Chapter 7
JEREMY
Sunlight filters down beneath the surface, spotlighting the coral formations that stretch across the ocean floor in all the colors of the rainbow. A school of tiny fish moves past us like a cloud, and Avah grabs my hand without even realizing what she’s doing, her eyes wide behind her mask.
A stingray drifts below us, unconcerned with the humans invading its space. She squeezes my fingers, and even though I can’t see her mouth, I know she’s grinning.
I’m disappointed when she releases me, but then she continues to stay close as we explore the reef’s contours.
I should be appreciating the ecological beauty of what I’m seeing.
Instead, I can’t tear my eyes away from Avah and how she reacts to every new species of fish like she’s just found buried treasure.
How elegant her pink-tipped fingers look as she reaches toward a piece of coral before pulling back, remembering we’re not supposed to touch.
A nurse shark glides past, maybe five feet long, and she freezes. I position myself between her and the shark, even though it’s harmless. The shark doesn’t spare us a glance before disappearing into the blue darkness beyond.
Avah points up and we surface a moment later. Treading water, she lifts her mask onto the top of her head and spits out the mouthpiece.
“Did you see that? We just swam with a shark.”
“Did I see the shark?” I try to sound affronted. “I threw my body in front of it to protect you.”
She splashes water at me and laughs. “It seemed about as docile as a kitten and you know it.”
“It could have attacked,” I insist.
“Not even a little.” But her eyes are bright, and there’s something in her expression that makes my rib cage feel too small to hold my heart. “But thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Don’t let my gratitude go to your head.”
“Too late.”
We dive deep, this time finding a manta ray that spans at least twelve feet wingtip to wingtip. I can feel her awe through the water between us.
I got certified to scuba dive five years ago and have been in nearly every ocean in the world, but I’ve never enjoyed any of it like this. Her wonder is extraordinary, and I feel like I’m seeing the underwater world through new eyes because she’s seeing it for the first time.
When we surface again, she pushes her mask up and grins at me with water streaming down her face. The mask has left faint lines pressed into her cheeks, and her hair is plastered to her head like seaweed.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“That ray was ginormous.”
“Biggest I’ve ever seen.”
“I swear it looked at me like it was judging my life choices.”
“Rays are notoriously judgmental.”
Her grin widens. “I knew it.”
We explore the reef in comfortable silence for another hour, the sun warm on our backs and the boat a short distance away.
I can’t remember the last time I felt this light, as if the weight I carry everywhere has been temporarily lifted.
I can play it cool and tell myself it’s the lull of the ocean, but I’m pretty confident it has more to do with the woman next to me.
“Thank you again,” she says quietly when we finally begin swimming back to the boat. “For all of it.”
“Hold that thought. There’s still lunch, which will no doubt be exceptional, and you’ll feel obligated to say more nice things. I know how much that pains you.”
She splashes more water, and I give my head a shake in return, like a golden retriever after a dip in the lake.
“You know what’s weird?” she asks as she flips onto her back, eyes closed as she floats leisurely with her face toward the sky.
“Everything about this situation?” Particularly the fact that I can’t stop staring at your breasts, I add silently.
“The fact that, all evidence to the contrary, you’ve been...” She trails off, searching for the word.
“Tolerable?”
“I was going to say decent, but sure. Let’s go with tolerable.”
“High praise from you.”
“Damn right it is.”
“I’ll take it.” Fuck, I’ll take anything she’s willing to give.
Back on the boat, Antonia has set up lunch under the shaded canopy at the stern—a ceviche that practically melts on my tongue, tropical fruit arranged like edible art, and a salad with ingredients I trust are organic and locally sourced, because that’s what places like this do.
There’s also a basket of warm bread that Avah falls on like she hasn’t eaten in days.
“This is incredible,” she says around a mouthful. “I can’t believe you live like this all the time.”
“You seem to be adapting.”
“Stockholm syndrome. It’s a known phenomenon.”
Wrapped in a fluffy white towel, her hair drying in salt-stiffened waves, she looks relaxed. The tension that seemed embedded in her shoulders has eased, and the shadows in her eyes are fading along with the bruise.
It’s doing something to me I’m not prepared to examine.
“So.” She spears a piece of mango with her fork. “Tell me about the Johnsons.”
“What about them?”
“You said you’re here to court their company. What’s so special about it?”
I take a drink of water, buying time. It’s not that I don’t want to tell her, I’m just not used to explaining myself to anyone who isn’t contractually obligated to listen.
“Is it covert ops?” she demands.
I shake my head. “Joel and Mariel Johnson built The NorthStar Way after they lost their teenage daughter to cancer.” I keep my voice neutral, but something in my chest tightens.
“It started as an online community with education, support groups, and various resources for patients and families. They’ve scaled it to a full-blown healthcare ecosystem, and now want to venture into funding research and other platforms.”
“And you want to partner with them because of Sloane.”
It’s not a question, and of course, she’d assume that. It’s a logical conclusion given her friendship with my sister, and her limited knowledge of just about everything about me.
“Partly,” I admit. “But there’s more to it.”
She waits, and I find myself continuing in a way I wouldn’t with most people. Any people.
“I had leukemia when I was fourteen. Freshman year of high school.” I watch her face for the pity I usually see when I mention this, but there’s only patient interest.
“Sloane mentioned that at book club. She was worried about her own treatment, and you were her frame of reference.”
“I’m afraid knowing what I went through made her experience harder.
” I nod slowly. “But our parents’ behavior followed a similar pattern after her diagnosis.
They didn’t come back to support Sloane, and although they had to be there for me, it cost all of us.
They’d had a dig planned that summer, some site in Turkey they’d been waiting years to access. When I got sick, they had to cancel.”
“It must have been scary to face something like that when you were a kid.”
“It was lonely.” The word comes out before I can stop it. “Mom and Dad were furious about missing the dig. I spent most of that summer feeling like the worst kind of inconvenience, which was almost harder than the physical toll the treatments took on me.”
Avah sets down her fork. “That’s horrible.”
A shiver races along my spine despite the warmth of the day. I’m not usually in the position to garner sympathy from anyone, and I’d tell you it’s useless to me anyway. Yet I find myself wanting to curl into Avah’s commiseration like a needy kitten. “It was a long time ago.”
“Time doesn’t make shitty parents less shitty.”
She makes the statement like she knows what she’s talking about.
“No, it doesn’t.” I lean back in my seat, watching a bird skim across the water.
“When Sloane got sick, all those mixed up feelings came flooding back. There’s nothing that would have kept me from her.
I threw money at her treatment because that’s what I know how to do.
But watching her go through it, seeing how isolated even the best medical care can leave you…
It started me thinking about what it would look like to do something real with my money and influence. ”
“Real how?”
“NorthStar has the infrastructure and the mission. I have the resources to scale it globally. Together, we could build communities that support patients and caregivers from the moment of diagnosis to long after treatment ends.” I meet her blue eyes, which are less glacial ice and more soft summer sky at the moment.
“It would be more than just an app or content. We could help patients and families feel like they aren’t fighting alone. ”
She’s quiet for a long moment, and I brace myself for the clapback. For her to point out that I’m just another tech bro trying to buy a legacy. Which is one of my biggest fears and potential failings.
“What’s stopping you?” she asks instead.
I blink at the unexpected question. “The Johnsons want nothing to do with me. They know my reputation.”
“Soulless asshat?”
“That’s the general consensus, yes.”
Her mouth twitches. “In fairness, you do give off strong soulless asshat vibes.”
“Thank you.”
“But you’re not. You’re just bad at showing people the other parts.”
She makes it sound obvious, and I don’t know what to say to that. No one has ever framed my interpersonal failures as a marketing problem before.
“Don’t give up on the Johnsons,” she continues. “If your motives and intentions are pure—and I believe they are—they’ll see it eventually. Maybe stop acting like a robot long enough for them to notice.”
“Cue the Rocky music.”
“I’m known for my motivational speeches.”
“Is that what this is?”
“It’s the best you’re going to get.” She picks up her fork again and points it at me. “You’re not as tedious as people think you are.”
“Including you?”
She grins. “Maybe.”
“More compliments.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“I might not be able to fit through the villa door at this point.”
“Use the slider,” she says with an eye roll. We’re both grinning.
The boat rocks gently as Rai steers us back toward the resort. The sun is high and hot, and once lunch is cleared, Avah lies back on the cushions, her eyes closed and a small smile playing at her lips.
I think about all the places I’ve been and things I’ve done, from private islands to experiences most people only dream about. None of them made me want to stay in the moment rather than rushing to the next item on an endless list like today has.
Sloane has been telling me for years that I need to enjoy the journey instead of obsessing over the destination. I always dismissed it as what people say when they haven’t built something from nothing. When they don’t know the rush of completing the next big thing.
But maybe my little sister was onto something.
I’m not naive enough to think everything is going to work out. The Johnsons might never come around, and Avah will go back to Colorado at the end of this trip and rebuild her life without me in it. This extraordinary pocket of peace is temporary.
But for the first time in longer than I can remember, I’m not three moves ahead, calculating how to corner the market or crush whoever’s in my way.
I’m just here in paradise with a woman who’s also more than what people believe about her.
She makes me want to be less of an asshat, and now I’m wondering if that’s possible.