Cindy Miles - About That Kiss

“Addeline!” he shouted until his voice cracked. He swallowed seawater. He swallowed air. He darted his eyes everywhere as he panicked but saw nothing except gray, black and the white froth kicked up by the crashing waves. The waves grew, like being in rolling hills, and Addie was nowhere to be found.

He turned his eyes skyward and noticed the Jayhawk hovering overhead. His captain signaled and dropped the line. Nathan turned away, scanning frantically the gray swells and bursts of foam as the sea churned. No sign of Addeline. Not...anywhere. He screamed into the wind, until he had no air left, and his throat scorched from swallowing too much salt water. The sea spray from the blade wash as the chopper dropped closer blinded him. With his lungs burning, he swam to his line, and the chopper pulled him up. Nathan kept his eyes fastened on the angry waters below. He couldn’t see from down there, bobbing in the storm, being tossed around. They’d find her. From the Jayhawk, he’d be able to see that red coat. Just over that next hill of water. That next wave. She’d be there, waiting. He’d find Addie.

He wasn’t leaving until he did.

Nathan clung to the edge of the open door of the Jayhawk as they searched for hours. Dread filled his insides with each ticking moment that passed. She’d not been wearing her guppy suit. The damn thing he’d told her more than once to put on at the first sign of any trouble. It was insulated. It’d keep her warm if she ended up in the icy water.

She’d been wearing only that damned red rubber coat.

Four hours passed before they found Chip, dead. Wearing the guppy suit. And about a half mile away, the inflatable Zodiac.

For three days they searched the wreck site, and even though the waters had somewhat calmed with the passing of the storm, there was never a sign of Addie. Nathan couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. Wouldn’t leave the station, much less his post. Hope fled, turning into a clawing, painful desperation to get Addie back. It left a hole in his gut.

“You did everything you could, Nathan,” Lt. Commander Jales said. The Jayhawk’s pilot put his hand on Nathan’s shoulder and squeezed. “You did, son. That was...a helluva storm, I’m afraid. I’m sorry.”

The words reverberated in Nathan’s head, bounced off his skull and fell flat. The sea had swallowed her up. Over and over in his head, he saw her standing there, waving at him. He’d never see her again. Pain tore at his insides. He’d not done everything. He’d had eyes on Addie. Had told her to jump. He’d been right there.

It’d not been enough.

He’d not been enough.

CHAPTER ONE

Cassabaw Station

Carolina barrier island

Late June

Present day

THE ALARM’S SCREECH broke through the room and Nathan’s sleep, and he pushed off his stomach to sit on the edge of the bed. He tapped the alarm off and pushed his fingers through his hair.

Four a.m., and it was opening day of shrimping season. They were going to get an extra-early start.

Running through his morning ritual, Nathan put on a T-shirt and shorts, then pulled his hair back. Quickly washing his face and brushing his teeth, he then jogged downstairs, the smell of bacon and coffee wafting up the stairwell.

“’Bout damn time you dragged yourself out of bed,” his grandpa, Jep, grumbled from the stove. “You goin’ for a haircut later?”

Nathan’s dad, Owen, was sitting at the table, and he threw his son a grin.

“Jep, enough about the hair,” Nathan said, pouring coffee into an insulated thermos. “It’s getting old.”

“Well, I’m old, dammit, and I’m tired of lookin’ at my eldest grandson with long, girlie hair.” He swore under his breath. “Ponytail and such. Like a pirate or some such nonsense. Or a hippie! Godalmighty damn.”

Nathan chuckled. “Chicks dig it.”

Jep snorted. “Sure they do, boy. I can tell by how they’re lining the drive each weekend. Now quit arguing and eat up.”

Nathan gave his grandpa a quick peck on the cheek then jumped out of the way before the old guy one-twoed him. Grabbing a bacon-and-egg biscuit from the pan on the stove, he joined his dad at the table. Jep sat with them, sipping on a coffee mug surely older than Nathan himself. Tradition, Jep always said. It’s a good thing to have. Just then, a quick knock sounded at the back door, before it opened. Nathan’s middle brother, Matt, stepped over the threshold.

“’Bout time you got your sorry backside outta bed,” Jep grumbled.

Matt ruffled Jep’s thick white hair, grabbed a biscuit then sat with them.

“Good to have your help on opening day,” Owen said.

Matt gave a lopsided grin. “You almost had two helpers. I had to convince Em that she really shouldn’t be on a trawler in the Atlantic in her condition.”

“Did she smack you for that?” Nathan asked.

“Yep.” Matt shoved the rest of his biscuit into his mouth.

Nathan figured his sister-in-law, now six months pregnant with his first-ever niece or nephew, had a head of concrete. It wouldn’t surprise him at all to find she’d stowed away on the Tiger Lily.

They quickly finished breakfast, grabbed their gear and set out. The early-morning Carolina air was still and warm and humid as they walked down to the dock. The night birds still called, and cicadas and frogs rivaled their choruses. A typical low-country morning. Tradition. Home. Family.

Living the dream.

Almost, anyway.

Living on the Back River, the water was deep enough to berth their thirty-foot trawler, so while Owen took the wheel and began to ease along, Nathan and Matt both perched at the bow in silence, studying the water ahead as the Tiger Lily sliced through the calm darkness. Nathan inhaled, holding the briny air in his lungs before letting his breath out slowly. It was going to be a damn good day. The weather conditions were perfect. Warm air, warmer waters. Nathan knew, though, that the calm blue-gray of the Atlantic could churn and cough and consume any and everything in its path, all in the blink of an eye. The sea? She was never, ever to be trusted. But for now, he’d gladly accept the bounty she’d offered up.

As they cleared the river and entered the sound, Nathan and Matt dropped the trawler’s outriggers and they headed out to sea. As morning broke, other trawlers dotted the horizon, but the Tiger Lily was in an optimal spot, where the waters were moving in the same direction. They rode the shifting tides, avoided slack-water time. After baiting the nets, Nathan and Matt dropped the doors, and after just one drag they raised both nets filled with Atlantic brown shrimp. Nathan let out a holler, and Matt threw his head back and laughed. Owen simply shook his head, a grin on his weathered face.

The nets dropped load after load, and they filled the coolers to the gills with shrimp. It’d been a good haul for opening day—more than an average haul. By the time they’d dropped the load at the docks and the Tiger Lily began chugging home, the sun had peaked. Three o’clock on a June day. Hot as all holy hell.

“Hope that sets the pace for the season,” Owen said from the wheel.

“It’d be nice,” Nathan called back. Since they shrimped almost year-round, even a slow season wasn’t terrible. Last year had been a big improvement from the year before. Same with crabs, which they tended to run commercial traps for in the summer months leading into early fall, just to make the extra money. Even the infamous Carolina blue crabs were heading farther out, away from the riverbeds and into deeper waters. Hell, the entire ecosystem had gone squirrely. They even had a few great whites show up from time to time. One local white that showed up three years running, Lucy, had found herself on the news more than once. Way different from when he and his brothers were growing up, when they could drop lines off the floating dock and pull in an easy half bushel of crabs in no time flat. Still, things had been good for the Malone family.