The lights of the village flickered on the horizon. His hands ached from gripping the tiller to steer the boat so hard, and every jolt of the skiff felt like the beginning of another strike. He kept the throttle pinned, the engine screaming, the little boat shaking as though it might rattle apart.
The pier loomed closer, but Erik didn’t slow down. He cut the motor only when the shallows surged beneath him, coasting hard until the hull ground against the beach. He didn’t bother tying the boat off. He vaulted over the side, stumbled in the wet sand, and sprinted up the beach.