by Opal Carew
“When you’re down to about eight hundred pounds of air, I’ll send you up to the base of the boat’s mooring line to do your safety stop. Stay for three minutes at fifteen feet. Your computer will count it down for you. Then ascend nice and easy to the boat. Miguel will be waiting to help you out. As always, please remember this is a protected marine reserve. Do not touch anything. Keep your distance from the reef, especially the soft corals. Don’t harass the animals. And definitely leave only bubbles behind.”
With a plan in place, his nervous diver seemed more relaxed. Good thing, since they’d reached the mooring pin. A buoy connected by a line to a concrete slab carefully placed on the sea floor allowed the boat to stay in one place without dropping an anchor that could tear up the reef.
Miguel and Tosin were securing a rope to the mooring pin. Archer checked his tank one last time, ducked into his BCD, snapped himself in, tightened the straps, and headed for the platform at the back of the boat. His gear seemed heavier than usual. Or maybe he was simply off balance. He hated to admit, even to himself, that he might be reeling from the news Banks had given him.
He slipped on his fins and mask then waited for the all clear from Miguel. When his friend flashed the sign, Archer turned to his group and said, “I’ll be waiting in the water when you’re ready. Miguel will help you if you need anything prior to entry.”
Tosin’s group of more advanced divers were already giant striding into the ocean and bobbing behind the boat, talking excitedly about how clear the water was and what they might see. A few were hoping to catch a lionfish for dinner. The species wasn’t indigenous to the Caribbean and had been devouring juvenile fish on the reef, so it was open hunting season. Malicious and delicious, as the locals liked to describe them.
With a final glance over his shoulder and a nod from Miguel, Archer put one hand on his mask, the other over his regulator, then took a single step out into the ocean.
A curtain of bubbles rose around him as he plummeted a few feet below the cerulean surface. He loved the moment he became part of the sea again. The puff of air he’d added to his BCD before entering lifted him enough that his head stuck out of the water, though, as he waited for his guests to join him.
One by one, they splooshed into the water.
When all six of his charges were huddled around, peeking at the hidden world below their dangling flippers, he asked, “Who’s ready to go down?”
He flashed the thumbs-down. In return, he received an okay gesture from most of his divers. Of course, the sixth one—part of his trouble couple—shot back a thumbs-up. In diving language that meant “ascend”, not “awesome”. He shook his head and the diver corrected himself, changing to an okay instead.
With that, Archer popped his regulator back in, held his deflator hose up with his left hand, dumped the air from his BCD, and began to descend. Water filled his ears and closed over his head as he entered the magical universe beneath the surface. At least for an hour or so, he could forget his worries.
Had to, in order to do his job right.
These folks trusted him with their lives. He’d never lost a diver yet, and didn’t plan to start today. Sure, they were only fifty-three feet below the surface of the Caribbean Sea.
Still plenty deep enough to drown.
That wouldn’t be happening on his watch. If nothing else, he was certain of one thing.
He was a damn fine divemaster.
Chapter 3
A month later, Archer did a lazy frog kick, propelling himself through the warm, blue ocean. Tosin was a few feet to his right and Miguel a bit ahead of them as he peered at the shoal of squids that hovered in the shallows nearby. Their fins fluttered along the length of their bodies like a girl’s skirt ruffling in the wind. They changed colors and textures as their tentacles waved, flashing some sort of mesmerizing message the humans in their midst couldn’t decipher.
Though they’d seen these animals or ones like them many times before, the cephalopods still fascinated Archer. His friends, too.
Sure, it was their day off. That didn’t keep them out of the water.
Instead, they got to enjoy their time below the surface instead of worrying about anyone else. Miguel and Tosin were plenty capable of taking care of themselves. So was he. They glided offshore from Windsock, a dive site they visited often. It got its name from the device at the end of the island’s runway, which was right across the street from the beach where they’d made their shore entry for today’s excursion.
Though they normally set an easy pace on their guided dives so that the tourists who’d hired them could keep up while gawking at the marine life surrounding them, today they progressed even more slowly. Deep, measured respiration maximized their bottom time. It also forced Archer to chill out for a while—a skill he seemed to have lost any time he wasn’t underwater lately.
Despite the fact that they’d already been down more than an hour, they hadn’t covered nearly as much ground as they did when they were escorting passing visitors through as much of the aquatic landscape as possible.
Keen eyes, trained, could pick out any number of curiosities less experienced divers would zip right past, none the wiser. Like the lobster hiding beneath a vase sponge at depth, or the seahorse clinging to a swaying soft coral a few hundred feet back, or the teeny Pederson cleaner shrimp nestled in an anemone. They went about their business less than three feet from his face right then.
Each thing he saw awed him, as if it were his first time witnessing the splendor of this environment. Down here, Archer’s troubles couldn’t eclipse his wonder.
The only other time he experienced a rush this intense followed by contentment this profound was during an epic fuck. Just like then, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make it last forever. Too soon, regret rushed in. When compared to the single night he’d spent with the girl whose name he couldn’t bear to think—even to himself—every other experience paled, even if it made him a sick fuck to admit it.
Tosin clinked a carabiner against his tank a couple times. When he had their attention, he flashed his low-air signal. Together, the three of them turned toward the shore and made their way to the outcropping of fire coral they used as their safety stop marker when they dove here.
Those final 180 seconds ticked by in a flash. Literally, as Archer watched the lacey reflections of the powerful sun dancing across the sea floor. They lit up the electric blue spots and fluorescent yellow tail on the juvenile damselfishes peeking out from between the blades below him.
How many of them would survive long enough to thrive on the reef? Despite their best attempts at hiding, the majority would be gobbled up by something higher on the food chain before they could fully mature.
He wondered if his odds were even half as good as the ones dealt to the fingerlings, who darted into some hidden nook when Archer’s shadow passed over them.
After their countdown completed, they followed each other single-file through a channel in the coral, over a bed of rubble. Archer’s computer marked each foot they rose, from fifteen to five. Before he was ready to rejoin the realm of land-lovers, his head crested the surface.
“Did you see how that thing almost ran into me?” Miguel was pumped over his close encounter with the squid.
“It was awesome. I could see the surface of its skin changing colors and my own reflection in its eyeball. Lucky it didn’t hypnotize me or some shit!” Tosin joined in.
Usually, the first moments above water bubbled over with excited chatter as everything they’d been thinking rushed out once they regained the ability to speak. Sure, they had perfected their own version of sign language, and carried slates to write notes to each other when that wouldn’t suffice, but nothing beat talking about their discoveries.
Today, Archer had nothing to contribute.
The whole world had flipped upside down. Dropping his regulator and taking his first breath of air from the atmosphere, he suddenly felt like he was drowning.
He sigh
ed as he braced himself against the waves in thigh-deep water, then tugged on the spring straps of his fins, completing his transformation from merman to stealth billionaire. A guy he wasn’t sure he wanted to be anymore.
With one final glance over his shoulder, he ducked his head and trailed behind his friends.
They trundled through the gentle surf toward the beach. Salt water sluiced off him, making his footprints in the sand turn dark and clumpy. He relished the burn in his calves and thighs as he hauled himself and his sixty-plus pounds of equipment up the unstable incline, over rocks and past cacti, until they reached their truck, parked at the side of the road.
No need for a gym membership when this was part of their daily regime. Sometimes they did as many as five dives in a day. Often they followed it up with some midnight cardio that worked entirely different sets of muscles. Exhausting, but he’d never gotten sick of it.
Miguel rested his tank on the tailgate as he slipped off his mask, then unsnapped from his BCD. “If you guys will break down my stuff, I’ll go get in line at the street-meat stand.”
Fish from a roadside tin can? Guaranteed food poisoning, right?
Archer had been skeptical once, too.
Now he knew better than to listen to his inner snob.
The place served the freshest fish, caught daily, and had become a staple of their diet since they’d landed on the tarmac not too far from where he stood. Hard to believe that had only been a few short months ago.
If their patterns held true, it wouldn’t be too much longer before one of them got a tip on another destination looking for help. Someone who’d be downright giddy to take on a trio of divemasters with their credentials. Off they’d go again.
Who knew where they’d end up next?
Well, he actually had some idea. But would the guys be onboard? Would they come onboard?
Archer screwed the dust cap onto his regulator and finished neatly arranging their gear so they could dunk it in the freshwater bins back at the resort before retiring to the tiny cabanas provided for each of the staff members in an attempt to justify their ridiculously low wages.
Honestly, he wasn’t in any hurry to return. He hadn’t been able to sleep much recently. Every time he closed his eyes, dreams of her turned into a nightmare replay of the situation that had driven him to leave it all behind. Another night of staring at the bamboo ceiling might push him over the edge of his sanity. Tosin and Miguel went out a lot of nights, or were otherwise occupied, so he’d spent a lot of time alone lately.
He snagged their pile of blankets then headed back to the beach. Lizards scattered in front of him, and a kickass blue whiptail sunned itself on the yellow-and-black painted rock that marked the location of the dive site along the way. More than sixty of those helpful stones dotted the shores of Bonaire, which was truly one of the most SCUBA-friendly places they’d ever lived and worked.
Had they visited every single site on the island yet? He’d have to check the marine park map tucked into his logbook tonight, and speed up the process if they hadn’t. They couldn’t have much time left. A week at most, he figured.
Maybe the impending shakeup made him clingy, since Archer found himself nostalgic for once. Curious, since they’d been places so lush and green they almost hurt to look at. Somehow, he’d fallen in love with the deserts of Bonaire, the donkeys that wandered into the road and blocked traffic, and the one-way roads on the north side of the island that forced you to do a tour of the lake just to get back to town. He couldn’t get enough of watching the world-class kite surfers on Lac Bay, kayaking through the mangroves, exploring the caves complete with ancient paintings, or hanging out in the blustery gusts on the wild east side…next stop, Africa. Even the salt fields where the locals pumped water onto the land—no good for anything else, certainly not growing anything edible—to evaporate it and sell the sea salt left behind seemed charming when they were dotted with grazing flamingos. And the salt pier where the goods were put on giant ships was one of the coolest places to dive under and around, always teeming with tarpon, groupers, and schools of barracudas.
People in Bonaire made the best of everything they’d been given. Like he, Tosin, and Miguel had done.
He remembered the adventures they’d had together so far instead of looking forward to whatever came next. If things worked out like Banks kept assuring him it would, maybe they could return someday. Here or to any of the other places they’d discovered on their journey around the world.
Tosin dropped a cooler full of beer onto the sand between the blankets Archer had only barely finished spreading over the crushed coral. He rubbed his bare abs above the shorts he’d tugged on to conceal his European-style trunks. “I’m starving.”
“Nothing new there.” Archer snorted.
“Hey, all that swimming makes a man hungry.” Tosin practically drooled. “Besides, I burned off a ton of calories last night with the gorgeous Asian woman we met in the market a couple days ago.”
“Aki?” Archer prided himself on recalling her name along with the lilac bikini that hadn’t concealed her outstanding rack.
“Sounds right. Why? You didn’t already do her and forget to mention it, did you?” Tosin squinted at Archer. He glanced away, pretending to stare at the waves kissing the shore. His friend misinterpreted his awkwardness. “Wait, you didn’t call dibs and I forgot—?”
They may have been players, but even they had their own code between them. No poaching being one of the cardinal rules that had kept them from having a major falling out these past twelve years.
“Nah, nothing like that. Just…an unusual name. Pretty.”
“I guess. Not as pretty as some other things about her, though.” Tosin shrugged. “Anyway, it was her last night in town. She showed up at my door, so I helped her make some sexy memories for her scrapbook.”
Lucky for the hungry horndog, Miguel was heading back, his arms piled with takeout containers.
Archer promised himself he’d put away every morsel of his. Not only because he could see the chalkboard bolted to the side of the truck. Lionfish—his favorite—was the special of the day.
It seemed a month of freaking out every moment he wasn’t underwater had started to take its toll. He’d mooned an entire boatload of divers the day before when his trunks had refused to hug his hips no matter how hard he yanked on the tie that cinched the waist. The straps on his BCD couldn’t get any tighter either.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Still not sleeping well?” Tosin asked.
“There are probably better mattresses in prison than my bunkhouse. Or maybe I’m getting old. Creaky. Probably should make an appointment for a massage or something.” That was no lie. He practically got a cramp in his knotted shoulder muscles as he tried to shrug off his friend’s concern before Miguel could wander into hearing range and start hounding him again.
Too late.
“What you need is to get your dick sucked,” Miguel ribbed Archer as he passed out orders, slinging his shaggy hair out of his eyes with a whip of his head.
“You offering?” He kicked some sand in the asshole’s direction, knowing that wasn’t his intention.
“Hell no.” Miguel snorted. “That new brunette working the fryer wrote her number on a napkin and asked me to give it to you, though. I’m pretty sure you could pretend I forgot your fork and have that food cart rocking before I finish my salad. Be careful you don’t set any important bits on fire while you’re at it, though.”
“Not interested.” Archer shook his head. Now, if she’d had black hair and blue eyes, maybe he could have pretended it meant something long enough for his dick to get hard.
Tosin and Miguel exchanged stares for a little too long.
“What?” he asked.
“Look, I don’t want to get up in your business, but…what the hell is going on?” Tosin demanded as he tore into a mountain of garlic shrimp. “She’s your type. Tall, athletic, tan. Natural. Down to fuck. If she doesn�
�t do it for you, no one will. And you haven’t taken a woman home in weeks.”
A month, Archer mentally corrected.
Miguel jumped in when Tosin ran out of steam. Or needed another bite of his dinner. Priorities, people. “I can’t remember you ever having a dry spell like this before. Did you break your dick? Catch something? What? Come on, we won’t laugh…much. Tell us.”
Archer grimaced. “You’re idiots. Both of you.”
“You’re dodging. Is he right, then? You’re clearing up a case of the clap or something?” Tosin’s eyes narrowed as he thought back, as if trying to figure out when Archer might have snuck off to the botika for a shot of antibiotics in the ass.
“Jesus, no.” He groaned. “My junk is fine, okay? It’s just that I’ve been thinking a lot lately.”
About mistakes he’d made, and how he might fix them going forward. About her. About holding out for someone who might make him feel like she used to or, at least, something close.
“Thinking! What the fuck you doing that for, bro?” Miguel chided with a smirk as he inhaled another piece of grilled barracuda from between his fingers.
Tosin agreed, “Dumb idea.”
“Tell me about it.” A grimace crossed Archer’s face. He had to give them something or they’d keep hounding him. Besides, maybe it was time to dip a toe in and see how they might react. “I guess I’m starting to wonder if there should be more to life.”
“More than great sex, diving, and hanging out at the beach with your friends?” Tosin spread his arms, still clutching some shrimp between his thumb and forefinger.
Archer picked at his lionfish nuggets, which suddenly seemed like a mountain of a meal. “Yeah.”
“You’re worse off than if you had caught some crotch funk.” Miguel stopped and stared. “This has been our goal for the past dozen years. Doing exactly what we love until we get bored and move to the next gorgeous place where we can start exploring all over again. Haven’t we always said we’re the luckiest bastards in the world?”
