by Mia Terry
“Fuck. What is happening over there?” A scream prompted Ollie’s question and had both of them turning their heads towards shore.
Rhys’s experienced gaze took in the scene in front of him and where there had been three surfers mucking around previously, there were only two—both of whom were splashing frantically and calling for help. Something was very wrong, and knowing how with water, seconds often meant life, Rhys took off paddling towards the men without needing any other information.
He felt rather than saw Ollie’s presence behind him. Damn, he was so annoyed he didn’t know anyone else in the surf today. Usually, there would be one or more locals who he knew had done their time at the local surf lifesaving club. All he could hope was that the screaming of the men on the boards was getting the attention of the beachgoers on the sand and professional help wasn’t far away.
“What happened?” he barked, at the frantic surfers, who were now within meters. He wasn’t going to get any closer to them. They were suffering the kind of panic that would likely grab onto the nearest body and he’d end up grappling with them rather than providing any real help. Any of their existing English skills seemed to have deserted them, but the way they pointed down was clear enough.
The water was churning, and Rhys could only see an indistinct shape, but the fact there was no movement from it confirmed his worst fears.
“Go in. Get some help,” his voice was tough as he shouted the order at the man’s friends. There might be time for sympathy later, but at this moment they didn’t have the water skills to provide any help and would most likely in their panic need rescuing themselves.
Rhys didn’t even really register whether they obeyed his yelled instructions before he dived underwater. His blurred vision had him wishing for goggles or a mask, but he could vaguely pick out the figure, facedown on the ocean’s sandy floor.
The water depth was probably only two and a half meters out here, but seeing someone so helpless below him, made every millisecond slow down. Movement to the side of him, registered as he reached the still unmoving man.
Rhys’s hands slipped at first on the man’s body, getting a proper hold under his shoulder was more thanks to an exercise practiced over and over again rather than any conscious thought. The natural buoyancy of water did some of the work, his helpmate next him who he had somehow registered as Ollie, did the rest. Still, pulling the man off the ocean floor took some effort. Getting them all to the surface was a long enough task that his lungs were burning when they all broke the water’s surface.
In the air, Rhys could see more. However, what he could evaluate filled him with dread. They had gotten the stranger's head above water, but it still hung limply with no evidence of movement or even breath.
“Your board is the most buoyant,” was all he could say to Ollie. Luckily Ollie’s strength had him supporting the limp backpacker, while Rhys took one hand away to strip off his own leg-rope and push his board towards one of the bystanders who had paddled in close while he and Ollie had been surfacing. “Hang on to it. Last thing we fucking need right here is a loose board.” This time Rhys waited until he got a shocked nod before turning his attention back to the emergency at hand. He couldn’t hear any jet skis, so Ollie’s surfboard was the only way they would be able to get the waterlogged man in to the shore in any time that would be meaningful in saving him.
A glance at Ollie showed Rhys he completely understood the desperation behind their predicament. Ollie had pulled in his board close and was counting them in to the push to get the man on the board.
“One, two three.”
What most people didn’t realize was just how hard it was to move a limp grown man, once the buoyancy of the water had stopped playing a part. The first time, they only got him halfway before he slipped back into the water. Only sheer strength and a good bit of luck allowed them to muscle the body facedown onto the board on their third attempt.
“Fuck, shit, fuck, fuck.” The stream of curse words came from Rhys’s mouth as he looked towards the shore. The sand was only thirty meters away but for a man who always viewed the sea so lovingly, it had never seemed such a hostile proposition. On a proper rescue board, he could at least get up there with the victim, but even a long board wasn’t going to completely support two men’s weight.
“You’re going to have to grab onto him and hold him on,” Ollie gasped out his words at Rhys. “I’ll try to pull.”
It was the only way they had any chance of this working. Rhys locked his arm around the drowned man, and with his free legs kicked at the water. Ollie yanked at the leg rope, dragging the board and they were finally moving towards the shore.
Around them he could vaguely register people around them, wanting to help, but apart from a stray hand pushing them forward, there wasn’t much anyone else could do. There wasn’t really a spot for anyone to hang on to that would create any meaningful help, and Rhys couldn’t release his desperate hold on the man, to create any space.
He could see the very visible relief on Ollie’s face when his feet found purchase on the sand and felt the same emotion himself seconds later. Once they were on their feet, everything moved at lightning speed. Rhys couldn’t release his hold on the body, but there were suddenly more helping hands grabbing the board and they were on wet sand rather than in water.
“We have to flip him, but keep him on the board for CPR,” said Rhys. The flat surface of the board would create maximum efficiency for any lifesaving efforts.
Ollie counted them in again. His voice was still breathless from the sheer energy they had exerted, but it still carried enough authority that the strangers gathered around them moved on the appropriate “three.”
Rhys could have collapsed on the sand next to their rescue victim, such was his exhaustion, but he knew their job wouldn’t be over until they could turn over their patient to a trained professional. The second the man’s back hit the board, Rhys was hovering and then he started pushing down his chest in hard compressions. There might be other people in the crowd who had attended first aid classes and done compressions on a dummy. But nothing could replace intensive training, and Rhys would not stint on this man, not when they had finally gotten him to shore. Somehow, he wasn’t even shocked to see Ollie’s mouth on the patient, breathing for him, at the end of Rhys’s loud count. When done properly, CPR was a massive physical challenge. Moving enough blood to oxygenate a brain took a huge amount of effort. Thumping blood through a body that wasn’t responding couldn’t be done half-assed.
Rhys didn’t know how many rotations he had gone through before the sound of a buggy broke through his concentration. The joy he felt, knowing real help was so close was actually physical and allowed him to keep on moving with real enthusiasm until he had a red and yellow dressed lifesaver at his side, counting in to his rhythm and attaching electrodes to the chest of the drowned man.
At the instruction of “Swap,” Rhys moved away from the body, his legs barely able to carry him the few meters he needed to stumble to clear out of the professional’s way. Ollie looked to be as shaky, joining him on the sand, both of them unable to take their eyes off the action in front of them.
The two lifesavers worked fast calling “clear” and then shocking the patient with a defib. The man’s body jolting was almost violent and everyone around quieted waiting to see whether the machine registered a rhythmic pulse. The disappointment Rhys felt when nothing was heard except the sound of the sirens in the background was palpable. Ollie’s hand clutched around his own as the lifesavers called “clear” again. This time there was a very welcome sound as the machine picked up and beeped in time with a heartbeat. Rhys’s hand hurt with Ollie’s tight hold, but it was a pain he welcomed. There was some comfort in the touch, a shared anxiety that came with their shared purpose.
Four ambulance officers flooded the scene, transferred the patient to a spinal board and took over the care. They were accompanied by as many police officers. Rhys could hear them discussing the bes
t way to evacuate the now seemingly stabilized patient.
“They’ll take him to the football field and have the chopper pick him up from there,” Rhys explained to Ollie.
“Good,” Ollie said. “The sooner he’s in a hospital the better.”
“Yeah, we’re lucky here. The rescue chopper can be in the air and here in nine minutes when it is tasked from Lismore.”
Their conversation petered out as the emergency service personnel surrounded the patient, before carrying him off the beach. Left behind was the flotsam of the rescue and consequent medical treatment. The lifesavers were left packing up their defib and med-kit as the crowd came in and asked hurried questions. The man’s friends were in the background, obviously distressed, and it wasn’t long before a police officer was with them. Rhys caught the eye of one lifeguard and raised his hand in a weary wave.
“That your board?” asked Aaron. Rhys had been to school with Aaron and saw him around the beaches frequently, now that Aaron was the area’s lifesaver coordinator.
“Yeah, that’s one of mine,” Rhys replied, still reasonably breathless after their exertion. He was momentarily distracted looking for his other board, but quickly saw the Good Samaritan from the surf had dumped it next to where the resuscitation had been run.
“Shit, mate that was close. I suppose, then, you’re probably the person to ask about how long he was down. The police want to pass it on to the hospital and don’t seem to be having much luck with his friends.”
Rhys looked over at Ollie for confirmation. “We didn’t see him go under the water, and it was pretty confusing out there. Less than five minutes from when we could see he was under to when we started compressions.”
Aaron kneeled and held out his hand to both of them, “You guys did amazingly well then. I don’t think we’d have been much quicker even with a rescue board handy.” He looked at Ollie. “I did my bronze medallion with Rhys when we were fifteen, so I know why he could do what he did. Where did you learn to do that?”
Ollie smiled for the first time since they had heard those distressed screams in the water. It was a tentative smile, but a smile all the same. “I played water polo and have my open water dive license, so I sat in a fair few water rescue sessions in my time. I doubt I could have kept the guy on the board like Rhys though.”
“He’s got some skills,” Aaron conceded slapping Rhys on the shoulder. “If you guys want to get out of here, I’d do it now. Unless either of you wants to get on the evening news as Byron’s favorite surf star hero.”
“Yeah thanks, no.” Rhys didn’t have to look at Ollie for confirmation. He might not have known Ollie very long, but somehow, he knew he wouldn’t be one for glamming it up for the TV cameras. The speed with which Ollie got to his feet, confirmed that particular instinct. They gathered their boards as quickly as possible while Aaron let Rhys know he’d pass his details on to the police if they had any extra questions.
Rhys was glad to be walking to the car, but each step felt exhausting and the familiar weight of the board under his arm was almost unbearable. He moved under automatic pilot and it was only when he was safely in the front seat of his truck with Ollie beside him that he let himself relax enough to drop his head back to the headrest with a deep sight.
“I will be seeing that guy under the water for a while in my nightmares I’m guessing,” said Ollie.
Rhys could only grunt in agreement, he doubted he’d even be able to close his eyes tonight without the horrible sight of the body face-down in front of him.
“Do you think that guy will wake up?” Ollie asked.
Rhys turned his head to look at the man next to him. “Maybe. I’m not sure,” he answered, honestly. “If we really got him in to shore in the five-minute window, he might have a chance of waking up with his brain intact. That’s if his head didn’t take too much of a bump, if he wasn’t stuffed up by us manhandling him onto the board initially, and if I didn’t fuck up the CPR and actually got oxygen to his brain.”
Ollie reached out and Rhys’s hand was again in his comforting grasp.
“Hey, you didn’t fuck up the CPR. I was next to you, and no one could have gone harder than you on that one.”
“You went hard yourself next to me.” Rhys reminded him.
“Yeah, doing two breaths to your thirty compressions. We know where the real work is. And I’m still about to pass out from exhaustion.”
“I’ll take you back to the resort,” Rhys said quickly.
Ollie’s hand around his, tightened. “Can I come home with you?” he asked quietly. “I just don’t want to go home to an empty room, and I don’t think I’m ready to talk to the boys just yet.”
“Of course,” Rhys assured him. He was too exhausted to feel much of anything, but there was definitely a sense of relief that he wasn’t going home alone either.
He only let go of Ollie to release the handbrake before capturing his hand again. Driving one-handed might not be the safest thing, but today it seemed they both needed the comfort. It was very disconcerting to drive through the town where the sun was still shining on the bustling streets and no one was there to acknowledge this hugely traumatic incident that had just occurred.
Rhys drove the rest of the journey on autopilot and when he pulled his truck into his carport, there was a long pause, as it just seemed easier not to move.
Finally, Ollie was the one to break the silence. “I haven’t been in your house yet, but I assume it is probably more comfortable than the front seat of your car.”
Rhys managed a smile. “I’ve always thought my car was very comfortable, though inside is bigger.”
Summoning the energy to move, Rhys opened his car door and led Ollie up the stairs to his house.
Ollie was making admiring noises but was more subdued than his normal self. Rhys looked at them still in their board shorts and rash vests from this morning and shook his head at himself. Yeah, he was going for host of the year here. “You go get in the shower first,” Rhys suggested. “I’ll grab some clothes and maybe even make a start on some hot chocolate.”
Ollie’s ingrained politeness had him protesting about taking the shower first, even as Rhys practically pushed him in the bathroom door. He went to his bedroom and got out two sets of hoodies and track pants, remembering to go back for a pair of boxers at the last minute. Rhys may have left the professional surfing circuit a few years before, but his voluminous collection of surf branded leisurewear, which had been supplied for free, was very much still intact.
Seeing they had broken the nudity barrier the day before, after knocking softly on the bathroom door, Rhys let himself in. Ollie was standing under the spray of the shower, and although his body was beautiful enough to make Rhys’s cock attempt to stand up and take notice, the ravages of the day were enough to strip the moment of any real sexual tension.
Having clocked him the moment he walked in, Ollie rinsed off and grabbed the towel Rhys threw in his direction, with thanks.
“Hot water really is great for comforting you,” Ollie said. “You’ll feel much more human after your shower.”
Rhys’s bathroom, while not tiny, was significantly smaller than Ollie’s glamorous sex palace of a bathroom back at the resort. However, as Ollie dressed at the same time Rhys was pulling off his own clothes, they both kept out of each other’s way with ease. Rhys tried not to think about how the same synchronization had been evident in their rescue today, with Ollie seemingly predicting his actions and being there to help him without words being spoken.
Warming up in the shower eased many of his aching muscles, but the exhaustion he felt was still very much present. Once dressed, he went back to the kitchen and was handed a Coke.
“Can I crash on the couch?” Ollie asked.
“As gorgeous as you are, I’m too tired to maul you so you’re safe in my bed,” Rhys replied.
“You’re lucky exhaustion outweighs seduction in this case, otherwise that comment might have got you in trouble,” Ollie sa
llied, but his smile was more strained than sassy.
There was a weird intimacy in stripping back the bedcovers with a man who he had no intention of having sex with at this moment. It was obvious they both were still shocky, but there was some comfort in being together so quietly. Rhys looked at his watch as he turned towards the bedroom wall. He’d only gotten out of his bed four hours ago, but the fucked-up day seemed many hours longer. The minute he closed his eyes, the sensory memories of the day threatened to pull him down, pull him back into the water, back into the panic of feeling like the rescue had been too slow, that they’d got to the victim too late. A warm hand on his back brought him back to the present and, despite the whirling in his head, Rhys fell asleep nestled in close to Ollie’s warm body.
Chapter 7
Ollie woke up foggy enough to have to really think about where he was and why he was there. The early afternoon sun flooded the charming bedroom, and the warm body next to his was an unfamiliar presence.
This morning he had woken, feeling so hopeful and wanting to get back in Rhys’s presence after he had kissed him so well the night before. He’d been looking forward to moving their relationship forward. Now, he was in Rhys’s bed, and he could feel the warmth of Rhys’s body, but this way of ending up horizontal with the man wasn’t really what he’d had in mind. There was an unfortunate difference between letting an attraction flare and wanting comfort from a man with whom you shared a traumatic experience.
And yes, the events of this morning in the water and the sand definitely counted as a traumatic experience. Ollie had done plenty of water safety courses in his life with various sports, but he’d never felt the sheer terror of looking down through the water at an unmoving body and knowing it was down to him to help with the rescue.