Free The Last Treasure by Erika Marks

hyperactive—his heart won’t slow either.
    He stops his pacing to rest awhile in the window seat. Across the enormous bedroom, he searches the darkness for their bed. It takes his eyes a while to adjust, but he can make out Liv’s sleeping form, or maybe it’s just memory filling in the blanks.
    The first night he ever spent with her, he watched her like this, nursing a drink in the cramped blue-black of the berth, considering the beauty of her face, the slope of her body, parts covered and uncovered. He was in love with her even before that first day they met after the lecture when she’d corrected that asshole Warner, so much longer than she’ll ever know. It had killed him to watch her and Sam grow close in Hatteras, knowing Sam Felder had already won her heart before Whit had even had a turn at bat. Finally getting to sleep with her had been like a dream you never wanted to wake up from.
    Now here he is again, eight years later, afraid to fall asleep, afraid he might wake to find her gone. Just a dream.
    A damp wind blows through the casement windows that box in the bedroom, tinged now with the heat of daybreak and the taste of salt. Even this far away, he can smell the soft vanilla of her skin. She hasn’t moved much—is she having a good dream? Is he in it? Is Sam?
    When Liv decided not to welcome Sam right away, Whit was relieved. Hell, he was thrilled. Then he interrupted their reunion in the kitchen and felt that confidence leak out. The way she looked at him when he blew in, the panic in her eyes that he might ruin this mission before they even got out on the water. Her lack of faith crushed him—but what did he expect? He hasn’t always kept his promises.
    She’s out there and we’ll find her.
    He climbs to his feet, restless again, and walks to the stretch of windows that look out onto the water. They’ve got a good crew. He’s worked with the older guys before—the others came recommended. One is very young, just twenty, and he’ll makea good deckhand. Whit saw the agreeable way he smiled at everything the other guys said at dinner, how loudly he laughed at their terrible jokes, how quickly he offered to get more beers, more food.
    Whit rubs his face, his jaw. He just wants to get to the site, start bringing everything up so there can be no contention, no doubt. He just wants it to be six already. But no matter how many times he cuts his gaze to the sky, that one damn streak of pink seems frozen, determined to sit on dawn’s rise for as long as possible. The surf keeps curling over the shore and retreating, the ticktock of its rhythm. He turns back to watch Liv as the even sound of her breathing matches it.
    And in the seconds of quiet between the rise and crash of every wave, Whit swears he can already hear the gentle crack of her heart breaking.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    A flock of terns plunges to the water, their capped heads descending in unison, purple in the muted dawn light. Sam watches them from his seat on the sand, admiring their order and grace. He’s always the first one up. He and the birds. His dreams were strange and chaotic, but what else would they be after seeing Liv and Whit again after so long? Liv
with
Whit. It doesn’t make sense.
They
don’t make sense. Not the way he and Liv had—that’s for sure.
    He wipes sweat off his neck with his T-shirt sleeve. Even after a hard run on the beach, he still feels amped up. He blames the house. All this space. A huge bed in a huge room. He’s grown used to small quarters, come to crave them, frankly.Too much wide-open space isn’t good for a person—too much empty air needing to be filled with useless thoughts. Like his physical belongings, he believes in limiting his footprint too. But not Whit.
    Typical Crosby, getting them something so outrageous.
    He squints out at the water. They’ll have a good day out there. No wind, no