They Said Man on the Ship Was My Destiny—I Said No Chapter 04
Something shifted behind his eyes — panic, raw and sudden. He planted himself in front of the drawing box. “Why won’t you back down? You always back down.”
“Look at them.” He jerked his chin toward the platform. “Which one of those guys is gonna take you?”
He spun toward the crowd. “Go ahead — who’s letting Clara on their boat?!”
His stare swept the dock like a blade, and every boy there dropped his eyes. Not one of them moved.
Everyone in Riverbend — every village on both banks of Willow Creek — knew I’d been Preston’s shadow for seven years. No man wanted to bring that kind of baggage home.
Nobody would take me. I didn’t care.
I wasn’t trying to marry any of them anyway. Preston turned to me, and for the first time, I saw something close to begging in his eyes.
Audrey had already slipped onto his boat while we argued — settled in like she owned it. “Clara, just wait till next year. Preston’s just looking out for me — we’re basically family. Once you marry him, you’ll be calling me family anyway. So don’t pull a red slip. It’d be pretty embarrassing if you had nowhere to go.”
She hid her smile behind her hand. A few families — the ones who’d always had it out for my father — laughed out loud.
My father’s face had gone dark red. The guilt hit me like a wall. All those years running after Preston — I hadn’t just humiliated myself. I’d dragged my whole family down with me.
I’d backed down too many times. Not today. Not ever again.
I shoved Preston aside and plunged my hand into the box. The slips were packed tight, sliding between my fingers like something alive.
Before I could pull one free, Preston’s hand clamped down on mine. “Think about what you’re doing, Clara. My boat’s already taken. Even if you draw red, you’re not getting on my boat.”
I nodded.
I’d already made my peace with that. One way or another, I was boarding a boat today.
When the threats didn’t land, his voice dropped. Softer now. “Clara, you keep this up, and I’m not going to see your grandfather with you. You really want to break his heart?”
A laugh slipped out of me — small, sharp, with nothing funny in it. I looked him dead in the eye.
“You know why my grandfather likes you, Preston? It’s not because of who you are. It’s because I loved you. I don’t love you anymore. So neither will he. Now get out of my way. I’m drawing.”
My father waved two guards over, and they hauled Preston off the platform. He stared back at me, wild-eyed, refusing to accept it.
“You’re mine, Clara! Seven years — you’re MINE! Seven whites in a row — what makes you think this year’s any different?!”
I shut him out. My fingers moved through the slips, searching.
The white ones were smooth. The red ones had a rough grain to them. So that’s all it had ever been — a rigged game dressed up as tradition.
Seven years of reaching into a box stacked against me, and I’d actually believed I was just unlucky.
Seven years. Seven whites. The whole town’s favorite punchline.
My fingertips caught something rough — a texture I’d never felt before in this box. I pulled it out. The crowd erupted.
“It’s red!”
“Clara drew a red slip!”
“No — that’s impossible!” Preston ripped free from the men holding him and knocked the drawing box off the table.
Red and white slips scattered into the wind. Preston’s head snapped toward his brother.
“There’s no way — there can’t be a red slip in there!” His brother was already shrinking into the crowd, eyes on the ground.
Too many people on the platform — he’d never had a chance to make the switch.
My father’s expression changed. Seven years of white slips — he finally understood why.
His jaw tightened. “A red slip is a red slip. Riverbend rules stand. Clara — pick your boat!”
Preston’s confidence snapped back. The water in front of me was empty — every other boat had pulled away, hugging the far bank. Preston positioned himself at the bow of his own.
“Come on, Clara. Give in and I’ll make Audrey get off. It’s yours.”
I didn’t look at him. I watched the river.
A black festival boat was cutting through the water toward me.
Preston scrambled onto his own boat, tugging at Audrey’s arm. “Audrey, get off — I’ll take Clara.”
Too late.
The black boat glided to a stop at the dock while they were still arguing. A hand reached out to me — steady, sure, knuckles sharp beneath the skin — and pulled me aboard