Tennessee Takedown. Lena Diaz

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      Chapter Four

      Another wave crashed over Dillon’s head, shoving him back under like a waterlogged towel tossed in a giant washing machine. His lungs burned. His muscles ached from fighting against the current.

      He kicked his legs and clawed his way toward the barely discernible sliver of moonlight that told him which direction was up. He burst to the surface, gulping air into his lungs. Lightning flashed in the sky, followed by a boom of thunder so loud it hurt his ears. The rain pummeled his skin like hundreds of tiny icy needles.

      Another wave crashed down. Again he went under. Again he fought his way back up for another precious lungful of air. He’d lost sight of the truck. And he wasn’t trying to swim in any particular direction anymore.

      He was just trying to survive.

      It was too dark to see more than a few feet in front of him. He didn’t know where he was, or even if he was within reach of land. His muscles screamed for relief, cried out for rest. He couldn’t keep fighting much longer.

      Moonlight glinted off the whitecap of another wall of water rushing toward him. He inhaled deeply just as the wave slammed into him. Like a spear in his chest, the water pushed him down, down, down until he bumped against the muddy bottom of the river.

      The pressure pinned him against a rock. He latched onto it, fire lancing through his lungs as he waited for the current to shift. His vision blurred. The irony that he might actually drown suddenly struck him as funny. A laugh erupted from him, sending a froth of bubbles up toward the surface. His lungs protested the loss of desperately needed oxygen.

      He pictured the fireplace mantel in his parents’ farmhouse, still filled with his decade-old swim trophies from high school, like open wounds that had never healed. What would his mother do when she heard her swim-champion son had drowned? Would she throw away the trophies that had made her so proud? Would she hate him for giving up?

      He clenched the rock harder. Tired, so tired. All he had to do was open his mouth and take a deep gulp of water and it would be over. He wouldn’t have to fight anymore. His eyes drifted closed. The last of his air bubbled out of his nose. He sank deeper against the rock.

      The image of his mother’s face drifted through his thoughts, surprising him with the anger in her faded blue eyes. She reached out, but instead of hugging him goodbye, she grabbed his shoulders and shook him.

      She needs you. Help her.

      His mother’s face faded, replaced by Ashley Parrish’s wide-eyed stare, her scream of terror as the truck went into the river.

      Dillon’s eyes flew open. He couldn’t give up. Not yet. He had to try. One more time.

      He let the rock go and pushed toward the moonlight again. Up, up, up. He broke the surface, inhaling deeply. The rush of air into his starved lungs was painful, like the rush of blood into a circulation-starved limb. He ducked beneath the next wave and came right back up this time. He was used to swimming in pools or the pond on his parents’ farm, not this roiling nightmare that pounded at him and made his muscles shake with exhaustion.

      Maybe that was the problem. He was fighting too hard. He thought back to the basics, something his first swim coach had taught him, something he’d never had use for. Until now. Dead man float. He dodged the next wave, gulped in a deep breath, another.

      Then he stopped fighting.

      Lying facedown in the water, he held his hands out in front of him to protect his head from any debris. He held his breath, no longer struggling against a monster he couldn’t defeat, and let the current take him wherever it wanted as the freezing rain beat down on his back. He jerked his head out of the water, took another breath, relaxed again. Over and over he repeated the routine—breathe, relax, float, breathe, relax, float.

      His arm banged against something hard and unyielding. The current shoved him against a solid object—the truck, tangled up in a downed tree at the edge of the river.

      The powerful current tugged at him, trying to pull him back out. His wet СКАЧАТЬ