Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 128211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
I felt bad for Maria. Her so-called friends were content to get right back to their vacation, no one other than Russell showing much more than a blip of concern. Tammy stopped her fake dramatics as soon as the cameras moved their attention back to the crew, and even Russell was subdued in his concern — likely to not raise any flags with his wife.
Other than Captain Gary and Finn, no one really asked about me, either. Palmer and Eli had checked in briefly, but it was the kind of check-in you do when protocol requires it. Once the med team cleared me, it was as if I’d vanished — like I hadn’t just jumped into open water on a moving boat to pull a charter guest from the sea.
I didn’t expect a hero’s welcome. But I thought… I don’t know. I thought maybe Leah would’ve stopped by. Just to say hey. Just to make sure I was okay.
Instead, I sat alone at the bow, wind in my hair and hot tea clutched in my hands. Finn held me without a word, solid and warm beside me even though I knew he had a galley to clean and a half-finished dinner to salvage. The boat hummed around us, the occasional burst of laughter from the guests floating down from the upper deck like it was a different world entirely. They were playing some game, or maybe still bickering over superlatives. I didn’t know. I didn’t care.
I stared out into the endless black of the sea, moonlight glinting off the waves like shattered glass. Everything was calm now — too calm. Like the ocean itself was trying to pretend it hadn’t almost swallowed one of us whole.
But I remembered. My lungs still burned. My arms still ached. My heart still hadn’t found its normal rhythm.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I whispered.
The words tasted like failure, like salt and shame and the thousand things I’d been too afraid to admit out loud. It had been the longest, hardest day of my life, and as much as I wanted to be strong, I didn’t feel it.
I was letting down the version of myself who used to be so sure. But tonight had cracked something wide open. I wasn’t invincible. I wasn’t immune to fear. And I wasn’t sure I could keep pretending I was.
Finn held me, silent but steady.
“I know how they’ll cut it,” I said, voice low, bitter. “I can see the edit already, how they’ll make it seem like I’m unstable. Unhinged. Reckless. They’ll make it look like I jumped for attention, like I was trying to be the hero for applause than just doing the right thing. And I won’t be able to defend myself. I’ll just be the girl who lost it on camera.”
I shook my head, the salt of the sea and my own frustration stinging behind my eyes.
“No matter what I do, I can’t win.”
My voice cracked, the words catching in my throat.
“What was it all for?”
Finn’s arm tightened slightly around me, but he didn’t speak. I appreciated that he was giving me the space to feel through everything without trying to fix it. He just let me sit in the sadness of it all, letting me know I wasn’t alone.
“I really… I really don’t know what the point is anymore.”
He exhaled slowly beside me, rubbing my back. “Then we walk away,” he said. “Screw the cameras. Screw the job. Let’s leave. You and me. Tonight. We’ll pack a bag and go.”
I turned to look at him, and there was nothing but sincerity in his eyes.
And for a moment, God, I wanted to say yes. I wanted to take his hand and fly down the stairs to the crew quarters, pack our shit, and be off the boat in the next thirty minutes. I imagined us hiding away in a hotel somewhere in Naples, getting lost in each other and pretending like the rest of the world didn’t exist.
But there was this part of me still burning despite the waves that had tried to douse every flame. It may have only been embers, but by my namesake — that was enough.
I shook my head. “No.”
Finn’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t push. He just waited — silent, patient.
I sat up straighter, setting the half-empty mug of hot tea to the side.
“I’m not ready to give this up,” I said, and the admission cracked my heart wide open. “I love this job. I love what I do. I’ve worked too damn hard to let a production team or a mean crew or some bored internet trolls take it from me.”
I took a shaky breath, the wind whipping at my frizzed ponytail, the stars overhead like a thousand tiny witnesses.
“I don’t need them to see me. I don’t need the crew to like me. I don’t need the audience to follow me online or my dad to say he’s proud. I know what I did today. I know who I am. And I’m a damn good chief stew.”