#Distress Sale Property

[foreclosuresdailyprobatesale]

The Pros and Cons of Buying Distressed Properties

So, you want to buy a house at a cheap rate and look at the foreclosure market. It is tempting to join in and make a purchase given the chance to distressed property and their low prices.

You should know as much as you can about the distressed property before your client buys it like any other major purchase. Buying Distressed Property For Sale can be both rewarding and challenging.

All these properties offer the potential for substantial returns with the right strategy. Investors need to understand the risks and benefits of investing in Foreclosuredaily distressed property for sale making informed decisions maximizing their profit potential.

So explore the risks and benefits related to distressed properties when considering buying a Distress Sale Property.

The Pros of Buying a Distress Sale Property

Here are some main profits of this property investment type:

Less Buyer Competition

Lower competition not only allows you more time to consider the details of the deal. It will also lead sellers to offer incentives for any potential buyer.

Negotiating Power

You will need to have negotiating power for a distressed property so that you can negotiate for a quicker closing having personal property.

Buying at a Discount

Distressed properties generally have motivated sellers and a smaller buyer pool. So it is easier to buy these homes below market value.

Forced Appreciation

This is when you actively add value to a distressed property to immediately increase its value. The key benefit here is that you can potentially turn a profit by selling the renovated property in a short time. The key benefit here is that you can potentially turn a profit by selling the renovated property in a short time.

Risks Associated with Investing in Distressed Properties

With the above-mentioned various advantages of investing in distressed properties here are a few of the potential risks you need to consider:

Unknown Conditions

Distressed Owner sold their distressed Properties in as-is condition. This means that the seller will not make any repairs or offer any financial assistance. This is to help the buyer make required repairs.

High Renovation Costs and Unforeseen Expenses

Renovation costs are infamously difficult to accurately predict. You never know when you will come across an unexpected complication or need to order more materials than you originally budgeted.

Building Permit Issues

Many distressed properties need added renovation requiring building allowance. Failing to understand the permitting method can lead to costly delays.

Conclusion       

Distressed real estate investing can be a profitable way of investment. Finding good Distressed Property for Sale from MLS takes work and you will want to thoroughly inspect properties before buying them. This is to make sure they are worth it.

Investors with the right mix of expertise and persistence with a solid game plan can capitalize on this path to outsized profits.

[almayver]

I would say there's no way they are actually killing him on episode 8 of 12

But i don't trust this show anymore so

[cheapoldhousesunder50k]

c.1938 Distressed Property For Sale in Ohio Under $50K

$49,900  Distressed property for sale in Ohio. Imagine developing a vibrant community hub or a unique home business combination.  Bring your imagination and expertise to breathe new life into this gem!    Realtor Comments Unlock the potential of this versatile distressed property, perfect for multifamily living or running your own business. With ample space the possibilities are endless. The…

[paradise-10]

Paradise10: Your Partner for Investment Home Buying and Real Estate in New Mexico

Looking for prime investment opportunities in New Mexico? At Paradise10, we specialize in connecting you with the best real estate deals in the state. Whether you're an experienced investor or just starting out, our expertise in investment home buying, New Mexico Real Estate, and Distressed Property Sales ensures you'll find the perfect opportunity to grow your portfolio. With a deep understanding of the local market, Paradise10 is your trusted partner in securing high-return properties, including distressed property for sale in New Mexico that offer incredible value.

Contact Us: 850-610-3486

[cashbuyernj]

real estate enterprise

Welcome to our thriving real estate enterprise, where we specialize in the acquisition of diverse properties, including houses, condominiums, and mixed-use developments, across the picturesque landscape of New Jersey. At our core, we are more than just property buyers – we are architects of community transformation, firm believers in the profound impact that quality homes have on fostering strong, vibrant neighborhoods. We buy houses, condominiums and mixed use properties in New Jersey. We believe good houses bring good families that build great neighborhoods.

website: https://cashbuyernewjersey.com/

linkdin: https://www.linkedin.com/company/cashbuyernj

facebook: https://web.facebook.com/CashBuyerNJ/

[chrisangelhomebuyers]

Cash home sales offer a multitude of benefits for sellers of distressed properties. The faster closing timelines, lack of financing contingencies, and flexibility on repairs allow sellers to offload problematic homes quickly and efficiently. Cash buyers are often willing to purchase properties "as-is", eliminating the need for costly pre-sale renovations. Additionally, the higher offer prices and reduced holding costs during the sales process can help sellers maximize their return.

Overall, the streamlined nature of cash transactions makes them an ideal solution for selling distressed properties in a timely and stress-free manner. By understanding the unique advantages of cash home sales, sellers can make the most of their distressed property and move forward with confidence. If you want to hire a reliable we buy houses company in Charlotte NC to sell your distressed property with a fair cash offer then Chris Angel Home Buyers can be your best bet. For more details call us at 704-989-5804 or visit our site now.

[theemeraldteam]

How to Find a Certified Short Sale Specialist

By following mentioned steps, you can find a certified short sale specialist who can help you navigate the complex process of selling your home for less than the outstanding mortgage balance. To find a certified short sale specialist, follow these steps:

Identify the right professional: Look for a Realtor or real estate agent with specific experience in short sales. They should have a proven track record of handling short sales, including recent deals and experience with your specific lender.

Check for certifications: Search for professionals with certifications like the Short Sales and Foreclosure Resource (SFR®) certification, which indicates they have undergone specialized training in assisting homeowners and guiding buyers through distressed property transactions.

Ask the right questions: When interviewing potential short sale specialists, ask about their experience, short sale listings, and the number of short sales they've closed within the past 12 months. Also, inquire about their knowledge of current short sale regulations, both federally and locally.

Verify credentials: Ensure the professional you choose is a member of the National Association of REALTORS® and has a valid real estate license in their state.

[landcentury]

Cheap house for sale in Alaska for $40K.

[investineasttexas]

Rental Properties For Sale

East Texas Commercial Team is the leading provider of Commercial Rental Property, Investment Property For Sale, and Multifamily Commercial Real Estate in the East Texas area.

For more information, visit our website: https://www.investineasttexas.com/

[joyce-albert-realtor]

Negotiating a Short Sale

The main thing to know when negotiating a short sale is that it’s always going to be priced somewhat below market if for no other reason than the fact the seller is looking for a quick sale. I recently had a home listed for $280,000 when all comparable homes in the neighborhood were priced at $300-$320,000. Now granted, this house needed new flooring throughout, but that plus some fresh paint…

[cevansbrat0007]

Disturbing the Peace

Summary: You're keeping a secret from Ari - one that you'll have to tell him about eventually. Right?

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Mentions of Death, Pet Names, Corporate Intimidation, Anxious Reader, Cursing, Minors DNI.

A/N: Takes place earlier in my Sweet Renegades Series timeline. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

You stare down at the notice in your hands, your mouth suddenly dry as your eyes proceed to scan the words on the page for the third time. You’d found it wedged between your doors only moments ago after closing down your shop for the night. 

Which meant someone had been out there watching – waiting – for the right moment to strike. Without the benefit of an audience. Fucking coward.   

Even still, that fact unnerved you to no end. Especially since the piece of paper you were holding seemed different from the others you’d received over the previous months. They’d been polite and professional, albeit a bit pushy.

But not this one.

This letter was short and to the point. Greystone & Reeves Real Estate Group was done beating around the bush. They were giving you one last chance to meet so that the two of you could finally begin discussing the terms of the sale of your beloved shop, Baubles & Quills. 

The one thing you’d promised your late uncle, Lenny, you’d never do.

But unfortunately for you, that didn’t seem to matter overly much to the pushy group. They were clearly tired of being ignored - a tactic that you’d employed with them from the beginning. 

When you’d first received a letter from them you’d laughed it off before crumbling it up and tossing it in the trash. You’d also done the same with the second. But by the time you’d received the third you’d been hoppin’ mad. So mad that you’d left a less than polite voicemail with their receptionist telling them that their entire company could “suck dirt and die”, because that’s exactly what you would do before you ever thought about signing away the deed to your shop.

After that, things were quiet for a time. So quiet that you forgot all about that stupid Greystone and his dimwitted lackey, Reeves. In fact, the last time you’d heard anything from them had been right after Ari had rolled into town. 

Come to think of it, you’d actually lit that letter on fire while wishing you could do the same to their headquarters – wherever they seemed to be located. Oddly enough, you hadn’t actually been able to dig up much about them online. Just that they seemed to have set up shop in several different counties surrounding Bell’s Creek.

You couldn’t make heads nor tails of why they were so interested in your property or your land. But at the end of the day, their motivations didn’t really matter.

Because you weren’t fucking selling. Not now, not ever. 

Baubles & Quills wasn’t just your place of business, but also your refuge. It was part of the legacy your uncle had left behind as a gift to the little girl who had spent so much of her childhood curled up in the overstuffed armchair in his office with her nose buried in a book. 

Long story short, you’d made a promise to the man who’d loved you like a daughter. And you intended to keep it. 

So, tomorrow you’d call Greystone & Reeves and threaten them with whatever your paralegal buddy, Erica, suggested. You’d been meaning to call her anyway so that you two could catch-up on life, as well as all things related to Mr. Ari “Beast” Levinson.

The sound of your phone ringing suddenly breaks the silence, giving you a mini-heart attack in the process. You can tell by the ringtone that it’s Ari on the other end, which has you answering without hesitation. 

“Uh, hey.” You cough out, shaking your head as you try to clear your mind. “What’s up, Beast?” You do your best to keep your tone light and breezy, not wanting him to pick up on your distress. 

Mostly because you’d never thought to mention any of the threatening letters you’d received over the last several months. Even when Ari had stopped by that one fine day to interrogate you about your relationship with Martin you’d chosen to keep that piece of information close to the vest. 

After all, it wasn’t like your Bounty Hunter could do much about it anyway. Not to mention that you’d had no idea that your relationship would ultimately progress the way it did.

Bottom line: nobody needed to know, least of all your handsome Beast. Wait. Except for Erica. She could know. Because otherwise, how else would she be able to tell you what scary things to say? 

It’s only then when you hear your name on the other line that you realize your thoughts must’ve wandered. “I’m sorry, babe. Can you please repeat that?” You mutter, scrubbing a tired hand over your face. “It’s been a long day and I’m afraid my mind is already worrying about tomorrow’s delivery.”

There was no delivery slated for tomorrow, but a little white lie never hurt anyone. Right?

“S’alright, little Bird. I know you’re tired but – wait. I thought you weren’t expecting any more deliveries for the rest of the month?” The sound of his deep, slightly roughened voice has your pulse quickening as a fresh wave of heat pools in your belly.

“I…” You trail off, your fingers coming to pinch the bridge of your nose. Serves you right for trying to lie to the one man who actually paid attention to 99.9% of the shit that you said on a daily fucking basis. 

“Guess I forgot.” You finish lamely, tucking the phone between your shoulder and your ear so that you can get moving. “I’m about to leave Baubles, though. Am I still picking us up something from Holtman’s Diner or did you change your mind?"

“Holtman’s is fine, baby.” Ari responds after a couple of seconds. “But are you sure you’re okay?”

And there it was. Granted, it didn’t sound like suspicion so much as it did concern…

But still. 

“I’m great, Beast. Pinky promise.”

Gritting your teeth you return your attention to the stupid piece of paper in front of you. But instead of balling it up and tossing it into the garbage, you decide to neatly fold it and tuck it into your purse.

Next you pull out your keys, followed by your handy dandy taser. And just to be safe, you decide to go ahead and swipe the nearby exacto knife sitting on an unopened box containing some random celebrity’s latest memoir. 

“I still think you sound funny, Duchess.”

Fuck, this man – your man – was like a goddamned bloodhound. And once he caught a scent he didn’t give up until he had his prey cornered and ready to spill their guts. 

“Augh!” You hiss as you sling your purse over one shoulder before collecting the rest of your things. “Sweetheart, I just told you I’m tired. That’s literally it. Hold on while I get the alarm.” Biting your lip you type in the passcode needed to arm your system before swiftly unlocking and exiting through the front.      

“I’m all set now. About to jump into my ride and head to Holtman’s.” Of course, you’re quick to interrupt when he attempts to turn the focus back to you. “Tell me about your day, handsome.”

Ari did not need to know that you were hovering just outside of fight or flight mode, which is why you currently had your semi-legal taser at the ready. Plus the knife and the tiny container of pepper spray hooked on your keyring. 

Now that had been a gift from Ari.

Keeping your head on a swivel, you make quick work of locking everything back up before making a mad dash to your vehicle. An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as you continue to scan the empty lot, searching for any signs of life.  

“Yeah?” You grunt as you throw yourself into your car before locking yourself in. “Well, maybe I can try working that knot out of your shoulder later.” With shaking hands you push the start button in your car and wait for your call to connect with your bluetooth. Thankfully it doesn’t take long. “And yes, please. You have my explicit permission to repay the favor, you ridiculous man.”

Oh goodness, I can’t breathe. Mary, Jesus, Joseph, help!

Body hunched, you Immediately you peel out of the lot and turn onto a main road. Now that you’re safe, you cast a glance in your rearview mirror, feeling grateful when you don’t see anything – save for a couple of raccoons hoping to get their hands on some garbage. 

“Woo!” You shout, triumphantly punching the roof of your car. “Hell yeah!” You’d officially made it out, which meant that you would hopefully live to fight another day. 

“Huh?” Ari growls into the receiver. 

“Um, I just say two baby blue mini-coopers drive down the road. Must be good luck, ya know?” 

“Right.” He doesn’t sound very convinced.

“And I just remembered that tonight’s special involves their homemade mashed potatoes and meatloaf. Still sound good?“ Without taking your eyes off the road, you drop the taser back into the center console of your car.

“Fine by me then.” Your Bounty Hunter replies, his response sounding just shy of frustrated. But I choose to ignore in favor of simply acting like tonight was okay, even when it wasn’t. “Be safe getting here. And if you change your mind about wanting to talk…”

“Nope.” 

After that you hang up and head to the diner, snagging you both a couple pieces of homemade pie to go with your food. A bit to eat and naked cuddles with your man would make things better. At least for a little bit. 

And quite honestly, you’d take what could get these days. The universe at least owed you that much.

END

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[ltwilliammowett]

Flotsam and Jetsam

Flotsam and jetsam are terms that describe two types of marine debris associated with vessels. The word flotsam derives from the French word floter, to float. Jetsam is a shortened word for jettison.

Shipwreck on the Norwegian Coast, by Johan Christian Clausen Dahl 1832 . It shows how Wreckers collecting the lost property of a wreck (x)

Flotsam is defined as debris in the water that was not deliberately thrown overboard, often as a result from a shipwreck or accident. Jetsam describes debris that was deliberately thrown overboard by a crew of a ship in distress, most often to lighten the ship's load. In the same vein, lagan is the heavier items aboard ship allowed to sink to the bottom, but marked with a buoy or float for later salvage by the owner or in his name.

Under maritime law the distinction is important. Flotsam may be claimed by the original owner, whereas jetsam may be claimed as property of whoever discovers it. If the jetsam is valuable, the discoverer may collect proceeds received though the sale of the salvaged objects.

[damagedpropertyai]

Distressed Property for Sale

Discover exclusive distressed properties for sale at Damaged Property AI. Uncover lucrative investment opportunities in real estate. Our platform offers a diverse range of properties ripe for renovation. Don't miss out on your chance to capitalize on these unique offerings.

[paradise-10]

Private Lending & Distressed Property Investment in Texas

Private lending investment in Texas involves providing loans to real estate investors, property buyers, or developers who need quick access to funds. Unlike traditional banks, private lenders can offer more flexible terms, making them an attractive option for borrowers looking to close deals fast. For investors, this type of lending can yield higher returns than more traditional investments.

[clarepreed]

Lifeguard Not On Duty

Story Content and Summary - 4,544 words. Larissa and Mitchell pull a drowning neighbor from the ocean. On-site resuscitation.

The previous installment of the Larissa & Mitchell series: Interlude

--

“If you sell the company to Mark, we could buy property here, right?” Larissa asked.

Mitchell looked over at her, surprised. She was leaning back in an Adirondack chair, her hands folded over her stomach. Her eyes were on the ocean.

“I didn’t think you wanted to sell,” he said, stretching his hand out toward her. She took it, their hands dangling clasped between the chairs.

“I didn’t want you to make a decision when you were still scared, honey.” She squeezed his hand. “You love that company.”

“I love you more, Larissa.”

“I know.” She looked over at him and smiled. “I have never doubted it.”

“You want to buy property here?” He wove his fingers between hers. “There are houses in this neighborhood for sale. And we can afford it even if I don’t sell the company.”

Larissa sighed. “I should know that. I’ve seen our financials. I just didn’t remember…”

Her eyes were on the ocean again, but she was frowning now. Mitchell gently shook her hand. The ring he’d bought her glimmered in the sun.

“It’s okay, baby. You remember most things,” Mitchell said, his worried gaze on her profile. “It’s more normal to assume we have to sell a company to buy a place in Hawaii than it is to assume we can have both if we want.”

“I’m just frustrated. Sometimes I feel completely like myself. Then something will happen and I feel like I have pieces missing. I had physical therapy, speech therapy… there’s nothing for this.” 

“Time. Just time. Which we will have even more of if we sell.”

“Time, and our very own Hawaiian beachfront home.” Then she cackled, and Mitchell couldn’t help but grin. “Oh, look! There’s a neighbor. Out there in the water.”

Mitchell looked out over the water. Sure enough, he could just make out someone’s head and shoulders as they swam parallel to the shore. “So it is. Do you want to go out later?”

“It’s supposed to be overcast around eleven. That might be the best time.” Larissa leaned back into her chair, making a visible effort to release her distress from moments before.

“I’m going to run inside for coffee,” Mitchell said, squeezing her hand and releasing it. “Do you want anything?”

“Water, please.” She smiled up at him. “Thank you, honey.” 

Mitchell climbed out of his chair and then leaned over Larissa, giving her a kiss when she turned her face up to his. 

A few minutes later, he had coffee brewing and a glass filled with ice. He was filling the glass with water from the filtered refrigerator tap when he heard Larissa scream his name.

“MITCHELL!” The shout was raw, and followed by a series of thuds.

Mitchell flinched, and the glass slipped from his hand. It smashed on the floor, spraying his leg with cold water and shards of glass. He took off, slipping a little in the puddle but staying on his feet as he rushed out onto the deck. He expected her to be sprawled on the decking, but the deck was empty, Larissa nowhere to be seen.

He hesitated, calling out to her: “Larissa! Larissa?”

When he spotted her, the sight was so out of context that he initially stopped and stared. Larissa was running from their condo’s boardwalk toward the ocean, bare feet kicking up sand and her hair streaming behind her. Mitchell had never actually seen her run; her health had prohibited her from running most of the time they’d been together. He had a few seconds to appreciate her beauty before his mind caught up and he remembered something was wrong.

“Larissa!” he shouted, taking off after her down the boardwalk. He hadn’t gone running in a long while himself; between taking care of Larissa, visiting her in the hospital, working, and trying not to die, he was out of the habit. 

Ahead of him, she ran into the surf, water splashing up to her knees. He saw her stumble, but she didn’t fall. She was wading into the ocean as fast as she could in her street clothes, seemingly on a mission.

“Larissa!” he shouted, running off the boardwalk and into the sand. Larissa brought her arms up above her head and then dove. He was trying to run through the sand and keep an eye on her, flabbergasted and afraid. His fear burst out of him in a shout: “What the fuck are you doing?!”

Larissa swam perpendicular to the beach. Mitchell made it across the sand and into the surf before he realized what she was about. The water foamed around his legs, cool against his stinging skin. He could see Larissa wrestling with a limp body, trying to pull the motionless swimmer back toward the shore. He thrashed toward her, meeting them halfway. Larissa was towing a petite woman in a swim cap, goggles, and a black one piece. The woman appeared to have drowned, her body completely limp.

Larissa struggled, trying to keep both her head and the unconscious woman’s head above water. “Take…” She was only able to speak one word, shoving the woman’s body in Mitchell’s direction.

He accepted the limp burden automatically and immediately headed back to shore, though he kept looking back to see if Larissa was behind him. She was, and by the time he could put his feet down and scooped the unconscious woman up in his arms, Larissa was staggering toward the beach beside him.

Mitchell thrashed through the surf, wincing when Larissa fell face first into the water. Larissa struggled back to her feet, coughing and sputtering as he laid the unconscious stranger out in the sand. The smaller woman’s arms flopped out to either side, her skin an ashen color.

Mitchell pulled the woman’s goggles off, discomfited to see that her eyes were open, staring up and through him. He leaned over her, his hand on her chest and his ear close to her mouth. He could still hear Larissa coughing, and then he felt her hands at his hips, patting his pockets.

“Your phone?” Larissa asked, sounding breathless.

The woman, he realized, was not breathing.

“Shit! My phone is on the deck!” Mitchell tipped the woman’s head back, her head wobbling loosely on her neck. “She’s not breathing!”

“I’ll get… it,” Larissa wheezed. Mitchell heard her wheezing and felt torn as he pinched the stranger’s nose and rushed to seal his mouth over hers. Larissa continued, staggering to her feet. “I’ll call for… help, and get my… inhaler.”

Mitchell broke the seal, his eyes shifting from the stranger to his wife, who was hurrying back to the house, listing as she moved. Then he gave the woman another breath. Both breaths were difficult to force into the woman, and she made a gurgling sound when the air escaped. 

He shifted in the sand, trying to move into a better position and feeling the time ticking away from her. He ran his hands down her sides, searching for her bottom ribs and following them to her sternum. Or attempting to. Her bathing suit compressed her chest, forcing her breasts together. He started chest compressions anyway, trying to force his weight past them.

“One, two, three, four… Dammit!” Frustrated, seeing he wasn’t reaching the proper depth, he reached for the straps of her suit, jerking them one at a time off of her narrow shoulders and down her arms. He yanked at the neckline, the wet fabric clinging to her skin. Finally, he got the suit pulled down to her navel, the straps pinning her arms to her side and leaving her breasts exposed. He found his mark again.

“Five, six, seven, eight, nine…” The woman’s small frame bent beneath his hands, gurgling and sucking sounds emitting from her slack mouth each time he compressed her chest. Mitchell looked up toward the house, staring until he spotted Larissa there. It was far enough away that he couldn’t see what she was doing, but he could look at least tell that she was still on her feet.

“…twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two…” Satisfied, Mitchell looked down at the stranger. A wash of white foam erupted from her nose and mouth, running over her face and pooling in her eye sockets before it ran down her cheek and temple. Mitchell pinched her nose again, grasping her chin with his other hand and forcing her mouth open. Her jaw felt tight. He hesitated a fraction of a second before he tipped her head to the side, water trickling out of her mouth and carrying with it a wave of foam.

Thumbing the foamy liquid from her mouth, he turned her face back to the sky and gave her another breath. He could hear fluid gurgling in her mouth and throat as he blew once, twice. Mitchell tipped her head to the side again and resumed chest compressions. 

The woman’s distended stomach swelled further each time he thrust his hands into her sternum. He heard water sloshing in her belly, an accompaniment to the gagging noises she made. Her shoulders shrugged in time with his thrusts. Foam dripped continuously onto the sand.

“…ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…” Mitchell felt uneasy every time he looked at her face and saw her staring eyes. He looked further down her body, where her breasts jiggled as he pumped the woman’s otherwise petite chest. He looked back up at the house and saw Larissa was still on the deck.

The woman sounded like she was choking, but when he looked back at her face, she still stared into nothing. Mitchell counted to thirty chest compressions and then changed tactics, swinging a leg over her prone body. He clasped his hands together and pressed them just above her navel. He gave her five deep abdominal thrusts, which made her chest bow and a wet belching sound erupt from her mouth. More foam and water gushed from her mouth and nose. After the fifth thrust, Mitchell stretched himself out over her body and tipped her head toward the sky. Pinching her nose and pressing his mouth to hers, he gave her a deep breath. He felt her chest rise, heard her gurgling exhalation. He gave her another breath.

Mitchell didn’t bother switching back to her side. He clasped his hands together and found his reddened mark. As he began pumping her chest, the woman’s eyes stared up at him. Another round of foam oozed out of her airway, running down her chin and pooling in the notch between her clavicles. Mitchell squeezed his eyes shut, trying to concentrate on counting and pressing his hands down to the correct depth. “…nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…”

He wrenched his eyes open and looked back up toward the house. He didn’t immediately see Larissa, and it was hard to scan the property with his head bobbing up and down. 

Before he could become even more concerned, she appeared, walking quickly down the boardwalk with a phone pressed to her ear. He could tell from the way she carried herself that she wanted to move faster but couldn’t; one arm tight down her side, her stride reduced to a third of its length.

Mitchell shook his head, torn between his ingrained desire to look after his wife and the immediate need to pay attention to the woman dying underneath his hands. He looked away from Larissa and bent over the stranger, trying to blow past the foam, past her cold lips. He tasted the salt of the ocean and felt the grit of the sand on her face. Sweat ran down his temples, dripping onto her damp skin.

He’d climbed back off the woman and made it through another cycle before Larissa reached him. She dropped to her knees by the woman’s head and laid the phone on the sand, calling out: “I’m with the victim and my husband. He is still performing CPR. I’m going to help him.”

“Don’t,” he warned, leaning over to give the woman a breath. He panted a little between breaths, then resumed chest compressions. Larissa reached out and turned the woman’s head to the side, letting the foam and water trickle out. 

“I used my inhaler,” she murmured. “I’ll be okay.”

“One, two, three, four, five…” His arms burned. He knew he needed help, and he could tell Larissa was feeling better than she had when she’d dragged herself out of the water. Still, he was afraid he would end up with two victims, and he knew that his attention would go to his wife over the stranger stretched out beneath him.

“An ambulance is on the way. Continue CPR and let me know if there is any change,” the 9-1-1 operator’s disembodied voice said.

“…twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!” Mitchell halted compressions and Larissa waved him off, quickly turning the woman’s face toward the sky and pinching off her nose. Mitchell leaned back on his heels, breathing hard as Larissa sealed her mouth over the other woman’s, both of their cheeks rounding out as she exhaled. As she gave the stranger a second breath, Mitchell buried his hands between her breasts.

“One, two, three…” 

Chest compressions still produced a prodigious amount of foam. Larissa kept the woman’s face upright, holding her airway open with one hand and trying to clear her nose and mouth with the other. Abruptly, the woman made a loud gurgling sound and a large amount of water surged up into her mouth.

It was enough that Mitchell stopped pumping her chest, exclaiming: “We have to roll her!”

They rolled the woman onto her side. Her lips were still a harsh shade of purple. Mitchell slid his hand over from the woman’s hip, pressing it flat against her abdomen. He pushed in and up against her stomach, trying to force more of the water out of her. The woman’s body convulsed, and another surge of water spilled out onto the sand. 

Larissa wiped her hand down the woman’s face and swept two of her fingers between her teeth. “If she threw up, she didn’t have anything solid!”

They quickly placed the woman on her back, and Larissa gave the woman two full breaths, her breasts rising and falling. Mitchell found his mark again and started pumping her chest, trying to judge if he was compressing her sternum deep enough. 

The force felt like enough; her ribcage groaned, and he felt something pop under his hands. Each compression made the small woman’s shoulders shrug and her legs rock, feet swaying side to side. Her belly looked less distended, and it rippled each time he shoved his hands down. She was emitting a quiet sound with each compression, a rhythmic “hunh, hunh, hunh,” that became less wet sounding as time passed.

“…eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…”

“How long until the ambulance gets here?” Larissa asked. She looked at Mitchell, meeting his gaze. Her face looked pale and grim.

“…twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

As Larissa bent to give the woman another breath, the operator piped up: “ETA to your address is five minutes.”

“And it will take them another couple to get out here,” Mitchell groaned, breathing hard. “Fuck!”

As he bent over the woman, Larissa said: “Let me take over for a while.”

“One, two, three, four… Is that a good idea? Nine, ten, eleven…”

Larissa braced the woman’s head again, but her eyes were on him. “You need a break, Mitchell. If I can’t do it properly, you can take back over.”

“Rescuers should swap out every two minutes if you can do so safely,” he heard the operator say.

“Alright. I’ll breathe this time and then you’ll start. Thirty!” Mitchell leaned straight over the woman, his hands replacing Larissa’s and his mouth sealing over the slack, cool lips. As he completed the second breath, Larissa got into position, her knees wide for balance and her hands stacked on top of the bruise forming over the woman’s sternum.

“One, two, three…” Larissa didn’t have his strength, not after everything she’d been through, but he was relieved to see that she was compressing the woman’s chest to the correct depth and at the proper speed. Her hair, wet from jumping into the ocean, was drying, the long strands blowing in the breeze. “…twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight…”

Mitchell pressed his mouth over the stranger’s. Breathing for her seemed easier now; he could only hope he’d helped her. He was afraid for her, given that she hadn’t responded so far. Mitchell leaned back on his heels, still holding the woman’s airway open and avoiding her stare by watching Larissa’s hands on her chest. 

His wife’s hands looked graceful, her long fingers interlocked together as she rolled her weight into the woman’s sternum. Mitchell’s body ached with worry and exhaustion, but he couldn’t help but admire her. Their rigorous sex life aside, he rarely got to see her looking physically strong. In his mind, she was mentally strong, but physically fragile. 

He bent to give the stranger another pair of breaths, spitting to the side when his mouth came away coated with salt and sand. Then his attention returned to Larissa.

Her cheeks were pink with exertion, hair tangled in salty clumps around her face. She wore a determined expression, small wrinkles furrowing the skin between her brows. Mitchell listened intently to her breath, rushing in and out of her as she counted. She looked like she was trying to use her body weight instead of her strength.

Smart, baby. 

“…fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen…” Larissa counted quietly, shoulders rocking. Beneath her hands, the woman’s sternum dipped and her stomach popped. Mitchell could hear air coming out of her in short, watery puffs.

Mitchell tipped the woman’s head to the side to let some of the fluid and foam drain before it was time to breathe for her. As Larissa reached thirty compressions, Mitchell turned her face back to the sky and pressed his lips over the woman’s cool, gritty skin and exhaled.

“That went…” Larissa trailed off, sounding uncertain.

“What?” Mitchell asked, before drawing another deep breath.

“Her stomach rose,” Larissa said, her light eyes meeting his. “When you gave her a breath. Not her chest.”

Mitchell leaned down and gave the woman another breath, this time more slowly as his eyes cut to the side. He heard a voice from the phone but didn’t catch what the operator said. The woman’s chest rose, and Larissa exclaimed: “That did it!”

Then she was back on compression, her voice a little louder and quavering with excitement. “One, two, three, four, five, six…”

Mitchell tipped the woman’s head to the side again, his eyes on the woman’s chest. Larissa held strong, her compressions forcing the woman’s sternum down by what appeared to be two inches. The motion made the woman’s breasts quiver, and Mitchell jerked his eyes over to her stomach, feeling a little guilty for noticing. He could still hear gurgling and sloshing sounds from the woman, along with the skin-on-skin sound from Larissa’s hands on the woman’s chest. 

Larissa’s voice quieted a bit, and he could hear her breathing hard, though he didn’t think he heard her wheezing. 

“Do you need me to take over?” he asked.

“…twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty! I can go one more round,” she gasped, breathing hard as he blew two measured breaths into the woman’s lungs.

“Where are we on that ambulance?” he asked, as Larissa resumed chest compressions.

“One, two, three, four, five…”

“ETA is two minutes.”

“…nine, ten, eleven…” Sweat trickled down Larissa’s face, ran from her neck between her breasts and soaked into her shirt. “…twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…”

“Huh, huh, huh… hurgh!” Every time the woman made a noise, Mitchell’s heart rate increased, but then he’d look at her face and her features were still closed off and slack, and her skin still looked gray.

“…twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!” Larissa leaned back with a gasp, and Mitchell bent over to give the woman rescue breaths. He opened her airway carefully and tried not to inflate her stomach again, or gag when water and saliva foamed up into his mouth.

Then he shifted over the woman, placing his hands back on her chest. Across from him, Larissa was sitting on her knees, hands splayed on her thighs and her eyes closed while she breathed.

“One, two, three, four, five…” The woman’s ribcage shifted beneath his hands, bowing under pressure and then springing back up when he released it. He tried to keep his focus, counting out loud and keeping the proper depth at the forefront of his mind. “…thirteen, fourteen, fifteen—”

The woman gagged, and Mitchell’s eyes darted to her face, his hands continuing to pump her chest. Larissa reached over and turned the woman’s head to the side, her thumb pulling the woman’s jaw down and open.

Another gag, and then he saw her eyes shift and close.

“Ma’am?!” Larissa called out, her voice hoarse.

Mitchell paused the chest compressions, his hands still in position. “Is she—”

The woman coughed, and he felt her chest heave beneath his hands.

“On her side!” Mitchell lifted his hands and reached for the woman’s shoulder and hip. He rolled the woman onto her side, Larissa attending to her head and keeping her airway open. The woman shuddered on the sand, her shoulders hunching and a wave of snot, water, and foam gushing from her nose and mouth. Mitchell was relieved when she drew a breath, even if she immediately coughed it back out.

“How is the patient?” asked the operator.

“She’s breathing!” Mitchell almost shouted, nearly laughing with relief.

“Hey, can you hear me?” Larissa asked, her eyes intent on the woman’s face. “You’re okay! You had an accident in the water, but an ambulance is coming!”

The woman didn’t open her eyes, but she continued to retch and take in short gasps of air. Mitchell tugged on the front of her bathing suit, trying to pull it up enough to cover her heaving breasts.

“Here,” Larissa said. “You don’t have to… I have a tank under this…”

Her shirt was damp with sweat and seawater, as well as covered in sand, but she peeled it off and then shook it out. She draped it over the woman, murmuring something calming under her breath and patting the woman’s arm. The top she had on under her shirt was low cut and translucent where it was still wet, showing the lace of her bra through the material. Mitchell mentally shook himself when he found his eyes tracing the constellation of freckles that ran from her collarbones to the tops of her breasts.

Not the time, you old horn dog.

Larissa’s graceful fingers were pulling at the edge of the woman’s swim cap, trying to pull it off her head. She peeled it back carefully, then dropped it on the sand before smoothing the woman’s damp hair. 

“You’re okay,” she said. “Open your eyes for us, okay?”

Mitchell’s ears picked up sirens in the distance and rapidly growing closer. “I hear the ambulance. They’ll be here any minute with oxygen and you’ll feel a lot better.”

The woman groaned then, though she still didn’t open her eyes. 

Larissa looked up at Mitchell. She looked exhausted, dirty, and a little sunburned. Her hair was desperately in need of a wash and detangle.

Mitchell thought she looked beautiful. He felt a tightness in his chest; not from anxiety or heart trouble, but from love and pride and relief.

“She’s going to be okay,” he said.

“She is.” Larissa beamed at him, then leaned across to give him a quick kiss.

The next several minutes flew by. He saw a couple of medics wheeling a gurney down the boardwalk, followed closely by a cop. Larissa waved both of her arms at them.

Soon, they had left the gurney behind and hurried across the sand carrying bags and what looked like a backboard, the cop assisting.

“Help is here,” Larissa said to the woman, whose eyelids were fluttering. “You’re going to be just fine.”

Mitchell scooted to the side as one medic crouched in the sand. “My wife spotted her in the ocean. We pulled her out and performed CPR until she started breathing again. She hasn’t been very responsive, and we don’t know her name.”

“Thank you, sir,” the second medic said. “We will take it from here.”

“Ma’am?” the first medic called out, squeezing the woman’s shoulder.

Larissa picked up her phone and put it to her ear. “They’re here. Yes. Thank you. Goodbye.” 

Mitchell climbed to his feet, still breathing hard, intending to go around and offer his hand to Larissa. The cop stopped him.

“I need to ask you a few questions,” the officer said. “I have to make a report.”

Mitchell brushed his sandy hands off on his equally sandy shorts. “I was… Sure. Sure, what do you need to know?”

  He couldn’t help but be distracted; the medics were attempting to rouse the woman while taking her vitals and giving her oxygen. He was also aware of Larissa climbing to her feet, staggering in the loose sand as she backed away from the scene. 

“Sir?” the cop asked.

Mitchell looked back over at him. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“Do you know what happened?”

“Actually, my wife…” Mitchell trailed off. Larissa was standing several feet away. She appeared to be looking down at the woman, but her eyes were unfocused. “Larissa?”

The cop turned to look as Mitchell pushed past him.

“Hey.” Mitchell slid his arm around her back, gripping her tight enough to keep her upright if she fell. “Baby, do you need to sit back down?”

“I just feel really tired.” She squeezed her eyes shut, swaying in his arms. “I’m sorry. I stood up too fast.”

Mitchell helped her sit, easing her back down to the sand. “Nothing to apologize for. We just got a lot of exercise.”

“Yeah.” Larissa chuckled and leaned against him. “I’m not exactly in fighting shape.”

 Mitchell wasn’t sure how long it took to wrap things up with the cop and for the medics to get the woman to the gurney and then up to the ambulance. He just knew that his arms were shaking as he helped Larissa up off the sand, and that their slow pace back to the house was almost as much for his benefit as it was for hers.

“We need a shower,” Larissa muttered. “I have sand everywhere. I don’t even know what to do about my hair.”

“Maybe a bath, so we can sit.”

“We might have to cut off my hair.”

Mitchell paused on the boardwalk and eyed her tangled hair. “You are beautiful. You will always be beautiful. And it’s your hair.”

“But?” she asked, giving him a sly, if tired, smile.

“I really like your hair.”

“Enough to help me detangle it?”

“You don’t even have to ask.” Mitchell leaned close and pressed a kiss to her gritty temple. “God, baby. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She turned, her arms sliding around him. “We did good.”

“We did.” Mitchell kissed the top of her head. “I’m proud of us.”

--

The story continues in: Protect