Chapter 2: The Stranger in the Storm

Lexi woke to the sound of her own scream.

The world was tilting sideways, furniture sliding across the cabin floor with crashes that mixed with the roar of wind and water. Mae's terrified crying cut through the chaos like a blade, and Lexi's heart nearly stopped as she watched her goddaughter's chair skid toward the cabin wall.

"Mae!" She lunged forward, catching the five-year-old just as another violent lurch sent them both sprawling across the wildly pitching deck.

Through the rain-lashed windows, she caught glimpses of churning gray water stretching endlessly in every direction. No marina. No shore. No other boats.

"What the hell—" The words died in her throat as the reality hit her like a physical blow. They were at sea. Alone. In the middle of what looked like a full-scale storm.

"Mama!" Mae sobbed, clinging to Lexi with desperate strength. "I want Mama!"

"It's okay, baby. It's going to be okay." The lie tasted bitter, but Mae needed her to be strong. Even as terror clawed at her chest, Lexi forced her voice to remain steady. "Aunt Lexi's got you."

Where was Zeke? She twisted around, scanning the chaos of the cabin, and found him near what looked like the boat's controls, his hands moving over switches and dials with surprising competence.

"Do something!" she shouted over the storm's fury. "Fix this!"

He didn't even look at her, his attention focused entirely on the instrument panel. Water streamed down his face—whether from rain or spray, she couldn't tell—but his movements remained calm, methodical.

Another massive wave slammed into the boat, and Mae's screams reached a pitch that made Lexi's ears ring. She wrapped her arms more tightly around the little girl, trying to shield her from the worst of the boat's violent motion.

"This is your fault!" The accusation tore from her throat before she could stop it. Panic made her cruel, searching for someone to blame for the nightmare they'd stumbled into. "You suggested coming out here! You said it was safe!"

Zeke's hands never paused in their work, but she saw his jaw tighten. "Right now, I'm trying to keep us alive. You can yell at me later."

The casual dismissal ignited her fury. How dare he be so calm when her world was literally falling apart around her? "Later? There might not be a later! We're going to die out here because you—"

"Because I what?" He finally turned to face her, and the steady intensity in his eyes made her words falter. "Because I followed your lead onto this boat? Because we both made the same choice?"

The truth of it stung, but she was too frightened to back down. "You're the one who knew about boats! You should have—"

"I'm an architect, not a sailor." His voice cut through her hysteria with quiet authority. "But right now, I'm the only one trying to figure out how to work the radio, so maybe save the blame game until we're not in immediate danger of drowning."

Mae's terrified whimpering pulled Lexi back to what mattered. Her goddaughter's face was pale with terror, her small body shaking in Lexi's arms. Whatever had gone wrong, whatever mistakes had been made, Mae didn't deserve to pay for them.

"What can I do?" The question came out smaller than she'd intended, but it was the right one. The only one that mattered now.

Something shifted in Zeke's expression—approval, maybe, or relief that she'd finally asked something useful. "There should be life jackets somewhere. Find them. Get one on her, then yourself."

Lexi nodded, forcing herself to focus on the task. She could fall apart later, when Mae was safe. Right now, she needed to be the adult, the protector.

The boat lurched again as she searched, sending her stumbling into walls and cabinets. Mae clung to her like a terrified kitten, making every movement awkward and desperate. Finally, in a storage compartment near the cabin entrance, she found what she was looking for.

The life jacket was too big for Mae, but Lexi managed to get it secured, then struggled into her own while the boat pitched and rolled beneath them. Through it all, she could hear Zeke's voice, calm and steady, speaking into what must be the radio.

"Mayday, mayday. This is the vessel..." He paused, leaning closer to read something on the control panel. "Crystal Dream. We are approximately..." Another pause as he studied the instruments. "Unknown position, three souls aboard, including one child. Engine failure, lost in storm conditions. Request immediate assistance."

Three souls. The phrase sent a chill through her that had nothing to do with the rain soaking through her clothes. It sounded so final, so desperate.

Static answered him. Then silence.

He tried again, his voice never losing that infuriating calm. "Mayday, mayday. Any vessel, any vessel. This is Crystal Dream. We have a child aboard and require immediate assistance."

More static. More silence.

Mae had stopped crying, which somehow made everything worse. She sat huddled in Lexi's lap, thumb in her mouth, staring at the chaos around them with the wide-eyed stillness of complete shock.

"The radio's not working," Lexi said, and hated how small her voice sounded.

"The radio's working fine." Zeke's attention was back on the instrument panel, but she caught the grim set of his mouth. "We're just too far out for anyone to hear us."

The words hit her like another wave. Too far out. Which meant they weren't just lost—they were truly, completely alone.

"How far?" she whispered.

Zeke glanced at her, then at Mae, and she saw him make the conscious choice not to sugarcoat the truth. "I don't know. The GPS isn't responding, and I can't get a position fix. But based on how long we were..." He gestured vaguely toward the rumpled cushions where they'd spent the night. "Hours. We could be anywhere."

Hours. They'd been drifting for hours while she'd been lost in Zeke's arms, while Mae had slept peacefully, while the storm had been building around them. The boat's moorings must have given way sometime during the night, setting them adrift without anyone noticing.

Another massive wave crashed over the bow, sending spray cascading across the windows. Mae whimpered and pressed closer to Lexi, who found herself looking to Zeke with a desperation that surprised her.

He was moving around the cabin now with sure, economical movements, securing loose items, checking what looked like emergency supplies. There was something almost military in his efficiency, a calm competence that seemed completely at odds with his earlier description of himself as just an architect.

"What are you doing?" she called over the storm's roar.

"Making sure we don't get knocked unconscious by flying furniture," he replied, wrestling a loose cabinet door shut. "And taking inventory of what we have to work with."

"Which is what, exactly?"

He paused in his work, meeting her eyes directly. "Enough food and water for maybe three days if we're careful. Flares, but not many. Some basic tools and repair supplies." His gaze flicked to Mae. "And each other."

The simple statement shouldn't have been comforting, but somehow it was. Despite her anger, despite the terror still clawing at her chest, she found herself believing that this quiet stranger might actually know what he was doing.

"The storm," she said. "How long will it last?"

"I don't know." He secured the last loose item and returned to the control panel. "But boats like this are built to handle rough weather. We're not going to sink."

"You can't know that."

"Actually, I can." He tapped the hull beside him. "Fiberglass construction, probably forty feet long, displacement hull designed for stability. This boat has weathered storms before."

The technical details washed over her, but his certainty was an anchor in the chaos. Mae seemed to sense it too, her rigid terror beginning to ease slightly.

Hours passed in a blur of wind and water. The storm showed no signs of abating, but Zeke's predictions proved correct—the boat rode the waves with surprising grace, taking everything the ocean threw at it and somehow staying afloat.

He worked tirelessly, checking systems, monitoring their makeshift radio schedule, rationing their limited supplies with careful precision. When Mae finally fell asleep again, exhausted by fear, he even managed to find a way to secure her makeshift bed so she wouldn't be thrown around by the boat's motion.

"You're good at this," Lexi admitted grudgingly as they sat in the relative quiet of the cabin, the storm finally beginning to ease.

Zeke was examining what looked like an old photograph, his expression unreadable in the dim light. At her words, he glanced up and quickly tucked the photo back into his wallet.

"Good at what?"

"Crisis management. Staying calm. Taking charge." She paused, studying his profile. "Most people would be panicking right now."

"Most people haven't had practice." The words came out flat, matter-of-fact, but she caught the shadow that crossed his features.

"Practice?"

He was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn't answer. Then: "My wife. Cancer. Three years of hospitals and treatments and..." He shrugged, but the gesture didn't hide the pain in his voice. "You learn to function in crisis mode. To make decisions when everything's falling apart."

The revelation hit her like a physical blow. Wife. Past tense. She thought of the photograph he'd been studying, quickly hidden when she'd spoken.

"I'm sorry," she said, and meant it. "I didn't know."

"How could you?" His smile was tired but genuine. "We don't exactly know each other, do we?"

No, they didn't. They were strangers who'd shared a night of passion and were now trapped together in what might be their final days. The intimacy of their situation felt surreal, dreamlike.

"What was her name?" she asked softly.

"Sarah." He said it like a prayer, like something precious and fragile. "She would have liked you, I think. She always said I needed someone to challenge me, to keep me from disappearing into my own head."

The compliment, if that's what it was, made her chest tighten in a way she didn't want to examine. Outside, the storm was finally beginning to quiet, the violent pitching of the boat settling into a gentler rhythm.

"We're going to get through this," Zeke said, and this time it wasn't calm competence but something deeper—a promise, maybe, or a vow.

Looking at him in the dim cabin light, exhausted and disheveled but still radiating that quiet strength, Lexi found herself believing him.