When the Tides Held the Moon

by Venessa Vida Kelley

“You could not influence the Shark’s actions any more than I could,” he argued, his voice finally rising. “Merciful Neptune, have you no compassion for yourself?” The answer, we both knew, was no, though the word never found its way past my clenched teeth. I wanted to run without stopping, bury myself in the ground. Anything to stop feeling like a wounded animal being hunted by a ruthless god. “Si te digo la verdad . . .” My eyes squeezed shut as the darkest secret I carried rose up my throat like an oil slick in water. “Sometimes I think the hurricane hadn’t meant to leave me behind. That everything I am is an accident because I should’ve been swept out to sea.” “Enough!” I looked down. Río looked stricken. “Enough of this,” he said again. “Come into the water.” “¿Qué dijiste?” “I wish to comfort you. I cannot do it with bars between us.” My stomach dove into my heels at the suggestion. “Comfort me? But—” “Do humans not console each other when they are in pain?” “They do—we do, but . . .” “But what?” Staring unblinkingly at him—at the scar Morgan had carved into his skin—I said the words in Spanish so I didn’t have to bear the sting of them in English. “No lo merezco.” His blue eyes flashed stubbornly. “You do not know what you deserve. You think yourself unworthy for your hand in my captivity when I have already forgiven you! Why do you refuse to forgive yourself?” “After everything I let happen—” “Of everyone who dragged me from the water that night, you are the only on...