Chapter 3: The Drowning Incident

by Roxanne Rene

Griffin Royce was drowning.

Not in the literal sense—not yet, at least. But in a way that made his chest tighten, his pulse hammering against his ribs like a caged thing.

Deadlines. Expectations.

And her.

Jewel Marino sat across from him on the terrace of the writers’ retreat, perched on the edge of a lounge chair. Her brows drawn together in unmistakable frustration as she skimmed through their latest manuscript notes.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered, flipping a page.

Griffin smirked. “Flattery won’t get you out of this, Marino.”

She exhaled sharply, tossing the stack of notes onto the table between them. “You keep nitpicking my scenes for ‘lacking tension,’ but all you do is scribble cryptic notes in the margins like some literary oracle. Where’s your contribution?”

Griffin stretched out lazily in his chair, letting the early summer heat sink into his skin. “I’m waiting for you to stop resisting the natural chemistry between our characters.”

Jewel shot him a look so sharp it could have sliced through steel. “You think I’m resisting? Maybe I don’t want my heroine brooding over a dark, tortured hero for ten chapters straight.”

Griffin arched a brow. “Why not? You do it just fine.”

The second the words left his mouth, he knew he’d pushed too far.

Jewel’s entire body went rigid. “Excuse me?”

Griffin barely stopped himself from swearing. He hadn’t meant—

Shit.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, frustration crawling under his skin. “Forget it,” he muttered, standing abruptly.

“No, go on,” Jewel said, her voice deceptively calm, which somehow made it so much worse.

Griffin sighed. “Look, we’ve been at this for weeks. The book. The deadlines. And you and me, circling each other like we’re in a damn standoff. It’s exhausting.”

Jewel blinked at him. He wasn’t sure if she was shocked or pissed. Probably both.

After a long beat, she sighed, rubbing her temples. “Fine,” she muttered. “Maybe we just need to cool off.”

Griffin eyed her warily. “Meaning?”

She nodded toward the pool, glistening under the warm afternoon light. “A break. A swim. Something other than sitting here arguing until one of us dies of creative frustration.”

He considered it. The idea of sinking into cold water, letting his mind shut off for a bit, was tempting.

He exhaled. “Fine. But if you try to drown me, I’m taking you down with me.”

Jewel smirked. “I’d like to see you try, Royce.”

---

Ten minutes later, Griffin was in over his head.

Literally.

He hadn’t been in a pool in years. And Jewel Marino in a swimsuit was officially the final nail in his coffin.

She wasn’t doing anything deliberate—just stretching her arms over her head, water slicking down her shoulders as she adjusted her goggles—but his brain short-circuited anyway.

Griffin waded deeper into the water, forcing himself to focus.

It worked. For about thirty seconds. Until he heard the splash. At first, he thought it was just another swimmer. But then—

A small child’s head bobbed up a few feet away, thrashing, her arms flailing wildly in the water.

Griffin didn’t think. He moved. Pushing forward, his muscles burned as he swam toward her, reaching her just as her small fingers clutched onto him in sheer panic.

Too tight.

Shit—

The weight of her grip knocked him off balance, pulling him under before he could adjust.

Water rushed into his lungs, his chest locking up as they sank together.

Panic set in.

No air. No sense of direction. No way to break free.

Just when his vision blurred, something grabbed him. And everything went dark.

---

Jewel was moving before she even registered what was happening.

One moment, she’d been adjusting her goggles. The next?

She saw Griffin disappear beneath the surface.

Her heart slammed against her ribs as she dove, instincts from years of swim team training kicking in. She cut through the water in clean, strong strokes.

The second she reached them, she saw the panic in the child’s wide eyes and the unnatural slackness in Griffin’s body.

Not on her watch.

Jewel surged forward, prying the girl free with one hand while wrapping her other arm tightly around Griffin’s chest.

Kicking hard, she pushed upward, ignoring the burn in her lungs.

Breaking the surface, she gasped for air as she hauled Griffin toward the pool’s edge.

A lifeguard—Camilla, of all people—was suddenly there, taking the child as Jewel dragged Griffin onto the deck.

“Griffin!” Jewel’s voice cracked as she hovered above him, pressing her hands against his chest.

Nothing.

“Shit,” she breathed, ready to start compressions—

“Move.”

A hand forcefully shoved her aside, and Camilla collapsed to her knees on the gritty pavement. With a focused determination, she began administering CPR, her movements precise and practiced, as if she had rehearsed this moment a thousand times. Meanwhile, Jewel barely processed it, her mind struggling to grasp the chaos unfolding around her.

She was too busy wrapping the little girl in a towel, her small frame still trembling violently.

Jewel’s heart clenched. She didn’t even think before she started humming.

Soft and gentle, the song from a children’s movie felt soothing and familiar. The little girl hiccupped as she snuggled closer.

Jewel barely noticed when the ambulance arrived. Didn’t hear the gasps of the bystanders. Not until—

“Camilla, you saved him!”

Jewel’s head snapped up.

Camilla was standing now, hands on her hips, her expression carefully composed as paramedics loaded Griffin onto a stretcher.

Jewel felt her stomach twist.

It was a misunderstanding. Camilla had performed CPR, sure, but she hadn’t been the one to pull him out. And yet…

She chose not to correct them; instead, she simply smiled.

Jewel felt a tightness in her chest, but she pushed it aside. Griffin was alive, and that was all that mattered.

Right?

---

Return to Chapter 2 <— —> Continue to Chapter 4