Chapter 9 #2
Her lungs screamed for air. Her muscles burned with effort. The reef rushed past in a blur of color, and all she could think was this is such a stupid way to die, Alex is going to kill me, wait no the ocean is killing me first—
Then Alex was there.
His arm locked around her waist, strong and sure, pulling her against his chest as he kicked hard against the current. For a few endless seconds, they hung suspended—the water trying to drag them down, his body the only thing keeping her from being swept into the reef's jagged embrace.
His eyes found hers through their masks. I've got you, they seemed to say. Trust me.
She did. That wasn't new anymore—the terrifying part was how much she'd come to depend on it.
With a final powerful kick, Alex broke them free of the current's grip, angling toward the surface with Lily still clutched against him. They rose through water that shifted from deep blue to turquoise to the champagne shimmer of sunlight.
They broke the surface gasping, still tangled together, the current gentler here where the reef didn't funnel the water into deadly channels.
"You okay?" Alex's voice was rough, his arm still tight around her waist. His free hand came up to push the mask off her face, his eyes scanning her for injury.
"Yeah." She coughed, salt water burning her throat. "Yeah, I'm okay. That was—"
"Stupid. I should have warned you about that section. The reef creates a natural funnel, and when the tide shifts—"
"It wasn't your fault." She pressed her fingers to his lips, stopping the self-flagellation before it could build momentum. "I wasn't paying attention."
I was too busy imagining a future with you to notice the ocean trying to kill me.
"Still." His jaw was tight, the protective instinct she'd glimpsed that first night on the porch fully visible now. "If something had happened to you—"
"But it didn't." She wrapped her arms around his neck, letting her legs tangle with his beneath the surface. "Because you were there. Because you're always there."
They floated like that for a moment, faces inches apart, treading water in each other's arms. Lily was acutely aware of everywhere their bodies touched—his chest against hers, his legs tangling with hers, his hand splayed across her lower back like he was afraid she might slip away again.
"Scared me," Alex admitted quietly, his forehead dropping to hers.
"Takes more than that to get rid of me, Carmichael."
"Good." He kissed her—salt water and relief and something fiercer underneath. Something that felt like fear, like gratitude, like the desperate edge of a man who'd almost lost something he hadn't known he wanted to keep. "Don't do that again."
"I'll try to avoid near-death experiences." She kissed him back, softer. "No promises."
His laugh was shaky, but it was real.
They swam back to shore together, his hand finding hers beneath the water every few strokes like he needed to confirm she was still there. Lily let him. She needed the confirmation too.
The cabin felt smaller than usual when they returned.
Or maybe that was just the awareness humming between them—that electric consciousness of each other that had intensified after the underwater scare.
Alex showered first while Lily reviewed the footage on her camera's tiny screen, then they switched.
By the time she emerged, hair dripping, wearing another of his shirts—she'd officially commandeered his entire wardrobe and he hadn't complained once—he'd set up her small laptop at the table.
"I backed up your files," he said without looking up. "The memory card was almost full."
"Thanks." She slid into the chair beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Neither moved away.
They worked in companionable silence, scrubbing through footage, marking the best clips.
The cabin filled with the soft sounds of their collaboration—the click of the mouse, the scratch of Alex's pen as he noted timestamps, the occasional murmured comment about lighting or angle or the miraculous behavior of coral polyps.
This is good, Lily realized. This quiet domesticity. This partnership.
This is what I never knew I wanted.
The coral spawning sequence was stunning—ethereal and otherworldly in a way that even her usual superlatives felt inadequate to describe. Tiny clouds of life drifting through crystal water, catching light like underwater galaxies being born.
"This is incredible," she murmured, watching the clip play for the third time. "People need to see this."
"That's the goal." Alex's voice was softer than usual, almost reverent. "Make them care. Make them understand what we're trying to protect."
We. The word landed in her chest and stayed there, warm and terrifying.
She turned to look at him, and found him already watching her.
The afternoon light caught the blue of his eyes, turning them almost silver.
There was something in his expression she couldn't quite read—vulnerability, maybe.
Or hope. Or the particular torture of wanting something you're not sure you can have.
She knew that expression. She was wearing it too.
"We should talk about what happens when the boat comes," she said, before she could lose her nerve.
Alex's jaw tightened. "I thought we agreed—"
"I know what we agreed. But I’ve changed my mind. I’m being practical.”
“Since when are you practical?"
"Since I started caring about something that matters." She kept her voice steady through sheer force of will. "I go back to L.A. You go... where? Back to Boston? Another island somewhere?"
The silence stretched, filled with the weight of everything they'd been avoiding.
"There's a research position," he said finally, the words coming slowly. "In Hawaii. I was offered it before I came here. I haven't given them an answer yet."
Lily's stomach dropped.
Hawaii. He had a job offer in Hawaii. A plan. A future. One he'd apparently been considering this whole time without mentioning it.
One that had nothing to do with her.
"Hawaii," she repeated, and she heard the flatness in her own voice. "That's... that's great. Amazing opportunity."
"It's complicated. The funding structure is—"
"No, it sounds perfect for you." She pulled her hand back from his, reaching for her coffee mug instead. Something to hold. Something to do with her hands besides reach for him. "Remote location. Important research. Minimal human contact. Right up your alley."
Alex frowned. "Lily—"
"When do you have to decide?"
"End of the month."
So he'd known. This whole time—while they were falling into bed together, while she was catching feelings she had no business catching—he'd had an escape route mapped out. A next chapter that didn't include a single page with her name on it.
What did you expect? the voice in her head demanded. A marriage proposal? You've known him two weeks.
But somehow, stupidly, she'd expected... something. Some indication that this meant more to him than a convenient distraction.
"You should take it," she said, and the words tasted like ash. "Sounds like an incredible opportunity."
"I haven't decided anything yet."
"But you're considering it. You've been considering it." She stood, suddenly needing distance. "Which is fine. That's smart. You should absolutely be thinking about your career."
"Why does it feel like you're mad at me?"
"I'm not mad." She carried her mug to the kitchen, keeping her back to him. "I'm being practical. Isn't that what you wanted?"
The chair scraped as he stood. She felt him approach, felt the heat of him behind her, but she didn't turn around.
"I mentioned Hawaii because I thought you should know," he said quietly. "Not because I've made a decision."
"Okay."
"Lily. Look at me."
She turned, and the expression on his face—conflicted, frustrated, something she couldn't quite read—made her chest ache.
"I don't know what happens next," he said. "I don't have answers. But that doesn't mean—"
"It's fine." She cut him off before he could say something that would make this harder.
"We said we'd stay present, right? Focus on what we have instead of what comes after.
" She forced a smile that felt like broken glass in her mouth.
"So let's do that. Four more days of... this.
Whatever this is. And then we figure out the rest."
Or you go to Hawaii and I go home and we pretend this was just a weird, wonderful detour that didn't mean anything.
Alex studied her for a long moment, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he saw right through her cheerful deflection.
"Okay," he said finally. "If that's what you want."
It's not. It's not even close to what I want.
"Great." She patted his chest—casual, friendly, the exact opposite of how she felt. "Now, I'm starving. What's for dinner?"
Dinner was awkward in a way their meals hadn't been for days.
They talked about the footage. About the coral. About the weather patterns Alex was tracking. Safe topics. Professional topics. Topics that kept them on opposite sides of the invisible wall that had sprung up between them.
Lily hated it.
She hated the careful distance in his voice. She hated the way he looked at her sometimes—like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. She hated that she'd let herself care this much, and she hated even more that she couldn't seem to stop.
After they'd cleaned up, after the sun had set, after they'd run out of safe topics, Alex suggested a walk on the beach.
"The stars should be good tonight," he said. "No clouds."
It sounded like a peace offering. Lily took it.
The stars were obscene.
Lily had seen clear skies before—she'd made a career out of chasing beautiful places—but nothing like this.
The Milky Way smeared across the darkness like spilled paint, so bright it almost cast shadows.
Constellations she'd only seen in textbooks blazed overhead, and scattered between them were stars too faint to have names, too numerous to count.