Free Giving In (The Sandy Cove Series Book 1) by M.R. Joseph

Harlow, say something, do something damn it!
    “Since there’s nothing coming out of that
smartass, sassy little mouth of yours,” he growls sexily, hungrily,
“maybe I should put something in it?”
    What?
    My natural reaction to what’s about to
transpire, does not stun me; it frightens me and with all of my
might, all the strength I have in this body, I shove the pig off
the dock into the bay.
    He crashes into the water, flailing his arms and
legs, gasping for air.
    “You bastard! How dare you? You are nothing but
a self-righteous pig!” He sinks into the water, bobs up and down.
What is this game he’s playing?
    “Help, Harlow, please, I…” Back down he goes,
then up again, coughing, splashing, then back down.
    What is he trying to do?
    Then he goes under again. And not resurfacing. I
wait, and I wait. I peek over the dock to see where he is. Nothing
but a few bubbles pop up.
    Shit!
    Did he drown? I look to the opposite side of the
dock, nothing. I feel panic in my chest, so I yell for help.
    “Someone, help. Come quick!”
    My anxiousness overtakes me, and I pull at my
hair, pacing until I see Max fly out onto the upper patio.
    I get on my hands and knees and peer over the
old wooden boards.
    Oh, no! I can’t see him. The water is too
dark.
    I’m suddenly grabbed by my arm, thrown in the
water, and I’m confused, not breathing correctly, gasping as I feel
the water enter my lungs. I can’t stand, nor can I yell. I’m going
to die. This is how I’m going to die. I can hear muffled sounds of
people talking, yelling, splashing all around me, as I begin to
sink deeper and deeper into the salty water. I close my eyes,
wishing for a quick end and not a long, drawn-out, dramatic death.
Flashes of my past come to play. Weaving a movie about my life, the
good, the bad, the tragic. I don’t want that to be the last thing I
think before I die. I plead with God, not that, oh, please, not
that.
    I feel my body jerk. There are arms around my
waist, hauling me up from the water, and I feel my body hit a hard
surface. I blink a few times after my cheek has been slapped and
hands turning my head towards the side of my body. I expel water
from my lungs. I shut my eyes again because of the sting from the
remnants of the salt due to the saltwater.
    “She can’t swim. God damn it! How did this
happen!”
    I can hear Willow yelling and hands making
contact with bare flesh, the slapping sounds, the cries, and then
two hands grasping my shoulders.
    “Harlow, Harlow, can you hear me?”
    I take a deep breath in. It hurts my lungs, but
I do so, and momentarily I cough and spit more water from my mouth.
Willow is looking at me, my face in her hands. She is focusing on
my face.
    “Oh, thank God, Har. Are you ok? Do you want to
go to the hospital? What happened?”
    There’s much confusion surrounding me. Lots of
faces, in my face. Willow trying to pull me off the wooden boards.
Her screaming at Cruz.
    “You asshole. How could you do that to her? She
can’t swim. Never learned how and you go and do this. If I thought
you weren’t much of an asshole a week and a half ago, God, let me
tell you what I really think of you now.”
    She leaves me, gets in his face, they are
shouting, pointing at me, to the dock, to the water, and to my… oh
my God! My laptop! It’s soaked, ruined. Simply drenched. And then I
feel the tears prick my eyes, sting them, and I regurgitate the
salt from the bay. A heavy mixture of emotions is going through me.
Sadness, anxiousness, and I’m just tired. So tired, I want to go
back to bed, and it’s only seven a.m.
    I hug my knees and rock like I always do when
I’m anxious. Max comes to my side and bends down so he’s level with
me. His hand rests on my knee.
    “Harlow, are you ok? He didn’t mean it. He had
no idea you couldn’t swim.”
    I don’t reply. I’m still in shock, still shaking
from seeing my life flash before my eyes.
    I rise, and Max helps me up. I grab my laptop,
water drips