Chapter 3

3

D awn cracks through the partially drawn curtains, and I cover my face to hide from it. I haven't slept for a second, but that's not even the issue plaguing my mind. I'm an intern in the pediatric emergency room. We're used to not sleeping. It's not even the kid that I nearly killed that kept me up—first time all fucking week for that.

I shouldn't have said yes to Tinsley.

But there was also no way I could say no.

That's what I battled with. The secret I'm about to keep and the reasons for it. Her reasons but also mine. My brother—despite what she says—would take a big fucking exception to me spending ten days sailing around the Bahamas with the woman he's loved his entire life. I wouldn't blame him for that. Hell, if it were reversed no way would I let that go down.

So not telling my brother, not kicking her ass off this boat, it all feels wrong. Like a lie because it might as well be. But again, there was no way I could say no to her. I could see it in her eyes, all over her face and body, and hell, she's here , isn't she? A certain level of desperation is required to do what she did. Running out on your life in the darkness of night and hiding out on a boat you have no business being on while keeping it a secret from everyone you know is not a normal reaction to life getting a little tough or being a little too much.

She's a woman about to break—whether that's break free or break down remains to be seen.

How can I turn her away and send her back to what got her here in the first place?

I can't.

I'd immediately regret it and never stop worrying or thinking about her. I feel infuriatingly responsible for her now. It takes a bit of being unhinged to recognize it in another, and she's teetering right on the edge. Perhaps more so than I am. I won't let her fall over without a safety net. Not when she says this is what she needs, and I can give her that.

I may inherently be a selfish, self-serving prick, but even I have my limit.

I'll call it my karmic restitution. I won't look or touch or think—shit, I shouldn't have been doing that in the fucking first place—about what she looks like naked or her on her knees or the way she'd beg or how she called me sir. Christ . I groan into my hands and stir a little under my sheets.

What is wrong with me?! This is Tinsley. Forest's girl. She is not a woman I can think of like this. It makes me feel like the worst sort of man. She's falling apart, literally begging me to help her, and I'm thinking about that bullshit.

No. This all stops now. It's ten days. Ten days both of us need for our own reasons.

And that's all it'll be.

I'm helping out someone I've known my entire life. My brother's ex. My friends' and cousins' friend. When this time is over, she'll return to her life, and I'll return to mine, hopefully with both of us on the upswing. I'm here to get myself together, not tear myself further apart .

My eyes snap open, and my hands fall to my sides as I hear something. I strain, and there it is again.

Fucking hell, the woman is awake, singing and chirping away like a Disney princess. How will I ever survive this with her? My next stop is Freeport. From where we are, if we sail most of the way instead of using the engine, it's a solid two-to-three-days-at-sea journey. From there it's short stints to other islands, but those days at sea…

"Stop singing. It's six in the morning," I shout, and my forearm covers my eyes.

"Oh, sorry. Did I wake you?"

This girl. A ghost of a grin flitters across my face, and I growl to hide it.

"No."

"Oh, good. I was worried there for a beat. I'm going up to the top of the boat—I'm not sure what you call it—to do a little sunrise yoga before we get underway."

"Yoga?"

"I figured if I do yoga, then it's not a total lie that I'm at a yoga retreat. Smart, right? Do you want to join me?"

"No."

"Do you say anything other than no?"

I scowl. "No."

She laughs. Why is she laughing? "Come on. I saw you shirtless last night, so I know you work out. Yoga is good for your mind and body, and I haven't done outdoor yoga in so long. Please join me. We can start fresh with each other and put last night behind us."

The thought of seeing her do yoga, bending and twisting in those positions is a definite no. "I have stuff to do before we get going."

"I get that. If you change your mind, I'm going to do like twenty minutes or so. After that, I'll make breakfast. Do you like eggs and turkey bacon? I noticed the kitchen was stocked last night and didn't even put it together how that's probably not normal for when it's not in use. Anyway, I'll make breakfast for you since you'll be busy with your boat stuff. I don't eat toast because my nutrition team tells me carbs are the devil, but I can do almost anything like a master chef if you'd rather have something else."

I sigh. It's loud. A bit frustrated. A lot resigned. There might also be a touch of humor at the end because she's damn fucking cute, and I don't know how to handle that side of things. I've hung around Tinsley plenty of times but I'm not sure I've ever talked to her this much one-on-one before.

"I eat carbs. I eat all the fucking carbs."

She moans. "If I make you carbs, can I steal a bite or two? I miss bread like I'd miss a lost toe. It's phantom but so real to me."

A laugh bursts out of my lungs. Shit. I scrub my hands up and down my face and sit up, my sheet slipping to my waist as I stare at the door she's on the other side of.

"I'm not sharing my breakfast with you, Tinsley."

"You're very growly. Is this a morning thing, a Stone thing, or a Stone with Tinsley thing?"

"A Stone thing." I blow out a silent breath, feeling a little bad for being so growly with her. Other than breaking into my boat, she hasn't earned it, and she really hasn't done anything wrong.

"Noted. I'll give you space then while I go do my yoga."

"Are you decent?" I don't know why I ask. Why the fuck am I asking her that?

"Define decent?"

I'm smiling. Stupidly smiling. That's why I asked her. To discern what level of trouble I'm already in and how to avoid digging myself in deeper .

"You said yoga. People don't wear a lot to do yoga. I've seen them." And Tinsley strikes me as the type who doesn't either.

"I'm um. Well. I'm?—"

"Do you want me to come out there in only my gym shorts or boxer briefs with no shirt?"

"Ah! No!"

"Excellent. Go put on a fucking bra and an outfit that won't make me hard and we'll survive this trip."

A pause. It's heavy. "I'm not sure I like your level of honesty. For the record, I'm wearing a sports bra and cropped yoga pants. And I didn't know my braless state made you hard."

Me either. No joke, me either. The last time she was on this boat, she wore a bikini like ninety percent of the time, and I intentionally didn't look. Not once. But after seeing her naked last night, with all her smooth skin and sweet, perfect curves, I can't have her traipsing around in anything less than a winter parka. Definitely not in only a sports bra and tight-as-all-sin yoga pants.

I just can't.

Honesty is how we'll get through this unscathed, and I plan to start now. "I'm a straight guy. Boobs are our thing, especially my thing. Any boobs. Your braless state makes me hard. I don't like it. I fucking hate it. So let's not encourage it. In fact, how about both of us wear clothes this week? Then neither of us will be tempted to look at things we shouldn't. Now that we've established that, if you're planning on staying, can you be a good girl for me and get dressed?"

The air is so silent. So unstirred.

"You just asked if I would be a good girl for you," she replies in a low voice.

I freeze, my hand on my forehead, my eyes staring straight at the door. Did I ask her to be that? A good girl? For me? My head whips down, and sure enough, my dick is jerking in my briefs as if to say, yeah, bro, you sure as hell did, and we hope she says yes, sir .

Fuck.

Are you my good girl? Are you even capable of being one for me?

Things I will never ask her.

" That's what you focus on? Not the fact that I admitted that your braless state makes me hard?"

Shouldn't that be worse?

A huff. "Fine. You're right. Just don't call me that again, and I won't call you sir again, and I'll wear clothes, keep my distance, eat carbs, and live my worst, best life in the best and worst of ways." She giggles. It's a little manic. "I'm so excited for this. Thank you again. I'm going to throw on a shirt, and then head to the top of the boat. At some point, you'll have to teach me all the names for things. I'm ready for whatever you've planned for us. And don't worry. I know it's not me making you hard."

If I hadn't felt like a total creeper, asshole, piece of shit before, I certainly do now.

Like I need her to throw me slack for my dirty, inappropriate, wayward thoughts about her. Not good.

Whatever. If she's willing to dole it out, I'll take it.

I'm here to get myself together. To put the man I've been aside and become someone new, someone better. What happened with the boy was my wake-up call. I want to be the doctor I know I can be. I want to be a man who isn't afraid of his own reflection or stepping foot in a trauma room.

I want to be a man I can be proud of, and I haven't been him.

Not ever.

So this is my time. When I return to Boston Children's Hospital, I will be the doctor I should have always been. The one who knows. The one who learns. The one who puts his patients and nothing else above him .

And Tinsley Monroe won't get in the way or distract me from that goal. She won't. Which is why I want her to wear a bra and a shirt and why I want her to understand what this is and what it isn't.

Her door closes down the hall, and I peel myself up and out of bed. I take a brief shower. I dress in shorts and a T-shirt and head to the engine room, all business.

Everything looks good in here, and I turn her on, getting Benthesicyme ready to sail. When she's all set to go, and I think I've killed enough time to miss Tinsley's yoga, I head to the upper deck. The morning is so beautiful with how the sun rises from the ocean, spraying everything it touches with shades of pink and gold. I start the engine, listening to the gentle hum—her engines are powerful but quiet—and feel the pulse thrum beneath my feet rising through me.

I go through my checks, keeping the sails locked down.

"Last chance!" I yell out when everything is set, and then I wait. And wait. I give it about ten solid minutes and even yell it two more times "This is it. You're about to be stuck with me."

Another pause.

"Do you hear me?"

"Yes!" she cries. "I hear you. I'm staying! I'll wear a goddamn bra and a shirt over it. Now sail us out of here. Your breakfast is almost ready."

Your wish is my command.

And it is because I back out of the marina and steer us east toward the sunrise. Ten minutes later, Miami is directly behind us, and I'm taking a northeast course toward Grand Bahama Island.

This sort of yacht is all automatic. I simply punch in coordinates or even a location and it tracks us that way. I don't have to pull lines or angle myself over the side of the hull to get her to tack how I want. That's what comes with a ninety-foot luxury sailing vessel, but she is powerful, her sails are no joke, and her pitch can be mighty if you're not used to it or ready for it.

The moment we hit the open ocean, I call down to her. "I hope you're ready and holding on to something."

"Wait! I'm coming up."

I roll my eyes but give her the grace she requested as she carries a large tray filled with food and coffee up the stairs and sets everything down on the built-in table by the sun deck.

"Ready?"

Wind and ocean spray whip across her, rustling a few flyaways from her tight bun as she makes her way over to stand beside me. There is no hiding the smile lighting her face, and I remember this about Tinsley from our last time sailing. She loved it. Even as Forest stayed downstairs or under the sunshade the entire time. Sailing is definitely not his thing.

"Ready."

I raise the sails with a push of a few buttons and then cut off the engine.

A high swells in my gut, and a weightlessness tracks through my limbs.

The boat tilts, and the pull of the wind carries us, all guided by me. It used to be lines and pulls and jibs and booms, but even though it's not, it can still be fun. It can still be wild. It can still be up to the ocean for how this goes. Automation means I don't need a crew to sail a ship this size—even if she can accommodate up to four permanent crewmembers—and that's what I had been counting on for this trip.

Just me, Benthesicyme, and the ocean. And now Tinsley.

I stand behind the wheel, my girl half tilted into the white swell, the sunny, salty air wrapping around me in her endless embrace.

"Holy shit!" Tinsley cries, her hands flying high above her head as if she too is trying to catch the wind. "This is incredible! "

"Just wait. It's about to get better." With the navigation screen before me and the wheel at my command, I take my lady out to sea, pushing her to her max, tightening her sails, and savoring her wind as it propels us forward at nearly forty knots.

This is what I needed. This is what I was after.

Nothing humbles you the way the ocean can. You are nothing in comparison to its strength and might. I never did right by the opportunities presented to me. I never cared enough to give them the respect they deserved. I was cavalier, and it cost me. It nearly cost a family everything.

I rushed with that boy. It's why I almost didn't catch his meningitis.

I blew off his symptoms and half-assed the exam because I was anxious to get in on an incoming trauma, but his mother was persistent. The nurse was persistent, too. She told me I needed to take his symptoms more seriously, and I didn't because I thought it was just a cold or the flu, even though his rapid flu came back negative. Still, I was positive about it.

So much so that I brushed off his stiff neck and sensitivity to light and fever that didn't want to come down. I wrote all those off, and truth be told, I didn't consider meningitis on my differential until his diagnosis all but smacked me in the face, and he started decompensating. Until the nurse not so artfully told me she suspected it was meningitis and that I was killing him by waiting and blowing it off.

If I hadn't finally listened to her, I never would have done the blood cultures and lumbar puncture. And that… I have no words for that. I was arrogant. I was cocky. I was fucking stupid. And I nearly killed that boy.

My error would have. Bacterial meningitis is extremely deadly. And contagious. The boy survived but ended up in the ICU and needed to be intubated. If I had caught it earlier, even started antibiotics a few hours earlier, he might not have gotten as sick as he did. His organs might not have started to fail him .

I should have caught it sooner. It should have been in my differential from the start. I should have spent the time and thought it through. I haven't been able to see a patient since. I haven't slept much, and I've barely eaten. I've been sick with all of it.

So yeah, I'm here to get my shit together.

I just hope it's not too late, or worse, that this week ends up costing me more.