Rocking Her Boat

By Melanie Edwards

Lifelong passion and perseverance have finally given Nina the one thing she ever wanted: her own environmental non-profit. And yet it’s when she should be on top of the world that she feels the empty results of her neglected personal life. At twenty-seven, maybe now’s the time to see what happens when she takes a break from her hard work.
Chelsey’s passion is music. Still the rebellious stoner he was in high school, growing up has forged his powerful and beautifully raspy voice that sounds like no one else’s. Now that he’s moved to a bigger city with a fertile music scene his raw, rough-hewn talent and uninhibited charisma are garnering popularity for his band. A chance reconnection with Nina proves his teenage infatuation with her hasn’t gone away, but just like before he can’t get Nina to see him as anything more than heartbreak waiting to happen.
But as Nina spends more time with Chelsey, she finds a shared determination and ambition she hadn’t seen before. Between their very different and busy lives, the marine biologist and the rising rock star try to make this delicate new relationship work. As Chelsey’s band gains more and more of a following, the temptations of stardom begin to overwhelm him. Nina and Chelsey will need to decide if they can make it through this together or if the pressure will break them apart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melanie Edwards
• Release date: Jul 24, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463078136

Melanie Edwards

Despite the main characters in Melanie's romance novels being human, her readers will likely meet animal characters as well since they are a central theme in her life. Her other career is in environmental science, and she and her husband live on a farm at the edge of a forest where they can provide a spacious and rowdy home for a handful of rescued animals. Melanie and her husband love kayaking around Florida and traveling, but she believes her best writing happens from her front porch.

Book preview

Chapter 1

They were only three miles off the coast, had just anchored in six feet of water, when Nina began her inspirational speech.

"Let me tell you how this is not going to go. We are not going to have to touch any used condoms today. There are not going to be any used tampons floating by. Any trash we find here is going to be of the not-so-horrifying variety. I’m going to go out on a limb and predict that it’s even going to be almost…sanitary."

Kyle arched an eyebrow at her. And where did this adorable optimism come from? Fairies? Elves?

Nina sighed, shaking her head. I’m running on fumes, guys. I have to dredge up some hope in humanity before I can write that introduction for Saturday. As she spoke she reached for the closer pair of shoulders—Lisbeth’s—and positioned her social media specialist’s back directly in front of her before pulling her tank top off and her rash guard on.

Lisbeth glanced back over her shoulder, just enough to note that the flash of tanned limbs and chest went uninterrupted by any colored fabric of a swimsuit or even a bra. Why must we always have a peepshow? Why not just throw something on underneath before you go out?

Nina’s hand squeezed her shoulder affectionately, then tightened the strap of a dive mask over her thick wavy hair. "Because, sweetie, I have you. Way better than any room divider."

Kyle turned his back, whistling ostentatiously. See this? I’m a gentleman.

Since when?

It’s a New Year’s resolution.

They planted their diver-down flag firmly into the center console, and in shorts and the rash guard Nina slid her body noiselessly down the gunwale of the 23-foot Key West boat and into the gently lapping waves, choosing not to disturb the marine life below. Through the semi-clear water she saw resplendent beds of turtle grass: scientific name Thalassia testudinum. Its presence was how she knew this was likely a place to get some work done. Turtle grass tended to grow in shallow spots where the seafloor got decent sun exposure, and like coral reefs it sheltered fish and invertebrates, which attracted tourists and snorkelers. There was always the hope that she was wrong, but they would probably find enough trash on this sandbar to keep them busy all afternoon. Treading water, Nina raised her head until it broke the surface and watched bits of green ribbonlike leaves floating by. Kyle and Lisbeth were already pulling their masks on.

The truth was, the work they were doing this afternoon was often something that they gave their own free time to, and didn’t get a paycheck for. They could sometimes secure grant money for it, but that paid for the upkeep of equipment more than anything else, like maintenance on the project’s boat. That was the downside of living the dream and getting your dream job: your convictions ate into your already meager downtime.

Within an hour they piled plastic cups, plastic straws, and snack wrappers onto the deck, but the satisfied feeling of accomplishment was dulled by despondent awareness that this tiny little spot on the globe was less than a drop in a bucket. Nina followed the grass bed, swimming along the bottom, her eyes attuned to spot any variation in color, snatching up bottle caps and cracked bits of what was once a pair of sunglasses.

She glanced back to see that she had gotten about two hundred feet from the boat. She and Kyle had left the clearer waters of the sandbar and now had visibility of about five or six feet. Lisbeth was back up on the boat’s deck, sorting the day’s treasures. As the social media specialist for Nina’s fledgling non-profit beach and ocean clean-up project, Lisbeth’s job description centered around journalism, education, and outreach. But she was also Nina’s best friend along with Kyle and willingly wore any hat she needed to within the project, helping with every last branch of it before it was asked of her and volunteering her time yet besides. She had an inside view of just how much work and manpower was needed, not only for this company but for this widespread problem, and took it to heart.

Kyle swam close and waved to her, holding up beer bottles and a cell phone, and pointed upward to the water’s surface. Shiny little orbs began to dot the mirrored ceiling above them, reminding Nina that there had been rain in the afternoon forecast. She nodded at him and in a whoosh of current he took off to unload his finds on the boat.

She slowly turned to follow, taking a final look around through the gloom. A long, thin shard of grey slashed through the water three feet from her head, then was gone in the very next blink of her eye. Her brain whirred to try to process what was illuminated in that briefest flash. She knew she wasn’t simply being paranoid or overzealous—it was there. A stingray’s tail had whipped around in retreat when the animal sensed her presence, and thin, glinting strands of fishing line trailed from around it. The most difficult item to see, fishing line was also one of the most urgent to collect. Wads of it snared in seagrass were ingested by turtles, manatees, and countless other species, creating excruciating and sometimes fatal intestinal blockage. Or it got entangled on appendages, and if it didn’t work itself off it got tighter and tighter with time until it cut through the flesh.

Above her, the sky was darkening fast. She whirled and headed back toward the boat, raising her arm from the water when she got within twenty feet and curling her hand like a hook. Kyle and Lisbeth scurried to the front storage compartment in the boat’s deck and dug out the modified gaff hook. After her family had heard about many such run-ins with fishing line entanglements Nina’s uncle, a blacksmith, had soldered a razor blade inside the semicircle of the hook, preventing it from cutting into skin or anything else not centered within the shank. It had fast become the most reliable tool they had for quick and dirty field rescues.

They had it waiting for her by the time she paddled up alongside the transom, so she was able to grab it and launch herself off to try to find the ray again, knowing she had to work quickly. It could be traveling away, startled. Raising her eyes to the softly lapping surface, she triangulated between the boat and a distant buoy to where she thought she had glimpsed it and took off for the spot.

The odds were not good, she knew. They almost never were in these abrupt, needle-in-a-haystack situations. Away from the sandbar the bottom dropped quickly, making for murky visibility, an arm’s length at best. She could already hear the distant drone of boat engines slowly but steadily growing louder; the coming storm meant boats would be zooming in, focused on getting out of the rain as soon as possible and little else. But she didn’t have to glance back to know that Lisbeth and Kyle had pulled up anchor and were idling near her, eyes peeled and ready to warn her of any hazard they saw, so she kept the waves at eye level to navigate and lifted her ear from the water occasionally to listen.

She kept the gaff tight to her body as she swam so as not to frighten the ray before she was able to approach it. With only a few feet of visibility she wouldn’t get much warning before coming upon it or anything else, after all. Once in the area she slowed her pace and stealthily approached a subtle movement in the water ahead that caught her eye. That turned out to be a fish, but after moving quietly and slowly through the area for a few more minutes her eyes re-adjusted and she could just make out the graceful fluttering of the stingray’s fins off to her left. She veered and glided unobtrusively through the water column, trying hard to stabilize her anxious breathing. It was highly likely this would be the one occasion in which this particular animal would wander close to a human, and that the human in question would care enough to attempt disentanglement. If she missed, chances were that the ray would have to live out its entire life with the line constricting tighter and tighter until it cut into its body.

Her approach was painstakingly slow and unobtrusive—it had to be—but once in the stingray’s close proximity she could not afford to hesitate too long and risk giving it time to react to her. Either it would startle and flee or possibly defend itself and sting her. She forced deep, even breaths down her throat and took a hard look into the green silt a little further off than arm’s length. Coils of line were wrapped around the base of the tail and were still loose. She could get it in one swipe, but her aim would have to be perfect. One more breath, and she didn’t wait to exhale. With one measured stroke the hook glided forward, ensnaring the full spiral of line, and then darted back.

She saw nothing but dust clouds after that. Her blood buzzed with adrenaline. It was over, and without being able to check the animal, all she could do was hope that she got it. Pulling the instrument close to her body, she saw the shimmer of line on her hook and finally exhaled.

She heard the roar of engines, louder now; in her tunneled concentration she hadn’t noticed how close they had gotten. She lifted her head to reassuring looks from her two employees, but behind her about a hundred feet away was a sparkling new Bayliner, modestly sized like their boat but clearly the apple of her owner’s eye. On the deck, his back turned to them, a young shirtless guy appeared to be watching the boats rocketing by, then glanced over his shoulder at her in the water. She turned to her friends and with the roaring engines loud enough to drown out any noise mouthed, The hell’s he doing?

Lisbeth gave her a nod that all was OK, so with one last curious glance at the lone gentleman she began stroking in toward her boat.

Hey, is everything OK?

She stopped. The guy was now facing her, seated on the deck of his boat with his bare legs hanging over. She spit out her snorkel. Yeah, sure. We’re cleaning up trash. We’re part of a marine debris clean-up project partnered with Oceanic Institute.

He must have heard her well enough because he smiled, his face angled down toward her and shaded for the moment. But he idled his boat closer to her as if to hear better. Thought it was something like that. I figured your boat and mine could stay on either side of you until all the traffic passed.

She nodded, trying not to show her surprise. Plenty of fishermen appreciated their work, but many more did not cotton to being asked to consider biodegradable fishing line, and she saw an expensive-looking rod lying next to him. Thanks. That’s…really cool of you, especially staying out in a storm.

He shrugged tawny shoulders. No worries. What’s with the pole?

Normally she didn’t like being hassled by onlookers if she was in the middle of something that demanded as much concentration as in-water animal rescue, but she was done now, and besides, his kindness more than made up for it. She had to smile at his unwillingness to accept the short answer of what they were doing out here. I just saw an entangled stingray, so I cut it off of him.

Fishing line, huh?

She frowned and nodded truthfully but didn’t elaborate. Winning converts was easier if you could sidestep sounding preachy.

He grinned and held up his hands in surrender. All of my line comes back with me, every time. I make sure of it. Hey, I’ll let you go on and get out of this storm, miss…what’s your name?

Nina. Thanks again.

Jordan. He turned his face up to the sky as the sprinkling began to intensify. Need me to follow you guys in?

No, we’ve got it. She climbed onto her boat and then looked him over across the distance. Gentlemanly, but like a lot of fishermen he took it one notch too far. But he was good-looking, particularly as far as fishermen went; most of them were in the retirement bracket. His short sandy hair was kept out of his way, low-maintenance, and a smattering of freckles across his nose kept his face from looking imperviously chiseled.

Beside her, Lisbeth cleared her throat. Just want to mention, Nina here does need a date for this Saturday’s—

Nina flicked the boat key in its ignition, bringing the engine puttering noisily to life and effectively drowning out her friend’s congenial voice. She gave the kindly stranger a wave and accelerated the old Evinrude engine toward land, ignoring Lisbeth’s chiding look.

Back at the boatyard, the girls dumped the recyclable waste from the day’s collection in bins. Some of the rest went to the trash, but Lisbeth picked through it first for her own passion project, a documentary film she wanted to make on the subject. Nina left her to it and went to help Kyle hose off the boat, but he quite literally shoved her away by the shoulders, knowing she had that speech to write.

This Saturday was the day. Or, rather, the night. Her tiny, newly-minted company was happy to do its thankless work but it needed donations, and more than that, attention and support. In Lisbeth’s expert opinion the thing to do was hold a fundraising event, something fun to attract people for whom the marine debris problem was already on the radar, and then hopefully spread from there throughout their social circles and onward. Tossing Kyle a grateful look, she settled herself by the boatyard’s in-ground pool with her tablet and thought. Here again, she needed to be honest about the depth of the problem but couldn’t afford to be so pontificating that she discouraged everyone from believing their efforts could be meaningful. Lighthearted, but poignant…was that possible?

And then there was the band. It was Lisbeth who’d come up with the idea that some local live music would help to give the event an ambiance of fun, which would put a much-needed positive spin on things since her project, like most anything in the environmental realm, was at its core predicated on doom and gloom. Her ever-resourceful friend had put the word out to any bands looking for philanthropic association with environmental causes and had actually gotten a few responses from opening-act level groups. A few of her volunteers were avid music enthusiasts, aware of every band, electronic dance deejay, and progressive rock collective no matter how underground and had given their input. Things were arranged at the very last minute via a phone call past her usual 11 p.m. bedtime, with the band of course not having a real manager, and there was enough of a haphazard aura surrounding them that she had pretty much planned on them arriving late and going on late. Which was fine—she had to give her welcome talk and project introduction anyway.

She smelled saltwater when Kyle sat down beside her and wrinkled her nose. He kicked her ankle, making a splash, and leaned over to grab her tablet from her. He frowned at the blank screen, then set it down.

Well, if you can’t think of an inspirational spin on seagulls choking in the North Atlantic Gyre, how about ‘Drinks are free, so throw some money into the pot’?

She turned to look at him. Starting her own business wasn’t easy with so many disheartening bumps along the way, but she was so grateful for her friends’ presence in her life. They were worth their weight in gold to her. And today the three of them had helped out a stingray, making any trouble worthwhile with that alone. Erupting into a laugh, she shoved him in the pool, then jumped in after him.

Chapter 2

He ran. Like he used to when he was a kid in school, for football practice. And just like back then, instead of getting his blood pumping, ramping his body up for the ferocity of a game, it felt good in a different way. The demanding push of his muscles made his insides go quiet, toning down that hungry, needy reflex in him that sometimes threatened to take over. Generally he felt restless, fidgety…insatiable. He would find things, things that were physically or mentally immersive, to keep it at bay, and often that would work. If his legs were straining with bursts of lactic acid now he didn’t feel it, content to put everything else on autopilot and drive his body forward while he surrendered to the endorphin high.

Snapshots of his hometown flew past him: wooden porches with rocking chairs, the ma and pa gas station on the corner, couples with strollers and dogs keeping pace beside them. But his stride quickened and he left those scenes behind him, watching as the sidewalks and mailboxes were replaced by grass and gravel. Was it his speed that was making his vision go blurry? He wasn’t sure. It came on so gradually that before he noticed anything was wrong his surroundings became unrecognizable, foreign. A prickle began in the base of his spine and traveled up; he got the feeling that he was on a delay, had caught on to the danger too late. Nothing around him took on a discernible form, yet he knew all of the looming shapes had teeth in them and were closing in. With a burst of adrenaline he scrambled ahead, faster, but it didn’t matter. No matter what he did, things got darker and darker all around him. The huge forms were overshadowing him now, and the fear was enough to choke him, the oxygen just wouldn’t come—

His eyes cracked open and he inhaled. Blessed air poured in freely from the open window and was infused with stale apartment atmosphere by the whirr of the plug-in fan on the floor. None of this did anything to temper the miasma of takeout food and dirty socks and bong water, nor was it meant to; the residents were very comfortable with their chosen environment as it was.

Chelsey looked to his nightstand, but there was no clock. He wandered out into the kitchen in his boxers, but remembered the clock in there had stopped months ago. Muted strummings floated out from Cory’s room, so after pouring himself a big glass of orange-pineapple juice he padded in without knocking. His roommate and the bass player of their band, Golden Goat, sat in a wooden chair by his bedroom window, eyes closed, nodding in time as he meandered through basslines, trying things out.

He relaxed onto Cory’s bed. Morning, buttercup.

Cory smiled, his eyes opening. You know what tonight is, right?

Slow down. For now I’m just working on what time it is.

Eleven thirty. And tonight we’re—

Getting the set list together for Saturday. I got it. Just trying to scare you a little.

Nodding again, Cory plinked out a few more thoughtful notes in the experimental melody and then, with a sharp rise in volume, went into the bassline for the first song he and Chelsey had ever written together. The piece, like all their others, defied categorization in the current decade and recalled instead various elements of the 70’s, folk and psychedelic and metal, smashed together with zeal at bars and festivals. And then, soft and intertwining with the music at first and then hardening to a life of its own, Chelsey’s voice rang out full and ripe, easily dominating the room with its inlaid sandpaper texture, issuing a challenge to the