Catch up!

“Elyse,” he said, calm and gentle as ever. “I'm not pushing you because I'm worried about the time. I'm pushing you because I believe in you. You can do this. Just let it go.”

His hands grabbed mine, warm and reassuring. “Let. It. Go.”

Gently he slid his fingers beneath mine, prying them from his life jacket.

“I'll be with you every step,” he said.

I closed my eyes, took a deep and salty breath. Another. And another.

And I let it go.

Took a step away from him.

Felt the sun on my face.

Never Flounder
's bright sails were once again in my sights.

Okay,
I said.
Ready.

“You sure you're up for this?” Christian asked. His voice was soft, but he couldn't hide the hope there, and it felt raw, this glimpse. Like last night in the boat, passionate and fragile, together. Fire and spun glass.

I leaned forward and pressed my mouth against his ear. “All in,” I croaked. It was scratchy and low, but he'd heard me, and my breath spurred him into action.

“Get on the tiller!” he shouted. I scurried back to my position and grabbed the tiller as he shouted again. “Hold on. We need to pick up some serious speed. Might get bumpy again until we get around this rock. Okay?”

I gave him our salute, suddenly fierce and determined.

With speed and deftness Christian gathered up the lines, pulled and fastened, yanked and released. Despite our losing temporary control, he managed to readjust the sail and flatten her out again, sensing the wind and the water more than watching them. He sailed on instinct, on feel, as though the boat were an extension of his body. His soul.

It worked.

We caught up easily to
Daring Delilah
—the only boat other than Noah's we'd seen beating us around Seal Rock. After we passed her, the captain overcompensated in his eagerness for speed, losing his wind and stalling out.

“There's
Never Flounder
,” Christian said. Like
Delilah
's crew, Noah and his mate were too hasty in their reaction to us. Their mainsail billowed and pouched, the jib tightened, and though the boat glided away from us, it was sloppy and uneven. As we passed them, moving ahead and away from
Never Flounder
, Noah shouted something to his first mate.