Chapter Twenty-Two
twenty-two
adrian
I shouldn’t have said it.
The moment the words left my mouth, I should’ve wished them back, but I can’t bring myself to regret it. Hope and I used to laugh when we’d reminisce about our first kiss, about how her roommate almost caught us making out by my car outside the restaurant where we were having dinner with the group. Our first kiss is a hazy memory, but I still can feel the heat and urgency and overwhelming rightness of the way our bodies fit together.
The instant we heard voices, we’d broken apart, and I loudly announced that I’d see her on the boat, in a voice about three octaves deeper than normal, overcompensating out of surprise. She told me later, giggling, how serious I’d looked when I’d used her last name. She called me Hollis-Parker the rest of the summer.
Going out last night brought back the memory of team dinners after long workdays the summer we met, and when I startled away, realizing I was dangerously close to kissing her in public, the same words spilled out. See you on the boat, Evans.
Except things aren’t the same as that summer almost a decade ago. We’re drifting apart, not tumbling together. I wasn’t able to take her in my arms and comfort her after discovering she got trolled by that jerk of a classmate, but my protective hackles are up, even though she’s not mine to protect.
Physically, I’ve kept my distance, but I’ve also kept an eye on the comment section. She didn’t tell me Owen’s last name, but I remembered a few nights later. McHugh. The urge to find and report his account had my fingers itching, but that wouldn’t help Hope in the long run. Neither would overstepping bounds again, risking where we are for the sake of who we were to each other.
Three weeks since I last kissed Hope, and we haven’t touched since the night at Horizon Line. No casual high fives, no ecstatic hugs, no catching her by the waist on rough seas. We haven’t slipped, haven’t stumbled, haven’t crossed a single line. We’ve tagged sharks and filmed with my mentor in North Carolina. Everything is textbook. Routine. Uneventful.
Agonizing. Exactly how things need to stay until the end of the summer and Hope heads off for her future.
We’re about a mile offshore today, doing a live question and answer session. No luck catching sharks, so we decided to switch gears before a forecasted storm blows in. Marissa’s got the selfie stick at the moment, and Hope’s standing in the bow on my other side.
Gabe catches me frowning at the gathering clouds, and says quietly, “Atmospheric.”
Ominous, more like. But he’s been bugging me about the importance of going live, engaging viewers, and he convinced me this is an opportune time to try. No animals involved, and we get to pick which questions we answer. We’re in control, or as much as we can be on the boat in the ocean, talking to strangers. Which is to say, not at all.
“Okay, here’s another question,” Marissa says. “Amarie wants to know: ‘What’s an acoustic receiver?’ Hope, want to take this one?” She passes over the selfie stick and I watch Hope closely.
So far, no signs that she’s stressed about this. Gabe checked in with everyone beforehand and she seemed fine, but I remember the pain in her eyes when she spoke about the last time she had to answer questions from a live audience, on camera.
A few weeks ago, I would’ve found a quiet moment to check in with her and make sure she’s feeling okay with the change, but we’ve been avoiding any time alone, and breaking that cycle might amp up her nerves.
She holds the phone at the angle Gabe demonstrated, her body language relaxed. July has been hot, and today she’s wearing a thin white long-sleeve tee-shirt for sun protection, but it does nothing to hide her generous curves, and I look away before the camera catches my longing.
“Acoustic receivers are one way we track sharks,” she says. “Whenever a tagged shark swims near the beacon, its tag pings. We pull the data from the receivers periodically to record it, and it’s a great way to discover which sharks are frequenting the area, when, and for how long. However, since the shark has to be in close proximity with the receiver, we don’t have the ability to track where a shark is once they swim out of range.”
She goes on, explaining the different types of tags used in studies, and I tell myself to relax. We’re almost done and so far, smooth sailing. Hope reads the next question aloud. “Jasper99 wants to know what sharks eat.”
“That depends on the shark,” I say. “Bottom-dwelling sharks like angel sharks eat a variety of things, from fish and skates to crustaceans and mollusks. Whale sharks and basking sharks filter plankton and small fish out of the water.” I name a few others, before Gabe leans into the shot.
“TLDR version,” he says. “Shark diet is super varied.” He’s been great in the role of moderator, chiming in when we get bogged down in technical details and moving the session along.
We answer a few more questions, like whether sharks need to swim to breathe, and whether marine biology was our first choice of careers—yes for all of us besides Gabe, who explains how he made the transition into working with sharks along with a plug for his website and social media.
“All right,” Gabe says, taking the selfie stick. “We’re about done here, but let’s end with a lightning round. Rapid-fire.” He looks toward us. “Ready?”
My mind is already racing through potential questions and formulating answers, but then I remember... Hope. We didn’t prep for this. Her mouth is ajar, and her eyes dart to mine. Her knees are locked, despite the heavy pitch, and it looks like she might keel over.
Before I can say anything, Gabe announces the first question. “Favorite shark? Mine’s no secret. Whale sharks. What about you, Marissa?”
“Easy. Carolina hammerhead. Gotta go with a shark from my home state.”
I’m watching Hope, wondering how to cut this short, when Gabe elbows me. “Your go, man.”
“Uh, tiger sharks.”
He hesitates, like he’s waiting for me to elaborate, then swings the camera toward Hope.
“Give us something more than Adrian over there,” he jokes. “What’s your favorite shark, and why?”
Hope licks her lips but seems steadier than a moment ago. “Great white sharks. They’re the species that first fascinated me, and I’ve been lucky to study them here in the Atlantic. A dream of mine is to study white sharks in the Pacific as well and learn more about their migratory patterns.”
“Best part of the job?”
Hope raises her hand. “Ooh, me, pick me! Can I answer twice in a row?” The others laugh, and the worry in my chest eases at seeing her relax. “The sharks. That might sound obvious, but they are just such cool animals.” She pauses and looks at Gabe. “Are we allowed to say something as trite as ‘cool’ on air?”
He laughs, and I lean into her, a small show of support, and she squeezes my thigh in response. Not a grope, or a tease. The kind of small gesture of acknowledgment couples do.
Except we’re not a couple, and it’s been three years since anyone’s squeezed my thigh, and weeks since we last touched, and my body’s response is anything but innocent.
My nerve endings light up, and Hope jerks her hand away with a muttered, “Sorry.”
If the look on her face is any indication, she’s as affected as I am. But Marissa is talking about studying nurse sharks on a recent trip to Florida and I try to pull my mind back to the task at hand.
“Next question, and Adrian gets to go first this time,” Gabe says. “‘My son loves sharks and is headed into high school. What should he do if he’d like to have a career in marine biology?’”
Me and Marissa give our answers, covering all basics, and when it’s Hope’s turn, I can see her scrambling for something to add.
She palms the back of her neck. “Uh, well one option might be join us on the boat next summer.” She stops, staring wide-eyed at the camera like she’s realized her mistake. The pleasant smile I’ve kept plastered on my face slides off as she rushes to explain. “Uh, we’re... Well, there’s a possibility the team will be launching a program aimed at giving high schoolers the chance to experience field research.”
Did she just really announce that out loud, on a live session? I’ve got to fix this. “Um, actually—” I clear my throat, unsure how to play it off without making things worse.
Fortunately, Gabe jumps in, “That’s our allotted hour for questions, but this has been fun. Follow along across social media for a chance to get your question answered next time!” He lowers the phone and the second he ends the livestream, I turn to Hope.
“What was that?”
“What we discussed.” She grasps the hem of her shirt, twisting it between her fingers. “About maybe starting a program for youth.”
“Have you run it by Marissa?” My cousin shakes her head. That’s what I thought. I whirl toward Hope. “I haven’t even heard you mention it since the other night at the bar.”
“We’ve been really busy, and it slipped my mind.” Hope lets go of her shirt and crosses her arms, swiveling to face me on the bench. Her bare knees brush mine, but I barely notice. “I get that my timing was bad. But you make it sound like some drunken idea. We were at a work dinner. I offered another way you could accomplish your goals.”
“And then announced it to a live audience.”
“Live, exactly.” Wind whips her hair across her face, but she doesn’t bother to push the strands away. “What you said we’d never do.”
I feel bad about putting her in an awkward position, but a larger part of me is concerned about scrambling to course-correct thanks to her mistake. “Plans change, right? Isn’t that what you told me?” The second the words leave my mouth, I clamp it shut, but it’s too late.
All the light leaves Hope’s eyes, like someone blew out the flame inside her. Unfair of me to equate our personal issues with her performance at work. We asked her to perform outside the job expectations, with almost no warning. “Hope—”
“We’d better get back to shore before the storm moves in.” She stands and moves off toward the wheel, navigating the rolling deck with practiced ease. “I’ll drive.”
Back to us, she makes her way to the helm. Against the backdrop of white-capped waves and steely clouds, she looks determined, but exposed. She opened up about the lowest moment of her career, trusted me to do my best to ensure she wouldn’t be in that position again, and I failed her.
These past three weeks were the calm before the storm. With one careless moment, I let our history bleed into work and tore down all the progress we’d made, only this time, it wasn’t for a stolen kiss, it was out of selfishness. I proved she was right to doubt us, and we’re better off apart.