Boat Scene 365 Days Novels & Stories

The games that the universe played with us were just fucking nasty. And here I was spending three days on a Yacht looking for my wife. There was just the Helmsman and me on the boat. The Yacht had a total of three bedrooms, a tiny kitchen, and an upper and lower deck. My ass was currently parked on the upper deck, downing my fifth or sixth drink (who was keeping count?) I was looking into the water, really squinting my eyes. "Hey..." I called into the water, leaning over. "Hey mermaid, are you in there?"

The captain bowed his head. "Don Cavalli. We are ready." "Move us out," I commanded, stepping into the bridge and closing the door behind me. I didn't look back to see if she was following. I didn't want to see the doubt I knew was beginning to cloud her eyes. **** High Noon on the Atlantic By noon, the city was a jagged memory. The yacht was carving through the Atlantic, leaving a trail of white foam in its wake. On the main deck, the "activities" had started. Shawn was currently trying to use a paddleboard, falling into the water every thirty seconds. Carrie was lounging by the pool, a drink in her hand.

My soul drifted up from a cage at the bottom of the ocean, somehow ending up near Isaac Thornton. Liam Donovan, his assistant, told Isaac, "Mr. Thornton, Mrs. Thornton's been in the ocean for a day and a night. The water's freezing; she might not make it." Isaac replied, "She's only been in the ocean for a day and a night, but my Mandy's gone forever." Liam tried again, "But the dead can't be brought back. If something happens to Mrs. Thornton..." Isaac threw a stack of papers at him.

Third Person Pov(Day of Crash) The fishing boat struggled against the increasingly violent waves, Paolo's weathered hands white-knuckled on the wheel. In the distance, the silhouette of Porto Manarola emerged through the mist. "Her fever's rising, Paolo!" Maria pressed another blanket against the unconscious woman, whose breathing had grown erratic. The stranger's skin burned despite her sodden clothes, concerning Maria deeply. A wave crashed over the bow, drenching them. The young woman moaned, her head thrashing weakly from side to side, her eyelids fluttered, revealing disoriented eyes that couldn't seem to focus.

Rose’s POV The boat is bigger than I thought, and I have to breathe through my mouth or risk gagging on the smell of fish. Breathing through my mouth isn’t fool proof though, I can taste the fishiness, and between that and the rocking motion, I bet I look green around the gills. “There it is.” Braydon points to a dark shape in the fog with a beaming grin. I turn my head away from Phoenix’ chest, where I’ve been hiding, and watch as the vague shape morphs into a chunk of land rising up out of the water. I had been picturing a sandy beach, maybe some palm trees, like you see on T.V.

We were protecting what was ours because we had already chosen to live for it. As the trawler’s engines rumbled to life in the late afternoon light, Leo caught my hand on the deck. “Whatever happens out there… we come back. All of us. And then we finish what we started on the beach.” I pulled him close, kissing him hard and quick—promise and fire in equal measure. “Count on it.” The atoll shrank behind us as we cut through the golden water toward open sea. Gideon’s yacht would be waiting somewhere in the dark. One last shadow.

“Whatever happens, you stay with me.” “Where's Luca?” “I told you. He's handling it.” “You keep saying that.” “Because it's the truth.” “Then why aren't you with him?” Marco didn't answer. And that frightened me more than anything else. Before I could ask another question, the lights went out. The entire mansion disappeared into darkness. I gasped. Somewhere downstairs, an alarm began ringing. Marco grabbed my arm. “Don't move.” I froze. “Marco?” “Quiet.”

He was holding the heavy black emergency satellite phone in his hand. "Marcus, you are staying here," Daniel told the guard as we stepped onto the boat. "I want it to be just the two of us today." "Yes, Mr. Hawthorne," Marcus nodded. He stood on the dock and watched us leave. Daniel started the engine. He steered the boat out into the open water. The wind blew my hair back, there were tall green cliffs, bright houses built into the rocks, and deep blue water everywhere. It was a perfect day.

And as it died down, I thought to myself: How can I ever go back to just one lover at a time? Since we weren’t in any hurry to return to New England, the Majestic made the journey in a leisurely eighteen days instead of ten. Two days of that was spent navigating around a storm in the Atlantic, but the massive yacht cut through the waves like they weren’t even there. “Good thing we’re on such a large ship, huh?” Joemar asked in bed one evening while the Majestic gently rocked back and forth. “I guess it’s bigger than I gave it credit for,” I admitted.

With that familiar, ugly dread that comes when you know time is already running out and you don’t get to ask for more. “Copy,” he says. “I’m moving.” He pivots toward the boat. The vessel is a thirty-foot fishing charter, white hull, blue stripe. Or at least it used to be white. Now it’s smeared with darkness, rainwater, oil, and sea slime. It tilts hard in the waves. The stern lifts and drops like it’s breathing. Two figures are still on deck. One is sprawled near the railing, holding on with both arms as if letting go means dying. The other is crouched, head down, vomiting over the side.