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He doesn’t—he’s still flailing—but soet my free arm around his head so that his chin is in the crook of ot hi, and I pant, "Better not do that"

He's stillthe awful sound—wet and hoarse from lon in his throat—and I can tell he's kinda bad off because I feel his body shaking

"Just chill, brother I gotchu"

His fingers claw lad he’s clawing me because at least he hasn’t croaked yet, but his hand is strong He’s hurtingas hard

"Stop, dude! Relax and trust me"

I don't know if he does, or if maybe he passes out His body feels near li as I sith long, hard strokes toward the e

Jesus, it's a long way off

"I gotcha, man It's okay"

I feel panicked that I can’t do , and that sound is getting to me

Long strokes, Miller Focus

Then he's coughing—which sounds milder, like when you sputter on some pool water Dammit, I wish I could see his face, look at the color of his lips but I can't; the lifeguard hold I’ve got hih the water by his head, so I can keep his mouth above the surface

Can't do anything but kick and pulland kick and pull with h ing him, I remember: the boat

Shit! I can’t call 9-1-1 without et a look at his face, and the guy gives a ruh I can hear his breath after—a shalloheeze His hand closes aroundrip on his head

I grab at hi ives hs and his lips tremble, I just stare

God, his eyes are old-brown I take in his face—the stark cheekbones and lush ot hair flopping into his face, over dark, strong-looking brows He coughs again, and I realize his lips are just a touch blue at the corners

"Hey—" I reach for him