Marcus surfaced, spitting out a mouthful of salt water. “Matty!” he screamed over the rippling seawater. He frantically swung his head back and forth, searching for any signs of his son, who had learned to swim the month prior.

His mind jolted to that morning in the condo pool. Was it just this morning? Matty had bitten his lip against nerves as he descended into the shallow end step by step, the chlorinated chill creeping higher and higher up his skinny legs, belly, and neck.

Matty’s confidence blossomed once he found his footing, and pride swelled behind Marcus’s ribs. But here, in this flooded lobby, his son had gone straight under.

Water rescues are not my forte, grunting as he treaded water, already tiring. Since his accident, he had little inspiration to exercise, and he felt it now.

To his left, Matty appeared, splashing. “Daddy!” he shrieked and dropped out of sight again.

Marcus jolted into motion with a clumsy but effective freestyle stroke. His feet churned, propelling him forward, fueled by adrenaline flooding his veins.

He reached the point where he had seen Matty, but his sweeping limbs found no obstruction. Marcus plunged under and opened his eyes. He gasped as the salty liquid washed over them and coughed out some precious air to push past the pain.

Blinking, he scanned the murky depths. There. A small body sank slowly, arms floating over his head, dark hair dancing in the slow current. Marcus moved himself down, until his outstretched hand grasped Matty’s wrist.

He yanked the boy up and held him to his chest while reorienting himself. He kicked his legs—hard—and used his free arm to ascend from the depths toward air and life.

Marcus broke through the surface and took a deep breath as he turned Matty around. His face glistened a dull gray. “Matty,” Marcus said, jostling him.

The boy’s still expression and floppy limbs filled him with terror.

“HELP!” Marcus wailed as icy dread curled in his belly. “FITZ!”

“Get ‘im over here!”

Marcus floated on his back and glided himself in Fitz’s direction.

“Ow!” he grunted as his head clunked against a solid object.

“It’s a kayak,” Fitz yelled. “Push it out of the way. Keep comin’!”

Marcus heaved at the smooth material and pushed himself past the single-person boats.

“There, stop. STOP!” Fitz hollered.

Incapable of stopping, Marcus intervened by reaching over his head and cushioned his collision with the balcony wall.

“Hand ‘im up,” Fitz said, softer. “He breathing?”

“I don’t think so,” Marcus half-sobbed as he hoisted up his son, water dripping onto his face.

His weight disappeared when Fitz hauled him over the railing, and Marcus couldn’t stop his heart from breaking at that loss and what it represented—what it threatened.

He flipped onto his stomach, grabbed at the metal rail, pulled himself over, and landed hard on the concrete, gasping and winded.

“One, two, three, four–.”

Marcus’s eyes snapped open as he registered the rhythmic counting. He lifted his gaze to watch in horror as Fitz performed CPR on his six-year-old, and his body threw him into instinctual action.

“Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen. Blow, Marcus!”

Marcus bent, tilted his son’s chin, and squeezed his nostrils shut.

“–fifteen. Go!”

Marcus pressed his mouth against Matty’s. He peered at the small chest to his right and blew in a small amount of air, once, twice. Matty’s upper torso expanded with each puff.

“We’ve got chest rise,” Fitz said. “Resuming compressions.”

Fitz placed the heel of one hand against Matty’s sternum and started counting again. Two rounds of CPR passed, then three. Waiting fifteen counts between breaths, Marcus felt an invisible band wrap around his chest, tighter and tighter, until he thought he may not have any breath left to give his son.

Halfway through the fourth round, liquid gurgled from the boy’s mouth, followed by a violent coughing fit.

“Mijo!” Marcus cried, tears running down his cheeks. He cradled Matty’s slight form as he sobbed and rocked him in his arms. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he repeated.

Fitz collapsed against the opposite wall, panting. “That’s one heck of a strong kiddo you got there.” A smile curled on his lips.

Marcus wept into his son’s hair, gripping him tightly as if he might disappear in an instant.

“Hell yeah, he is.”

Sofia ran faster. Her legs and arms pumped to the rhythm of her ragged breathing.

Rain lashed her bare skin with ferocious speed, stinging wherever it hit. She couldn’t see anything: only darkness and sodden chaos in every direction. But she had to keep going. He might be right behind her.

Sofia lowered her head and pushed herself to her breaking point. Her bare feet splashed on asphalt covered in an inch of water that could not drain as the rain poured down from above.

Finally, her lungs gave out, and she tripped. As Sofia’s shoulder hit the pavement, she let out a sharp cry. She rolled onto her back. Breathing heavily, the winds from the storm rocked her from side to side.

After a few moments, Sofia lifted her head and peered into the void. Nothing. She shook her head, then plopped it down. Jax wouldn’t appear through that downpour until he was on top of her.

The fear of that possibility drove her again, and she stumbled further into the storm. A road sign flung past her, the metal post twisted and torn. I need to find shelter. She walked to her left, moving to a sidewalk and, hopefully, a strong building.

Sofia’s foot snagged on a concrete curb, and again, fell to the ground. Her knees met a sharp corner, and she gasped out a sob. The aches, pains, and injuries from the last few hours all demanded attention at once and swallowed her like a tidal wave, overwhelming and unstoppable.

Sofia allowed herself to wallow in the misery. She kneeled on the sidewalk, toes in the swirling runoff, her sobs wracked her body. Images from the day swept through her mind, unrelenting, without mercy.

The Paradise collapsing.

Jax’s hands…roving, grabbing.

Running through the dark, terror like poison in her veins.

She cried, purging her fury and helplessness, until tears and rain streaming down her cheeks became indistinguishable. After several minutes, her weeping slowed. If she died out here, then he won. And he couldn’t win. I will survive this.

Sofia gritted her teeth and stood up on unsteady feet. She walked against the wind, perpendicular to the curb line, and reached out for a door, a wall…any chance of safety.

After several steps, her fingertips hit a brick wall looming through the storm. A smile lit Sofia’s face as she flattened her palms against the sturdy structure. There was  no door, though, not yet. She followed the solid brick, waiting for the telltale inlet to lead her inside.

What she found instead was a corner. And beyond that corner, the flashing lights of an ambulance.