Page 72 of The Storm

I pull the paddle through the water, and with the next stroke, Nick copies the motion. The kayak lurches sideways while he tries to get the hang of it.

“Whoa.”

“What was it you said?” Nick asks dryly. “Something about how you’d compensate?”

“Match my strokes,” I say. Again.

“I am matching your strokes.”

“Not really.”

“I am!”

I pull the paddle through the water again. Behind me there’s a splash that’s about half a second late, and the kayak jerks.

“Nicholas,” I say.

“What?”

The kayak jerks again. I whip my head around to glare at him. “You’re leaning.”

“I’m not.”

He leans as he says it.

The kayak tilts precariously.

“Dude,” I say with exasperation, and then I add a stern “Stop.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Not you. The kayak.”

He lets out a snort. I put the paddle back in the water.

“Don’t lean,” I warn him.

He sighs. “I didn’t lean.”

“You leaned.”

“Maybe it’s not me. Maybe you don’t know how to steer.”

“You’rethe one steering,” I say.

Shockingly, he doesn’t have anything to say to that.

“Just count me down or something,” Nick says. “Don’t assume I can read your mind and guess when you start paddling.”

Okay. So, yeah. That… that one is on me. I give a verbal warning before I stroke this time.

It actually works. The kayak glides over the surface smoothly. It goes well for a few strokes before his paddle clips the side of mine, and he tries to overcorrect immediately.

“Don’t lean,” I say again.

“I’m not leaning. I’m trying not to sink,” he snaps.

“We’re not going to sink. It’s fucking difficult to flip a kayak, and the water’s not that deep anyway.”