Wrecked (20 page)

“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.

F
IVE DAYS
. A
S SOON AS HE HAD LOST SIGHT OF
M
IRANDA
,
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?

M
IRANDA 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.

“Thanks!” Miranda added. “Come on,” she grabbed the crook of Teddy’s elbow and yanked him off the stool.

“What’s wrong with you?” Teddy burst out as soon as they were out of earshot of Louisa.

“Nothing,” Miranda said, grabbing her keys. “Get in.”

“You have sand in your hair.” Teddy narrowed his eyes. “You’re acting weird. Did you go swimming again?”

“Yup,” Miranda said simply. “I was sleeping in the pool house, and I didn’t want to explain that to Louisa. And I have an extra uniform in my locker. I’ll change later,” Miranda said, backing out of the driveway. She felt giddy, as if a fog had been lifted. Someone on the island didn’t hate her. Someone on the island didn’t think the accident had been her fault. And she couldn’t wait to see him again.

“I’m worried about you,” Teddy said finally, casting a suspicious sidelong glance at Miranda as she turned down Beach Haven.

“You shouldn’t be,” Miranda shrugged. “I’m better than ever.
Really
.”

“Okay, well, can you tell me why? I covered your ass. The least you can do is give me something. I’m glad you’re fine, but I was freaking out. I thought you might have . . .” Teddy let the rest of the sentence trail off, but Miranda knew how it ended . . .
killed yourself.
She shivered.

“I was swimming,” Miranda said curtly. Beyond the line of trees on the driver’s side of the road, she caught a glimpse of the ocean crashing against the white sand.

“You were swimming until seven a.m.? By yourself ?” Teddy asked.

“Who else would I be with?” Miranda lied, feeling almost giddy. Someone, somewhere, didn’t automatically equate her name with disaster. There was the possibility of something better. “I was just swimming. It’s pretty at night. No one bothers you, no one sees you . . . you should try it. By yourself,” she added, in case Teddy got any ideas to accompany her tonight.

“I’ll take a rain check, thanks,” Teddy said. He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something else, then thought better of it.

“Whatever floats your boat. Or, I guess, in my case, wrecks it,” Miranda said, laughing at her dark humor while Teddy looked at her with concern.

All of a sudden, Miranda spotted an empty parking spot in front of Aunt Edie’s Pie Shack, one of the cafes near the dock that catered to the fishermen on the island. Instead of the faux-weathered trim of the luxury shops, Aunt Edie’s was
really
weather-beaten, with peeling gray paint and shutters that were falling off their hinges. It didn’t matter. What did matter was that every pastry they made was amazing, and absolutely worth all the calories.