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Ethan braced himself at the back of the catamaran and wrestled with the tiller.
His cousin Nick crouched at the front, shining his headlamp out over the choppy black waters, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of shore.
An hour ago, when they’d embarked, the lake had been smooth and clear, like black glass under the brilliant glow of the full moon. Ethan had insisted on the headlamps, just in case, and now he was glad he had. The clouds had rolled in quickly, dousing everything in milky gray, and the sheets of rain that followed had not exactly improved visibility.
Nick was younger than Ethan by almost a year. It had felt like a big difference when they’d been little, and Ethan had always been adamantly protective of his older-cousin status.
Over the years, though, the significance of the age gap had dwindled almost to nothing. Now that they were both in high school, and Ethan was a few dozen driving hours into his learner’s permit, the cousins were finding they had quite a lot in common, after all. This included a love for the water… and, admittedly, a bit of a penchant for engaging in half-baked schemes that never seemed to end well for either of them.
Schemes, for example, like “borrowing” Dad’s truck to take the catamaran out for a midnight sail.
When the wind had picked up, at Ethan’s direction, Nick had let the jib go slack. It now flapped fretfully at the front of the boat, its hardware beating a persistent ting-ting against the mast.
“Wave!” cried Nick.
Ethan saw it, too. It was swelling up on their port side and tumbling in fast.
He leaned on the tiller, fighting against the resistance as the roiling water buffeted the rudders of the little sailboat.
The main sail was out as far as it went. It wavered precariously in the swirling wind, and the boys kept their heads low as they worked, lest an errant gust catch the sail and send the boom—a three-inch-thick rod of aluminum that hinged at the mast and ran along the bottom of the sail—careening into their skulls.
The boat turned slowly—painfully slowly, as Nick and Ethan watched the wave rise up three, four, five feet off the black surface of the lake.
“Hang on!” cried Ethan.
The port hull drove into the wave, sending a cold spray of lake water over the tramp. The boat rode diagonally up and over the swell, rocking violently.
Another wave was incoming shortly behind the first. Ethan held the tiller firm. They met the water wall head-on in another impressive shower. It would have been enough to soak Ethan’s sweatshirt straight through, if he hadn’t already been soaked.
On the other side of the wave, the cousins took a moment to gasp for breath.
“You okay?” said Ethan.
Nick was breathing hard. “Yeah,” he said.
“Hang on,” said Ethan, to reassure himself as much as his cousin. “We’ll get out of this.”
Tonight’s adventure was a far cry from the lazy sailing the two of them had gotten used to in the summers spent together at the family lake house. Nick, who lived a few hundred miles away, was comfortable enough on the boat, but Ethan had practically grown up on it.
As Nick’s voice became small and squeaky with anxiety, Ethan was feeling that single year of seniority pretty damn keenly.
Ethan forced his voice to stay steady. “Can you see the launch?” he said.
Nick peered out into the darkness. The white light of his headlamp bobbed across the shimmering wet canvas of the trampoline and out over the waves.
“There!” he cried suddenly. “Back there! Is that it?”
Ethan turned to see where he was pointing.
His spirits lifted when he recognized the landmark: the summer camp next door to the public boat launch had a flag pole, and even through the mist and the fog, Ethan could make out the softly illuminated flag whipping in the wind. The boys would have to turn around, but they were closer than he’d thought.
“That’s it!” said Ethan.
Mercifully, the wind had settled down a bit, and the torrential rain was abating into a sputtering mist. There was no telling how long the peace would last, but for the moment, Ethan could see (and think) a little more clearly.
He checked the wind. It was blowing straight into shore. Ideally, they’d take a meandering path, heading farther up the coast and then doubling back, so they could sail across the wind, rather than with it.
With the weather the way it was, though, Ethan wasn’t sure they had the luxury of time. The storm had given them a moment’s respite. He had to take advantage of it.
Ethan took up the mainsheet and pulled in the sail just a touch. The boat started to gain speed.
“I’m turning us around,” he said. “We’ll go straight in. Ish.”
He tightened his grip on the rope and pushed the tiller hard. The catamaran veered farther to the left, main sail billowing out in the same direction.
“We’re gonna jibe,” he said. “Keep your head down. Watch the boom.”
Nick flattened himself obediently against the tramp.
Ethan brought in the main sail as far as he dared. They were moving steadily across the water. He pushed on the tiller, and they turned left toward the shore.
He ducked his head.
The indicator arrow at the front of the boat swung slowly around until it was pointed directly behind them. Ethan kept a firm grip on the tiller.
The shore was straight ahead. As they turned, it faded to the starboard side.
“Head down,” Ethan reminded his cousin.
The sail, now parallel with the wind, began to shudder, unsure of which way it should go.
With a sudden loud flap, it made its decision. The wind, now coming from behind them on the port side, filled the sail and pushed it violently toward the other side of the boat. The boom swung from left to right, pivoting at the mast and carving through the air above the cousins’ heads with an impressive whoosh.
As the sail billowed out to the right, the boat leaned with it, and Ethan scrambled over to the port side of the tramp to balance it out. He let the sail out a bit, and they were cruising again, the shoreline up ahead to starboard, solid and welcoming and warm.
“Woo!” said Nick.
“Tighten up the jib,” Ethan replied. “We can get up some speed.”
The rain was still coming. The wind blew in ragged gusts, but at least it was maintaining a somewhat consistent direction. At any moment, the waves might pick back up, and Ethan was praying they’d be back on land before that happened.
Ethan peered ahead. The moonlight had found a gap in the clouds, and Ethan spotted the boat launch easily. There was a bright beacon of light emanating from the parking lot.
A car’s high beams.
Ethan’s heart sank. So much for getting through this undetected.
Well, there was no point worrying about that, now. “Stay down,” he told Nick. “We’re gonna have to do it again.”
Ethan steered them back toward the right into another jibe. Again, as they turned through the downwind orientation, the main sail quivered and lurched until it eventually sent the boom sweeping to the left over the two ducked heads.
Now that the rain had let up a bit, Ethan could really feel his soggy wet sweatshirt sticking to his body. A trickle of water ran down a chunk of his hair and into his face. He wiped his eyes and pushed his dripping hair up off of his forehead.
The sky groaned with a distant rumble of thunder.
Ethan’s pulse quickened. “Shit.”
At the front of the boat, Nick turned a distressed look back at him. He looked like a wet dog with his sandy brown curls slicked down against his cheeks.
In a flash, Ethan composed himself. “It’s fine,” he said. “It sounds really far away. We’ll beat it, no problem.”
He wished he felt as confident as he sounded.
It was enough to reassure Nick, however, who gave a quick nod and moved to adjust the jib.
They were close to shore, now. Beds of reeds jutted up through the water on either side of the inlet at the boat launch.
The worst of the danger was past. At this point, even if the boat toppled over, at least they’d be able to swim to shore.
Probably.
Ethan wouldn’t let himself relax. Not until he and Nick were both back safely on dry land.
One more turn, and now they were driving straight into the little bay.
“Now!” said Ethan.
He gave the mainsheet a sharp flick, like the reins of a horse, to release the sail. Nick dropped the jib, and before they could run into the reeds, Ethan pulled on the tiller, carving a neat fish-hook turn into the shallow bay.
The boys jumped out. Ethan didn’t bother taking off his sweatshirt before plunging into the waist-deep water. He was already soaked through.
Even as shallow as they were, Ethan could feel the undertow. The lake current tugged at his legs as he dug his bare feet into the sandy floor.
Nick felt it, too. They exchanged a grim look, but neither said anything as they worked to turn the boat around and steer it up to the beach.
Ethan looked up. Someone was standing up on the sandy bank. A dark-haired man, in jeans and a brown bomber jacket, arms crossed, radiating incredulous fury even from this distance.
It was Dad.
An icy chill ran down Ethan’s spine, nothing to do with the lake or the rain.
He’d allowed himself a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, the car with the glaring high beams would turn out to be Uncle Jack’s, and that the easygoing man would ferry them home with a stern warning, maybe a flick on the ear, and cover for them with his brother.
Ethan sighed. He should’ve known that was wishful thinking.
Wading slowly through the water, the boys brought the boat up to the shore. The wind had started swirling, again. There was another rumble of thunder, and this time, Ethan caught the precipitating lightning flash. Still far away, but definitely moving in.
They jogged the final stretch, running the boat aground so its hulls dug into the sandy beach. Without a word, the boys began to take down the sails. The process was made trickier than usual by the surrounding darkness, but their headlamps gave them enough light to get the job done.
There was the low crunch of tires in the gravel parking lot. Dad’s truck, with the boat trailer hitched to it, was backing up to the launch. A curly-haired head poked out of the driver’s side window.
Uncle Jack.
Ethan felt a glimmer of hope. With Uncle Jack here, maybe Dad would take it easy. Ethan’s favorite uncle had rescued him from certain destruction on more than one occasion, purely by virtue of his uncanny ability to drop a tension-evaporating joke at exactly the right moment.
Ethan could never figure out how Dad had managed to evolve into such a hard-ass when his own brother was so patient and fun. Maybe it had to do with Dad being the eldest. He’d just been born with a shorter fuse.
The trailer dipped into the water.
They’d been through this process so many times, they moved like clockwork. With the sails furled up and resting on the tramp, Nick and Ethan pushed the catamaran back out into the shallow water and steered it aft-first onto the trailer. As they moved, the lights from their headlamps made eerie circles on the dark surface of the water.
Ethan dug a long nylon strap out of the bed of the truck. He used one hooked end to secure the front corner of the boat to the trailer, then lobbed the free end to Nick to do the other side.
When Nick had cinched it down and Ethan had cranked the winch strap tight, they stepped away. The brake lights lit up on the trailer, and the truck drove up into the parking lot, catamaran in tow, without anyone having had to exchange a word.
The boat launch and the adjoining parking lot were illuminated by a sparse handful of street lamps, which shed a wan yellow glow over the gravel. Uncle Jack parked the truck under one of these, the boat clinking gently on its trailer as it rattled to a stop. Ethan heard the slam of the car door as Uncle Jack got out.
Ethan switched off his headlamp. He found his discarded flip-flops in the sand where he’d shucked them earlier that night and slipped into them. Nick followed suit.
At least the rain had stopped—though, if the dark clouds and approaching lightning were to be trusted, the sky would be opening up again before long.
The boys trudged up the boat launch to the parking lot, where Dad waited, arms folded, still as a statue. They stood before him, dripping from head to toe, shaken and shivering after their ordeal.
Dad’s square jaw was set tight. He looked them over, pale eyes wide in his rugged face. He was obviously livid, but behind that, there was a sort of astonished disbelief that was almost worse. Ethan had managed to fuck up in such a truly unprecedented way, Dad didn’t even know what to make of it.
Yet.
“Dry yourselves off,” Dad said, his words clipped, “and go and wait in the truck.”
Ethan glanced toward the parking lot. Uncle Jack had donned his own headlamp and climbed up on the boat to start taking down the rigging.
To Dad, Ethan said, “Want us to help?”
“I want you to do as you’re told.” Dad’s low voice hummed with the promise of anger, and Ethan felt his gut twist. “We’ll take care of the boat. Both of you, in the truck, now.”
The boys ducked around him to shuffle off to the truck. Dad followed close behind. His proximity raised the hairs on the back of Ethan’s neck, as if the palpable fury might crash over him at any moment.
Dad didn’t strike. When they got to the truck, he produced a pair of towels from the bed and wordlessly handed them over.
Ethan peeled off his waterlogged sweatshirt. The night air was cool coming off the lake, and it chilled him through his wet t-shirt and swim shorts. He scrubbed the beach towel through his hair to stop the rivulets pouring down his neck, then wrapped himself up, glad to draw some warmth from the fluffy cotton.
Dad and Uncle Jack were moving through the rigging with expert efficiency. They barely spoke except in single-word call and response as they moved through a list of tasks they’d long since committed to memory.
Ethan caught his uncle’s eye for a brief moment. He hoped to find sympathy there, at least, as he had so many times before.
But Uncle Jack only frowned down at him with stony-faced disapproval. For once in Ethan’s life, he was the spitting image of his brother, and that was when Ethan knew for sure.
He was toast.
He climbed into the back of the truck after Nick and shut the door behind him.
Neither boy spoke as they sat on the bench seat. It was warm in the cab, shielded as it was from the shoreside breeze, but Ethan could take no comfort from it. He knew damn well he was about to be warmed in a whole different sense of the word, and the anticipation had his insides stirred up as choppy as the waters they’d just escaped.
Nick, for his part, looked thoroughly ashamed. It had been his idea to come out tonight. His insistence that the weather was calling for clear skies and gentle wind. How cool would the lake look under the full moon, he’d said? It was only dangerous if you didn’t know what you were doing, and Ethan knew the catamaran inside and out.
And they both knew that however upset Uncle Jack might be, Nick wasn’t the one who was about to get his ass handed to him.
More inscrutable sibling logic. Ethan had heard enough stories about Grandpa and his belt… Why did Dad have to be the one to carry on that particular family tradition?
The sky flickered, and the following clap of thunder came much sooner and much louder than the two previous. Every time it sounded was like a death knell heralding Ethan’s doom.
It was stirring up guilt, too, now that the thrill of rebellious adventure had died down. Ethan did know better than to go sailing at night. He knew how quickly a storm could roll in over the vast midwestern lake… how dangerous it would be if one of them fell overboard with no one around to help. And he knew that he didn’t want to know how it would have felt bobbing about on that sailboat waiting for lightning to strike.
The rain had just started to pick up again when Dad and Uncle Jack climbed into the front of the cab.
Ethan’s pulse quickened at the sound of the doors opening. Dad shot a look into the back seat, presumably checking that it contained the correct number of miscreants, then turned front again, buckled his seatbelt, and started the truck.
It was only a short drive back to the cabin, but tonight, it felt interminable—one long, torturous stretch of silence, punctuated by the steadily increasing patter of rain on the body of the truck.
Then, far too soon, they were pulling into the driveway, and Ethan’s heart threatened to beat out of his chest. Dad still hadn’t said a word. He’d barely even looked at the two of them. He was simmering, and it didn’t take a genius to work out how ill that boded.
Dad took the side road around the cabin to the shed where they kept the boats. He backed the catamaran expertly up to the large sliding door, then he and Uncle Jack hopped out to unhitch the trailer and push it the rest of the way inside.
The two cousins stayed put. From Ethan’s experience, in the face of impending comeuppance, it was generally best to obey instructions when they were given and otherwise take no action.
The latch clicked on his door, and Dad pulled it open.
“Out,” said Dad. “Both of you.”
Nick slid out to follow Ethan rather than use his own door. Possibly, he wanted to keep close to his cousin. There was safety in numbers, after all. Or maybe he just didn’t want to make it look like he was trying to escape.
Dad shut the door, cocked his head in silent command, and strode up to the boat shed.
Ethan followed at once, but Nick hesitated. He glanced at his father.
Uncle Jack had a funny look on his face. He met Nick’s eye, gave him a grim nod, and then headed back to the truck.
After another heartbeat’s indecision, Nick hurried to catch up with his cousin.
What they called the “boat shed” was really a deep, broad garage with a tin roof and a concrete floor. It was lit by a pair of incandescent bulbs in the ceiling, white and harsh after so much darkness.
The kayaks hung on one wall, and the Sunfish sat covered in the back corner. A row of shelves was packed with life vests, oars, and other paraphernalia. Outside, the rain pattered loudly on the metal roof.
Ethan was no longer a walking waterfall, but he still felt cold and clammy, and the thin-walled boat shed wasn’t exactly a sauna.
Dad flicked his eyes over the boys, apparently registering the same thought. “Let’s make this quick,” he said. He looked at Ethan, who shrank under his gaze. “I don’t know what the hell got into you tonight, but this is not a conversation I ever expected to have.” Dad’s eyes were smoldering. “Do I need to explain just how dangerous it was to take the boat out, at night, alone, without telling anyone where you were going?”
He really didn’t. Ethan had been playing various worst-case scenarios through his head since they’d left the lake. “No, sir.”
“I didn’t think so, either,” said Dad, “but it seems the two of you could use a refresher. You’ll have plenty of time to research the subject because neither of you is leaving the house for a week.”
Ethan bit back a groan. Summer vacation was only so long. To lose an entire week of it felt immeasurably cruel.
But, of course, now was not the time to say so.
Dad was rummaging in a box. He came up with a sturdy nylon strap—the kind they used to secure the boat to its trailer. It was frayed at one end where it had long since lost its hook.
Ethan swallowed at the sight of it. He supposed Dad must have gotten dressed in too much of a hurry to bother grabbing his belt, and he needed a suitable substitute.
It didn’t seem suitable to Ethan.
The catamaran sat on its trailer, blissfully unaware of the scene unfolding around it.
Dad tapped one of its hulls with a knuckle.
“Nick,” he said. “You first.”
Nick froze.
Ethan looked up in horror. “Dad…!”
Dad turned a cold glare onto him. “What?”
Ethan’s heart was hammering, but he sent his father a pleading look. “Dad, you… you can’t whip Nick,” he said in a low voice.
“Oh, no?” Dad looked between them, expression as stormy as the sky outside. “After what you just pulled? Either one of you want to look me in the eye and tell me you don’t both deserve the skinning of your young lives?”
Ethan knew they did. Beside him, Nick gave a little whimper of dread, but Ethan could tell he knew it, too. They hung their heads.
“That’s what I thought,” said Dad. “Nick, over here. Let’s go.”
Ethan bit his lip. He met Nick’s eye, grimacing by way of apology, which Nick returned with a brave little nod.
He joined Dad beside the boat.
Dad doubled up the strap in his hands, then doubled it up again. “You been spanked before, Nick?”
Nick faltered. “I mean… sort of,” he said, eyeing the fearsome implement with plain trepidation. “Never… with anything.”
Dad nodded. “It’s gonna hurt,” he said. “A lot. When it’s done, we’ll be square, and you will never, ever think of doing something so reckless and stupid again.” He brandished the strap. “Make sense?”
Nick took a shaky breath. “Yes, sir.”
“Bend over.”
Ethan was a bundle of nerves. He raked his fingers through his hair. Taking a whipping was bad enough. He didn’t know how he was going to stomach watching Nick get his.
He wondered if Dad would go easy on his nephew. Nick was younger than Ethan, if only by a year, and had never been whipped before. It was unlikely Dad would be gentle, Ethan knew. Just that whatever he doled out to Nick, Ethan could probably expect it twice over.
Not exactly a comforting thought.
Nick leaned tentatively forward, bracing his hands on the hull, which came just about up to his hip. He looked smaller and skinnier than usual in his green striped swim trunks and white hoodie. (Nick had thought to bring a spare, which oversight Ethan was now distinctly regretting.) Nick’s hair had started to dry, and his curls pulled back from his freckled face, giving him back some of the boyish look the girls in his grade were already starting to go gaga for. He had his eyes clenched shut.
Ethan folded his arms. Maybe if he squeezed himself tightly enough, he could quell the writhing in his stomach.
He rocked back and forth on his feet, watching anxiously as Dad hefted the strap. Without preamble, Dad pulled it back, and Ethan’s stomach did a somersault as the strap cracked down against the seat of Nick’s shorts.
The sound was sharp and strident in the echoey space of the boat shed. A little spray of tiny droplets went up from the still-damp swim trunks.
Nick cried out at the impact, and Ethan flinched.
Ethan knew how much more it stung to get smacked when you’d just come out of the pool or the tub. He shuddered to think how wet skin would react to something like that strap.
He remembered with a new wave of dread that he was about to find out.
Nick took his whipping like a champ. That is, he yelped at every stroke, and toward the end, he was trembling with the effort of keeping still—but keep still he did, more or less, as Dad delivered blow after devastating blow.
It was torture to watch, but Ethan made himself do it. He owed that to his cousin, at least. He couldn’t help but feel weirdly responsible for Nick’s predicament. As if, just because it was his dad, Ethan had any kind of control over the situation.
And, really, even if it had been Nick’s idea at first, it was mostly Ethan’s fault that they’d ended up going. He was the one who knew how to drive the truck and set up the boat. He had been reasonably confident the weather would hold, and that they would enjoy a pleasant evening on the silent water, the only thrill being due to the forbidden nature of the excursion. If Ethan had refused, Nick would hardly have been able to go alone, and so that would have been the end of it.
But what kind of cool, slightly older cousin would Ethan have been to refuse such a delicious call to adventure?
Dad was still going, and Nick, despite herculean efforts, was unraveling fast. He rocked forward with every lick of the strap and gave a choked cry that twisted knot after knot into Ethan’s gut. Ethan could only imagine how much worse his own treatment was about to be.
Finally, Dad lowered the strap. “Get up,” he said.
Nick wobbled slightly as he obeyed. He was red in the face, breath coming in hitches as he fought tooth and nail for his composure.
“Ethan,” said Dad. “Your turn.”
Nick hurried away from the boat, face contorted in distress.
Ethan wanted to give him a fist-bump, or even throw an arm over his shoulders and tell him it would be okay, he wouldn’t even feel it in the morning… but he got the distinct impression Dad wasn’t in the mood to entertain camaraderie, so he settled on a nod that he hoped convey both “you’ll be all right” as well as “I’ll be all right,” and he shuffled over to take his cousin’s place.
Dad was adjusting the strap in his hands. Ethan quaked to see it up close. It was three fingers wide and made of stiff, tight-woven nylon, and while it wasn’t quite as thick as the belt, Dad had folded it over a few times, which Ethan imagined would more than make up for it.
He thought Dad might have more of a lecture for him than he’d had for Nick, what with Ethan being his actual son, but Dad only gave him an appraising once-over before ordering him into position.
Ethan hesitated, then went for the last-ditch effort to save his ass. “Dad,” he said. “I’m really sorry. I know we messed up.”
“Yes,” said Dad. “You do know.” He glared down at Ethan. Dad was still several inches taller than the teenager, and he took full advantage of the difference. “You do know better, and for reasons I can’t begin to fathom, you did it, anyway. I’m not in a patient mood right now, Ethan,” he added sharply, as Ethan opened his mouth to protest. “I can give you a dozen reasons why what you did was beyond stupid, but I know you already know them. Now we’re gonna see if lighting your tail on fire helps you remember some of those reasons, next time. Before you get yourself and your cousin killed.”
Ethan bit his lip. He did know it had been stupid. He understood the danger. He’d just witnessed it firsthand. That ordeal on the water had been terrifying enough—he didn’t need the extra lesson. He really didn’t.
Good luck getting Dad to see it that way, though.
“Turn around and bend over,” said Dad. “If I have to tell you again, you can lose the shorts, as well.”
Ethan took a steadying breath. He gave a little nod, then turned to face the catamaran and bent down over the hull.
He was keenly aware of the thin fabric of his swim trunks, still slightly damp and sticking to his skin. He was cold underneath, a product of the lake, the rain, and the late summer night, as well as the drafty boat shed.
The strap didn’t have a buckle like the belt did, so there was no telltale jangle as Dad wound up. Nothing to prepare Ethan for the first crack of nylon against his backside. It simply came out of nowhere.
It sounded far louder to Ethan than it had during his cousin’s turn. And, of course, following the resounding snap was the streak of fire laid down across his ass.
The sting was worse than it might have been, Ethan guessed, with his skin cold and wet as it was. And the layers of nylon were definitely heavier than the belt. That single stroke burned so thoroughly that Ethan gasped in shock and lurched forward over the hull. He reset himself quickly, not eager to test his father’s patience any further.
Dad laid down another blazing stripe. Ethan clamped his lips together and squeezed his eyes shut. That strap really fucking hurt. He wasn’t going to be able to look at one the same way again.
Maybe that was part of Dad’s plan, Ethan thought miserably. Every time they took the boat out, every time he unfastened it from its trailer, Ethan would look at the strap and remember this moment. He could tell right now the memory was going to stick for a good long time.
The onslaught continued. Ethan’s ass was already aflame. He hummed through his nose, determined to take it at least as well as Nick had.
As he’d suspected, Dad was going harder on him. (There was a chance, of course, that it only seemed that way due to his current position, but Ethan was pretty sure Dad hadn’t hit nearly this hard, or for nearly this long, while dealing with his nephew. It was difficult to be strictly objective at the moment.)
In any case, Ethan was struggling, and Dad was not letting up in the least. Ethan tucked his chin into his chest and groaned as the strap landed again and again, rekindling the blaze with every echoing slap.
The space behind Ethan’s eyes was hot with the exertion of keeping still and silent.
When the strap landed a bit lower, catching the crease at the tops of his thighs, Ethan’s chest heaved, and he gave an agonized little “Hmmm!”
He didn’t cry.
It took all of his resolve, though.
Just as Ethan was beginning to think he must not have any ass left to be kicked, the rhythm of the strap halted.
Dad’s voice said, “Get up.”
Ethan did so shakily. He turned to face his father, who said nothing, but only waved the strap toward Nick. Panting slightly, rear end fuming in protest, Ethan joined his cousin. Neither looked up. Each of them fixed his gaze on his own sandaled feet.
Dad tossed the strap back into its box. He turned to the two boys and crossed his arms over his chest. His leather jacket gave a familiar creak as he moved—vaguely comforting, despite the circumstances.
“We are not doing this again,” said Dad. “I don’t know what knocked your two heads loose tonight, but I hope to god you’ve screwed them back on, because if you ever pull a stunt like this again, if I so much as catch you on the water without a life jacket, you can say good-bye to your sailing privileges, supervised or not, day or night, summer, winter, fall, indefinitely.” He looked each of them in the eye by turn, and they each met his searing gaze only briefly before ducking to stare at the floor.
“You could be killed messing around like that,” said Dad. “Quickly. Easily. With no one around to help you. This absolutely, one hundred percent does not happen again. Do you hear me?”
Two heads nodded fervently. “Yes, sir.”
“Inside,” said Dad, nodding in the direction of the house. “Showers. Bed. Now.”
They almost fell over each other scrambling to obey.
Uncle Jack was waiting in the truck. Ethan supposed they could have bummed a ride back to the house, but with his backside in fiery shambles, he didn’t much feel like sitting on anything at the moment, least of all the ancient truck’s bench seat, whose cushioning had long since gone flat.
He didn’t even have to confer with Nick. They turned as a unit upon leaving the boat shed to hurry together through the steadily falling rain, across the backyard, and up the path that led to the cabin.
“Hey,” said Ethan, as they approached the house. “My dad is… He can be really…” He sighed. “I’m sorry, man.”
Nick didn’t say anything for a moment.
“Ethan?”
“Yeah?”
The sandy-haired boy peered up at him. “The way you got us out of that storm?” he said. His lip twitched into a grin. “That was really fucking cool.”
Ethan put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a little shove. “Don’t let Dad hear you say that,” he said, but he found himself grinning, too.
It had been pretty fucking cool.
“I don’t know what you’re always complaining about,” Nick added. “It doesn’t even hurt that much.”
Ethan snorted at that. “Whatever, dude.”
“Dibs on the upstairs shower,” said Nick.
And the two boys took off running.