“With someone else? Who does she think I—” The clicker on the fishing reel ticked repeatedly as the line was drawn out, catching Dane’s attention. “Bite. We’ve got a bite.”
Rob jumped to his feet and helped Dane strap the harness around his waist and legs. Dane scanned Rob’s face. Whether it was the adrenaline rush that came along with tagging or the fresh sea air, Rob looked much clearer than he had moments before. The color had returned to his cheeks. They were done in seconds. Then Dane strapped himself into the fighting chair, or what Dane jokingly called the death chair. The death chair was constructed of wood and metal and secured to the boat deck. It had a foot plate that Dane used to further gain control while he reeled in the shark. The chair rotated with the movement of the fish, and Dane’s legs strained against the pressure.
“You sure that’s safe?” Hugh asked.
“It better be.” Dane pulled back on the line until it was tight, then yanked three or four times—hard.
“Let him run with it,” Rob said.
Dane was used to this part of the game. He could tell by the feel of the pull that this would be about a two-hour ordeal of wrestling to maintain control while tiring out the shark and finally bringing it in for tagging. He readied himself for a long, hot afternoon. Good. It’ll keep me from thinking about Lacy.
An hour and a half later, the veins in Dane’s arms and legs strained against his skin. His hands were locked to the reel and rod, his biceps bulging. Sweat drenched his forehead as he wrestled the rod and brought the eight-foot great white toward the boat.
“Rob!” Where the hell is he? “Shit. Tim, grab the tail line. Hugh, where the fuck is Rob?”
“I’ll get him. He was taking a piss,” Hugh said.
Dane kept his eyes trained on the shark. “What?” No one takes a piss when a shark is on the line. He couldn’t bitch about it now. He had a shark to tag. “This is the hardest part, Tim. Grab the tailer.”
Tim picked up the long metal tool by the handle and scanned the flexible cable and strong line. Dane watched him run his hand quickly along the line and follow the loop back on the cable to the handle, checking the security of the D-shaped flexible loop. “Got it,” Tim said.
Dane unhooked himself from the seat, working to keep the shark close to the boat. “Rob!”
“Right here,” Rob said. His lids were heavy, and his cheeks were once again flushed.
“You okay to do this?” Dane asked.
“Hell yes.” Rob carried the hand tools for tagging the shark.
Dane grabbed Rob’s arm. “Dude. No risks. If you’re not up to this, do not touch the shark.”
Rob pulled his arm from Dane’s grasp. “I got this. We’re gonna have a good run.”
“What can I do?” Hugh asked.
Dane watched Rob out of the corner of his eye. He recognized Rob’s reaction to the shot of adrenaline that Dane knew all too well when a shark was finally within their grasp. Rob moved more confidently, and Dane wondered if—and hoped that—Hugh had been wrong after all. “Tim’s gonna hook his tail, and I’ve got the head. While Rob’s securing the tag to the dorsal fin, you hold on to the fin too and hold him as still as you can,” Dane said.
“What about that thing I read about…tonic immobility?” Hugh asked.
“You read about that?” Dane asked. Dane could hardly believe his brother had read up on what he did for a living. Tonic immobility was a technique used by several taggers—by flipping the shark upside down, they put the shark into a natural state of paralysis, or a trancelike state, for fifteen minutes, after which time the shark would right itself and swim away, unharmed.
“My life is more than racing and women,” Hugh said.
“I never would have guessed,” Dane said with a wink. “We use tonic immobility occasionally, but it’s not our go-to measure.” The shark fought and lashed from side to side, arching to one side and then the other. Tim struggled with getting the tailer on the shark.
Impressed with Hugh’s knowledge, and trusting his strength and intelligence, Dane hollered to him, “Hugh, help him?”
“Got it.” As if he’d been catching sharks forever, Hugh timed the action perfectly and secured the loop over the shark’s tail on the first try. He pulled back, and the cable slid down and tightened around the shark’s tail. “Ha-ha!” Hugh yelled. “That’s a Braden for you.”
Rob went to work tagging the shark. He positioned the hand tool on the dorsal fin and injected the one-inch tether, attaching the tag.
“Usually we like to get blood work, approximate weight, length, girth, but today we’re just tagging,” Dane explained to Hugh as he huffed and puffed, wrestling with the line to keep the shark reeled in close. “I hate to not get this sucker’s length and girth.”
Rob looked at him and smiled. “I got this.”
“What?” Hugh asked, looking from Rob to Dane.
“Your brother wants to jump in and get a good feel for this monster’s girth,” Rob said.
“You wanna jump in?” Hugh asked.
Dane looked past his adrenaline and really studied Rob’s face. “Man, you don’t look too good.”
Rob finished tagging the shark and wiped his eyes. “Go, will you?” he snapped.
“You look sick. Let’s skip this one,” Dane said.
“I’m fine,” Rob said. “You gonna do this or what? We got about seven minutes. Tops.” They always kept their tagging and tests to less than fifteen minutes for the safety of the shark. “Fuck this. Get your ass in there. I’m fine. I told you—I was tired, but I’m fine now,” Rob said.
“Tired doesn’t equate to safe,” Dane said.
“Fuck this.” Rob stripped his shirt off and jumped off the boat a foot from the shark’s tail.
“Goddamn it. Hold that sucker tight, Hugh. Tim, gimme the tailer.” Fucking Rob. What the hell are you doing? Dane’s heart slammed against his chest as he searched the water for his friend while gripping the tailer with all his might. He knew Rob would swim under the shark and use his arms to estimate the shark’s girth, but the water was too murky to see him.
Rob popped up beside the shark. “Got it.” He had a grin on his face as he swam to the side of the boat. Just as he started to climb into the boat, the shark flailed, and Rob lost his balance and sank back into the water.
“Shit. Tim, get him in this fucking boat!” Dane hollered.
Rob swam over, and Tim helped him into the boat. Dane began the process of freeing the shark from the line and the tailer.
“What the hell was that? Rule number one: Never fucking do anything unanticipated. What the hell, Rob? What was that shit?” Dane yelled.
Rob sat with his elbows on his knees, wiping the water from his shit-ass grin. “A girth of about five feet.”
“You son of a bitch,” Dane said.
THEY PULLED INTO the slip around four in the afternoon and docked the boat. While Dane was pleased that they’d tagged a shark, he was livid. He watched Rob step off the boat and run the crook of his elbow down his face. For the first time in ten years, his faith in Rob faltered.
“What was that shit out there?” Dane asked.
“Hey, you know what? You only go around once, and living safe did me no good.” Rob shrugged. “I needed a little adventure.” He slapped Dane on the back. “We had a good run.”
“A good run, my ass. You’re worrying me, Rob. Wanna go grab a bite and talk for a bit?” Dane asked.
“Nah. I’m tired. I’m hitting the shower, then calling it a night,” Rob said, waving to Tim.
Rob’s trouble with Sheila and his behavior on the boat weighed heavily on Dane’s mind. He needed to get to the bottom of whatever was going on. He didn’t think Rob was drinking again, but he also had never seen Rob do anything that could jeopardize a mission—and today he was just plain careless.
Dane grabbed Rob’s arm as he walked past. “Listen, I know you’re having trouble with Sheila, but you can’t do that shit. You sure you don’t want to talk a
bout this?”
“I’m fine,” Rob said through gritted teeth. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Dane watched Rob walk away. There was no way he’d take Rob out on the boat tomorrow with the shit he pulled today. He’d give him time to cool off and talk to him about Sheila and deal with the rest of his shit later.
“I gotta get showered and up to the airport in P-town,” Hugh said. “Smitty’s opening Treat’s cottage for me to get cleaned up before I leave town. I’m flying into Boston, then to Cali. I had a great time today. Thanks for letting me tag along.” He slung an arm over Dane’s shoulder.
“I’m glad you came. What’s up with the shark research?” Dane asked. He was distracted by Rob’s behavior, and now that he was on dry land again, thoughts of Lacy stole his concentration, but he was curious about his brother’s recent metamorphosis.
Hugh shrugged. “Just learning about all the shit my impressive older brothers do. I’ve been reading up on acquisitions, too. Treat got some big deals under his belt. What’s up with you staying on Treat’s boat tonight?”
“It feels more like home,” Dane said. He withdrew his phone from his pocket and checked his messages. Damn it. He shoved the phone back in his pocket.
“No message from Lacy?”
“Nope.”
“Drive me to Treat’s?” Hugh asked.
“Absolutely.”
They stopped at the Catch of the Day on the way and picked up crab cake sandwiches, then climbed back in the car and drove toward Treat’s bungalow on the bay.
“Wanna talk about it?” Hugh asked.
Dane looked at his brother, surprised again that he was reaching out. He saw genuine concern in Hugh’s eyes, then brought his own back to the road. “Not really,” he said.
“Suit yourself, but I’m a good listener,” Hugh said. “And I know women.”
Dane laughed.
“Okay, so maybe I’m not a great listener, but I do know women.”
“Listen, little brother, so do I, okay? I know women; that’s the problem,” Dane said.
Hugh furrowed his brow. “So…she’s upset because you sleep with too many women?”
Dane shot him a stern look. “I don’t have a fucking clue.”
“Then you don’t know women,” Hugh said. He reclined his seat and sighed. “If you were me, you’d know exactly what was wrong. Could it have anything to do with her panic attack?”
“Hugh, I don’t fucking know.” Dane did not want to talk about Lacy. At best, it would piss him off. At the least, it would irritate him. There was no answer. He’d spent fifteen months living in denial about why he wasn’t hightailing it to Massachusetts to see her, and by the time he realized why, it was too fucking late.
“What? I’m trying to help. You’re a big-ass shark tagger, but you can’t talk about some hot babe?” Hugh asked.
Dane veered over to the side of the road and slammed on the brakes. “Listen, she’s not just some hot babe, and I don’t know what the fuck is going on, okay? All I know is that when I was with her, I didn’t want to let her go. And that’s the first goddamn time I’ve ever felt that.” His nostrils flared. He breathed in fast, hard bursts. “Damn it, Hugh. She wasn’t just some fuck.”
Hugh brought his seat upright. “Chill, dude. That’s not what I meant at all.”
“Know why I didn’t see her for all that time? I was fucking afraid, okay? I never spend ten minutes getting to know a woman. Never. I hook up with women, pretend to listen to them for a few minutes, and the whole time all I’m thinking about is what their breasts will feel like, or how I just wanna get laid. But with Lacy, I spent every second I wasn’t with her just thinking about her. I wondered what she was doing, who she was with.” Dane slammed his back against the seat and let out a groan. “Goddamn it. I cared about her before I ever touched her. And then we come here and she’s more than I ever dreamed of.”
“Dane,” Hugh said.
“And then she has that fucking panic attack, which sends her into some weird I-can’t-be-with-you stage,” Dane yelled. His chest constricted as he explained how far he’d gone trying to reach her. “I’ve spoken to Danica and Kaylie. I even asked Blake to try to convince Danica to convince Lacy to talk to me. She won’t fucking answer my texts or my calls.” Tears of anger burned at the back of his eyes, and he turned away so Hugh wouldn’t see them.
“Dane,” Hugh said again.
“And then she ends it. Just fucking ends it. She says while I was out fucking every girl that walks, she was waiting at home for me to show up on her doorstep. I killed it before we ever got started.”
“Dane!” Hugh held his hands up in the air to get Dane’s attention.
Dane shook the fury from his head. “What?”
“Do you want to be with her?”
“What kind of stupid question is that?” Dane asked.
“Do you?”
“Yes. I do, yes. More than you could know,” Dane said. He scrubbed his face with his hand and groaned again.
“If she were a shark, what would you do?” Hugh asked.
“Whatever the fuck it took. I’d reel it in for days, weeks. Then I’d wrestle the fucker to the ground.”
“You really are fucked up,” Hugh said.
“You know what I mean. I wouldn’t give up. Lacy’s not a shark. She’s a woman. A bright, warm, charming, gorgeous, sexy woman who’s not fucking here and won’t take the chum,” Dane said. He pulled the car back onto the road.
“Sounds simple to me,” Hugh said. “Didn’t she say she worked at World Geographic? As a marketing rep or something?”
“Account manager,” Dane corrected him.
“You own a foundation. Don’t you need some sort of marketing program?” Hugh asked.
“No.” Marketing program?
“You sure? I think you might,” Hugh said with a coy smile.
“Marketing—” Dane smiled, then frowned. “Hire her? She’d never take the job.”
“No. Hire the company. You’re Dane Braden. You’ve got a reputation in oceanic research and a valuable company. Hire the company and stipulate that she takes the account. Seems simple to me,” Hugh said.
“Simple? Then what? I go to her office and stare at the walls?” Dane asked.
“You’re not this simple, Dane. Think.”
Dane let out a loud breath. Hire her company. Then what?
“Dane, come on. She’s afraid of sharks. You can help her with that. She can help you with marketing. Maybe your new account executive needs to come on a tagging mission with you for a week. Maybe she needs to immerse herself in your work to understand the project.”
Dane pulled into Treat’s driveway, shaking his head. “Far-fetched.”
“When has that ever stopped you from doing anything in your life?” Hugh asked. “Come in, shower, clean up, and then decide.”
“It’s insane,” Dane said.
“So is diving with sharks.”
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Dane called and arranged an extension to the tagging mission. He’d need more time if he was going to follow through with his intentions. Then he called Rob and left a message. “Rob, take the next two days off. Rest up, and we’ll pick this up on Wednesday. I have to head out of town for a day. If you want to talk about Sheila, call me. I’ll keep my phone on and, buddy, after what you did today, I’m a little worried.”
Dane called Danica and asked her to guide him through how to help Lacy with her phobia. He didn’t tell her what he had planned, and it took some finagling, a good amount of begging, and assurances about his intentions toward Lacy, but forty minutes later he was armed with information on desensitization techniques and in vivo exposure for galeophobia. Dane was ready to help Lacy through her fear of sharks. He had one more phone call to make, and as he called 411, he knew he had made the right decision.
“The offices of World Geographic, please, just outside of Boston.”
Chapter Eleven
LACY PUSHED THROUGH the glass doors
of World Geographic Monday morning with a heavy heart. She hadn’t returned Dane’s calls, or his texts, and she’d purposely not checked her emails. The last thing she wanted to do was hear his voice or read a message that would soften her resolve. She knew it would send her heart into a tailspin. She hadn’t realized how hurt she really was that he hadn’t come to see her for all those months, and when he’d looked her in the eye and confirmed he’d been with other women, it had thrown her for a loop. Even so, she’d already rationalized that worry away—they hadn’t committed to a monogamous relationship. She had no right to hold him to one, even if it hurt to accept. She held on to that rationalization and let out a loud breath. The whole mess had become too confusing, and Lacy felt like her head was spinning. Being apart is for the best. No matter how much I ache to see him. Touch him. Kiss him. Oh God, shut up! She couldn’t be a burden on his career. A setback. He deserved to have a relationship with someone who loved the sea and everything associated with his job as much as he did.
The previous evening had passed as if in slow motion. Everything reminded her of Dane. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face, his dark eyes pleading with her to stop being angry and talk to him. She’d surfed the Internet for a while, looking at People.com and then CNN, and she’d read an article about a great white sighting off Cape Cod. There was a reference to the Brave Foundation being summoned to tag and track the sharks, and no matter how hard she tried not to click that link, she couldn’t stop herself. She’d spent hours watching shark videos and reading about the different shark species. The more she’d read, the more interested she’d become. With her head swirling with facts about sharks, she’d finally turned off her computer and collapsed into a fitful night’s sleep.
At least here at the office she’d have projects to work on and clients to call. Her brain would be occupied. Too occupied to think of Dane.
She turned on her computer, and their internal message system dinged. She had a message from Fred, her boss. New client meeting. Nonprofit, your bailiwick. Nine a.m., my office. Great. Something to look forward to.
Sea of Love (Love in Bloom: The Bradens, Book 4) Contemporary Romance Page 10
