“Before you burn even worse or get sun poisoning,” Hazard said, herding Somers toward the boat.
They climbed on board, Somers helping Hazard, and Somers wrapped himself in a towel and sat under the sunshade. Hazard sat at the wheel and pressed the starter.
Nothing.
Hazard ran his eyes over the controls. He adjusted a few things, which was pure bullshit, and tried again.
Nothing.
He reset everything and tried again.
Nothing.
“Ree?”
“It won’t start.”
“Did you press the button?”
Hazard just looked at him, and Somers raised both hands and said, “Sorry.”
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Hazard said. “It was working fine.”
“Maybe we ran out of fuel.”
“Not unless the gauge was broken; I kept an eye on it.”
“Maybe the battery is dead.”
Hazard didn’t say anything to that.
“Let’s just radio back,” Somers said.
“Not yet.”
“Ree, they’ve got to handle stuff like this all the time. They’ll come out here, they’ll figure out what it is, and we’ll be on our way.”
“Give me a few more minutes.”
So he messed with the controls again, tried the starter, and then put them all back the way they’d been.
“If you’re worried I’ll be disappointed—”
“I can figure this out, John.”
Somers didn’t exactly sigh or blow out a breath, but his posture changed, and he ran a hand through wet hair. After a few moments, he came and sat in the seat next to Hazard.
“All right,” Hazard said. “Fine. Let’s use the radio.”
“Hold on.”
“No, you’re right. This was a bad idea.”
“It wasn’t a bad idea. We might have to use the radio. But let’s just think about this first. What would Emery Hazard do if he got stuck on a boat?”
“Emery Hazard did get stuck on a boat,” Hazard said, “and he didn’t have any idea what to do, and he made a real fucking mess of his honeymoon.”
Somers was chewing his lip and didn’t seem to be listening. Then he said, “I think Emery Hazard would read the manual.”
“What?”
“There’s got to be a manual, right?”
“I mean,” Hazard said, “it seems like the responsible thing to do.”
So they dug through the seats and pockets and storage areas until Somers let out a cry of triumph and held up a manual in a plastic bag. It looked like it had never been opened. He handed it over.
Hazard flipped, read, flipped, read. Then he stopped. He could feel his face heating as he handed the book back to Somers.
“What?” Somers said.
On his knees, Hazard dug around until he found the safety lanyard that had somehow come loose. He reinserted the clip and pressed the starter.
The boat roared to life.
“Thank you,” Hazard said.
“Oh Captain, my captain,” Somers said, and he stumbled under the sunshade before Hazard could smack his ass.
V
OCTOBER 30
WEDNESDAY
6:27 PM
ON THEIR LAST NIGHT on Tortola, they dressed for dinner. Somers had brought khakis and a linen shirt that was almost see-through. Hazard was wearing seersucker shorts that probably had five whole inches of inseam and a short-sleeved button-up, blue with orange palm trees printed on it.
“Jesus,” Hazard said, his hand flattening the linen against Somers’s chest, his thumb tracing the dark calligraphy there. “Let’s just get room service.”
“Nope,” Somers said. “I got all dressed up and you’re going to take me out. Turn around.”
“What?”
“Turn around.”
Hazard raised his arms and turned.
“Christ,” Somers said, “you know that this is basically public indecency, right?”
“What?”
“Those shorts.”
“I’m wearing underwear.”
“I noticed. That’s not what I meant. Your ass, Ree. Mother of God.”
“What’s wrong with my ass?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
Hazard’s brows scrunched together.
“Those are some very short shorts, though,” Somers said.
“You were looking at them online. You told me you thought they’d look good on me. And then they had a sale.”
Somers bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning—to keep from saying anything for a moment, in fact, because Hazard’s last statement had been pure, distilled Emery Hazard. When he trusted himself again, he said, “You look fantastic.”
“No, I’ll change.”
“Ree, sweetheart, you look so fucking hot that if you change, I will have to divorce you.”
“Oh,” Hazard said, and he couldn’t hide the pleased smile and the fringe of scarlet that worked its way across his cheekbones. “Ok.”
They ate on the patio, a breeze mixing the smell of the ocean with the aromas of garlic and lime, cumin and mango that floated out from the kitchen. Hazard ordered sole with guava chutney; Somers had chicken with Caribbean jerk sauce.
“No dirty jokes,” Somers said when the waiter left.
“Look who’s talking,” Hazard said.
After dinner, they walked on the beach. In the moonlight, the sand was incandescent, textured with shadows, the breeze sending grains skittering around their feet. Hazard stopped at the end of the beach and kissed Somers in the shade of a mangrove.
“Are you ever afraid things might be too perfect?” Hazard asked.
Somers shook his head; he didn’t trust himself to talk.
Hazard kissed him again.
“Back,” Somers whispered. “I want to go back to our room.”
Hazard nodded. His eyes were huge and golden in the Caribbean night.
They left the lights off, undressing each other slowly, pausing as each garment fell away to linger with kisses or fingers. Hazard dropped onto the bed, pulling Somers on top of him, and they lay there for a while, hands and mouths drawing out the moments. Hazard, of course, had packed lube, and after a time, Hazard took Somers’s hand and guided it down between his legs. He let out a single, broken breath at the first finger.
When fingers weren’t enough anymore, Somers entered him, and Hazard moaned. He laid his hand on Somers’s belly, his fingers tensed, digging into the scrawl of tattoos.
“Too fast?” Somers whispered, trying to ease back, but Hazard locked his legs and pulled him forward until Somers was flush with him. “Ree, talk to me.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Hazard shook his head. Tears leaked out and ran down his cheeks.
Making shushing noises, Somers waited. His hands were shaking as he ran them along Hazard’s massive thighs.
