Rock the Boat: A Griffin Bay Novel

by Starling, Lib

  “Okay,” she finally said. “I’ll agree to anchor here… if it’s what Davis wants.”

  Emily grinned and kissed Jordan’s forehead. “I’ll go talk to him. You wait here.”

  .17.

  Despite her resolve to get to know Davis on their last day together, Jordan found herself unable to face him—too embarrassed by her outburst of anger, and too frightened of her looming sadness that soon he would be gone for good. Instead of spending any time with him, she had spent the whole day sequestered in her cabin, reading books and trying to avoid Davis as if he carried the black plague. She did her best to keep her mind off him, too… but knowing that they were alone on the boat together for the third time wracked her body with shivers of longing and made her heart beat frantically with the need to resist his pull.

  She had listened with rapt intensity as he moved quietly about the boat, coming and going from the deck or helping himself to the food in the galley’s small fridge. But not once did she hear his pumping music. Davis seemed to have found some peace after all, and was enjoying the silence—a change Jordan never would have believed if she weren’t hearing it for herself.

  As the sun sank lower in the western sky, Jordan finished the last of her paperbacks. She tossed the book into her locker with a sigh of defeat. Now she had no more excuse to stay hidden away. She really needed to stretch her legs and back, anyway. Her body was cramped and aching, and her long lack of movement made her feel crabby and gross. There was nothing for it: she had to go up to the boat’s deck. She just hoped any conversation Davis started wouldn’t feel too unbearably awkward.

  As she cracked open her cabin door, Joran smelled something delicious wafting from the galley. Her stomach rumbled. Davis must have made himself dinner; Jordan would soon need to fix a meal of her own, since she had read straight through lunch.

  She peered around the interior of the Coriolis, but Davis was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he was eating in his cabin—against Jordan’s rules, but if it kept her from having an uncomfortable conversation with Davis, she was prepared to forgive him.

  Quietly, on bare feet, Jordan snuck through the boat’s interior to the ladder. The hatch above was open to the sky, which was tinted in the rosy blush of the approaching sunset. Jordan eased herself up the ladder—and stopped dead.

  The little portable table was set up in the cockpit, just as it had been on their first night of the voyage. Davis lounged on the cockpit’s bench on one side of the table, his arms spread casually behind him along the deck’s edge, one ankle propped on his knee. He was watching the sunset with an air of perfect peace. Jordan’s eyes flicked from his face to the table. Davis had laid out two place settings, complete with wine glasses, half-filled with a dark red. He had even found a couple of tea lights in the galley’s junk drawer. They were lit, the small flames dancing, adding their tiny, fitful lights to the glow of the sunset.

  Jordan froze halfway up the ladder, staring.

  “Hey,” Davis said nonchalantly. He leaned forward, lifted the lid from a pot he’d set on a trivet, and stirred the contents. The pot steamed, and Jordan’s stomach growled loudly.

  Davis smiled at her. It wasn’t the cocky grin Jordan had grown so accustomed to over the past nine days. The soft vulnerability on his face, the air of friendly welcome, almost made her like Davis. Almost.

  Jordan licked her lips and tried to avoid looking at the two plates, empty and waiting. “You… you made me dinner?”

  “Of course. You’re not the only one who can cook, you know. Though I’m afraid dinner isn’t very exciting tonight. I just boiled some of that pre-made, pre-packaged mushroom ravioli and opened a jar of sauce. The salad was already washed and cut up, too. So… maybe you are the only one who can cook, after all.”

  Jordan gave a small, reluctant laugh. “Thanks. That was really nice of you.”

  He gestured to the seat across from his own. “Care to join me?”

  Jordan climbed out of the hatch and went to the bench opposite Davis. She sat slowly, not daring to meet his eye. “Listen, Davis… I really need to apologize to you. I’m sorry I yelled at you this morning. It was so—”

  “It’s water under the bridge,” he said as he dished up the ravioli. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I will worry about it. I’ve behaved so unprofessionally this whole trip.”

  He raised his eyebrows and his smile turned from friendly to wolfish. “I won’t file a complaint with the Better Business Bureau, if that’s what you’re worried about. Promise.”

  She shook her head, laughing, then stuffed some of the ravioli in her mouth. “I hope not. I’m pretty sure I’d lose my captain’s license. Oh my god, this is so good. I was starving. I’ve just been so confused about everything that’s happened… everything we’ve done. It’s not like me. And now here we are, alone again… and you’ve even sprung a candlelight dinner on me.”

  “This candlelight dinner is of the no-obligation variety, I swear. This is all I want—just to share a meal with you. Though conversation would be nice, too.” He poked at his salad with his fork for a moment, then said slowly, “I think I need to apologize to you, too. You’re your own woman, Jordan, I know that—you’re in control of yourself. But I still feel a little badly for… pushing you. Or leading you. Whatever you want to call it. If you were unprofessional, it was at least half my fault. I egged you on and made you go beyond your comfort zone. And I’m really sorry I compromised your values that way.”

  “You are?” She’d never heard anybody talk about her values this way. Usually her rigid self-control was the subject of good-natured jokes among her family and friends. But nobody had ever treated Jordan’s quirk as a trait to be honored and respected. A warm flush crept along her limbs. Maybe Davis was likeable, after all.

  “I really think it’s great that you take life so seriously,” he said, “that you know where you’re going, and you follow your star.” He gazed off at the islands, silent and thoughtful. At last he said, “That’s something I wish I could do. I really, really wish I could do it.”

  “What do you mean? You have this amazing career—I mean, you’re world-famous! How did you get where you are now, if not by following your dreams?”

  “Oh, that’s what got me here. Kind of.” He took a long swallow from his wine glass. “I think.”

  Jordan laughed softly. “I don’t follow you at all.”

  “I wanted to be a big-time musician since I was a kid… in spite of my parents’ protests. But the truth is, I never really worked for this. I never had a game plan; I never struggled or worried about my career, until now. The Local Youths lucked out; that’s how we got as big as we did. We happened to play in the right places at the right times. We happened to put the right demos up on the right web sites at just the right moments. Everything fell so neatly into place for us that it seemed natural that we’d make it to the top of the heap. And once we did, and other bands with better business plans and more strategic approaches to the industry started to edge us out.”

  “But you’re still a big deal.”

  “Big-ish… for now. But the other guys in the band can see what direction the wind’s blowing. They’ve all lined up other gigs—safety nets. And here I am, on a ten-day mission to figure out what my next career move should be, and I’ve got nothing. No idea whatsoever. No plan, no safety net… and no idea how to begin making one.”

  “Wow,” she said. “I didn’t realize you were facing such a big hurdle.”

  “If I had your talent for identifying what I want in life, and then sticking to my goal like glue, I don’t think I’d be in this predicament. Or at least I’d have figured out my next move by now. But as it is, I’ve got to go back home tomorrow night and look Tyler in the eye, and tell him that in ten days of R&R, I never rested or relaxed once, and I have no clue what I should do about the downward swing of my career.”

  Jordan set down her fork. Sympathy for Davis’s situation settled in her stomach and made her feel too s
tuffed to eat any more. “So what are you going to say to Tyler?”

  Davis shrugged helplessly. “There’s nothing I can say to him—not anything he’ll like to hear. I don’t have my life figured out. I’ve got no idea what’s next. I should have used these ten days to figure myself out, but I ran from my problems and turned to distractions instead.”

  “Distractions,” Jordan said archly, raising one brow.

  “Pleasant distractions, for sure.” His crooked smile sent a thrill racing up Jordan’s back; she returned it shyly. “But I’m still in a bind. No plan, and no idea how to even start making one.”

  “When I can’t figure out what I should do, I turn to my family for help.”

  Davis’s smile shifted. Now it seemed rather sad. “It sounds like you have a really great family, Jordan. I can tell Storm thinks the world of you.”

  She sipped from her wine glass. “I think the world of him. All of them. I’ve got five brothers and sister, and I know I can rely on them for anything, even if we are all as different as can be. And then there are all my cousins—Storm and his brothers and sisters, and my aunt Susan, who taught me how to sail…. And my mom and dad.” She stared off into the distance, seeing nothing of the islands—only her mother’s warm eyes and her father’s goofy, endearing grin. “You know, it’s kind of stupid to feel this way, but I miss them when I’m out on these trips. The summers have been hard on me since I started this business. Chartering was all I ever wanted, my only goal in life… but I work so much that I don’t get to see my family during the summer. We’re all getting older now—all going in different directions. I worry about all the things I’m missing out on. I’m afraid that we’ll all drift off in different directions, and leave each other behind.”

  “You all sound so close, though. A family like that can’t just break apart.”

  “I hope not.” Jordan’s throat burned. “It would break my heart if we did. I owe everything to them—all of them. They’ve been so supportive of my dreams. I love them all to death, and I always have, even when I’ve fought with my brothers and sisters, and even when my parents drove me absolutely nuts. However much you admire me for my business skills and my drive, Davis, I can tell you that I wouldn’t be who I am today without my family. They’re everything to me. I know they’ll always help me out if they can, and they’ll never give me bad advice when I’ve got a problem that needs solving. So that’s why I’d ask my family for help, if I were in a situation like yours.”

  Davis absently stabbed a ravioli on his fork, then pushed it around and around in circles. “I’ve always wanted a family like yours. Big and warm and maybe a little bit rowdy, but full of love. What I’m stuck with instead doesn’t feel like much of a family to me. If I told my mom and dad that I was up against the wall career-wise, they’d just sniff and say ‘I told you so.’ They never wanted me to be a musician—said it was too unstable and unpredictable. And I guess they were right.”

  Though Davis had donned his cool, uncaring rock star disguise, Jordan could hear the pain and defeat in his words. Impulsively, she reached across the table and took his hand. His blue eyes flashed up at her, startled but pleased.

  “I’ve always felt like we can choose our families,” Jordan said. “I’m lucky that I was born into such a good one—I know how lucky I am, believe me. But we’re not suck with what life deals us at birth. We can decide who we’ll spend our time with, who will be important to us. We can make families of our own, if we want to. That’s what I think.”

  Davis’s eyes shifted subtly, from startled and pleased to searching, intense. A stillness that felt weighty and significant came over him. Wondering if she’d said something wrong, Jordan thought back over her words. Then she blushed. Make families of our own.

  “You know what I mean,” she said quickly, and stuffed her mouth with ravioli.

  “Yeah,” Davis said. The rock star mask vanished; his warm smile—his genuine smile—returned. “I know what you mean.”

  When they’d finished their supper, they both turned to the west, quiet and content as they watched the sun set. Jordan felt peaceful, comfortable, perfectly right on her boat, bobbing gently at anchor. She realized with sudden wonder that it wasn’t just the Coriolis that made her feel so good and whole. It wasn’t just sailing, or the perfect sunset, or the ethereal beauty of the islands.

  It was Davis.

  Being still and quiet with him—being happy with him—felt so natural and easy. In all the days of their voyage, Jordan had noticed plenty of times how gorgeous he was, how his voice and his smell made the blood race hot and fast in her veins. And that was to say nothing of his kisses, his touch, his body melding with her own. But she hadn’t noticed how pleasant he was. How nice. And she certainly had no clue until now how complicated this was. Beneath the carefully constructed front of the effortlessly cool, arrogant superstar, Davis struggled just like anyone else. She never would have suspected how deep his feelings ran—how he hurt over his parents’ rejection, how his honesty about his career made him so vulnerable, so human.

  Emily was right, Jordan thought with expanding surprise. He is a nice guy. I just assumed he wasn’t, because he’s wealthy and famous. I was the judgmental jerk, not him.

  Davis’s low, velvety voice broke into her mortified thoughts. “Are you really thinking about giving up your sailing business?”

  Jordan sighed. “Yeah. I’m thinking about it. Like I told you, it gets so busy that I don’t see my family much, and I’m not sure I can be entirely happy without them in my life. But there are other reasons, too. Lots of reasons. Why?”

  “You’re so good at it. I know I’ve only known you for a few days, but even so, I can’t imagine you doing anything but sailing. Sailing is a part of who you are. It’s like you were made for it. And you’re good at sailing charter boats too—good at planning trips and making sure everybody has a great time. In spite of my own pigheaded desire not to appreciate this trip, I find I am enjoying it after all.” His gaze transfixed her again. “A lot.”

  Jordan’s face heated. She leaned back on her bench and stared past him, at the islands bluing in the approaching dusk. “I don’t know. It’s such a tough business. It’s so much work, and sometimes it makes me feel like I’m going crazy.”

  “I think the best things in life are that way.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” Jordan considered Davis for a long moment, taking in the broadness of his shoulders, the lean, strong muscles of his arms, the wind-tossed mess of his dark hair. He certainly made her feel like she was going crazy, between her furious resentment and her gripping desire. What was even crazier was the way she didn’t resent him anymore… not even a little bit. “Maybe I can learn to like chartering again. Maybe it’s not as bad as I thought when this trip started. Maybe the tide is turning for me, and everything will be okay.

  “What about you, Davis? What would you do with your life, if you could do anything at all? Since you might be facing a change in your own wind and tides.”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I love music so much… it’s all I’ve ever wanted in a career. I’ve thought of a few other possibilities, and I could do those jobs if I had to, but none of them feels like me. But I’ve got to figure this out, and soon. That change is coming—fast.”

  As the last fiery streaks faded in the western sky, Jordan headed down to the galley to wash the dishes. Davis retrieved his guitar from his cabin, and as she finished up the last of the pots, Jordan heard his soft strumming, drifting down from the bow of the Coriolis. She dried the final pot, hung it on its hook above the small range burners, then climbed up the ladder and leaned against the mouth of the hatch, watching Davis as he played.

  His back was to her; he faced out over the water, as if he poured out his feelings through song into the waiting heart of the islands. His white t-shirt stood out pale against the violet dusk, and his dark head bent low, wearily, over the neck of his guitar. His voice was soft and sweet as it reached out across t
he water. It blended with the gentle harmonies of sea and sky and the hush of the oncoming night.

  Drawn to his music, Jordan crept out of the hatch and moved quietly down the deck until she stood close to Davis’s side. She closed her eyes, savoring the poignant chords. They seemed to reverberate within her own chest, moving in a sweet rhythm with the beating of her heart.

  Music is exactly what you should be doing, Davis, Jordan told him silently. This is what you were meant to do, no matter what your parents or your manager or anyone else says.

  An abrupt, hollow puff sounded from somewhere nearby. Jordan opened her eyes just as Davis stopped playing. Several more loud puffs sounded, and Jordan pointed out over the bow. “Look!”

  A pod of orca whales broke the water’s sleepy surface, not ten yards away from the Coriolis. As they rose, each one let out a loud exhalation; their mingled breaths hung in a mist over the water, glowing faintly in the first rays of moonlight. The whales’ black backs and dorsal fins emerged, glided within view, then slipped under the surface again, leaving nothing in their wake but quiet ripples distorting the reflection of emerging stars.

  Davis shook his head. “Holy…”

  “I know,” Jordan said quietly.

  “This place is so amazing. I don’t ever want to leave the islands.”

  Jordan looked up at him solemnly, a sudden, desperate longing filling her chest and stinging in her eyes. I don’t want you to leave, either. But Davis had a clear future waiting for him back in Seattle. He just didn’t see it yet.

  “You have to go back,” she said, surprised how the words choked her voice, and more surprised at the pain they raised in Davis’s eyes. “You’re so good at this.” She trailed her fingers along the curve of his guitar. It was smooth as glass, and still seemed to vibrate faintly with the memory of his chords.

  “But it’s over,” he said. “My career is over—or it will be soon.”

  “No. It can’t be—not for someone as talented as you. I’m not the fan Emily is, but I’ve heard a few of your band’s songs. The sound is so raw, so loud and thrashy.”