Chapter 3
Chapter Three
brADEN
I spent the rest of the morning pretending the meeting at the marina hadn’t detonated a decade’s worth of emotional TNT right under my feet.
Spoiler—I was terrible at pretending.
Back at Tidal Hops, I tried to lose myself in the clean logic of brewing, with its gravity readings, valve checks, and the satisfying clack-click of stainless fittings seating home. I sanitized the transfer line to the bright tank. Twice.
Dr. Donovan.
The words wouldn’t stop looping, snagging on the memory of her standing on the dock, hair slicked to her cheeks, trying to look like a professor while dripping like a drowned kitten.
I should’ve been too shocked to enjoy the slapstick of it, but instead, laughter lodged behind my ribs.
There’d been something in her eyes—not the certainty from when she’d recite species names for fun, but a flash of embarrassment and something else that yanked on a live wire I thought I’d deadened.
Then a moment happened. An almost friendly one.
But the Doctor title slid under my skin and stayed there. Not because she hadn’t earned it—God knew she had—but because it reminded me that she’d been launched like a rocket off this tiny island while I’d been the guy clapping from the ground.
With a sigh, I capped the bright tank and pulled a hydrometer sample. Crisp finish. My brain cataloged the numbers, but my chest didn’t care.
The bay door slammed open from the outside, rattling in its tracks, and Eli burst in like he’d been fired out of a cannon.
Blond hair salt-stiff, he held a dive slate like a shield, his expression a mix of panic and apology.
He looked like a man coming to confess he’d just scratched his brother’s truck.
“Okay,” he said, breathless, holding up a hand. “Oh wow, Braden. I was wrong. Monumentally, catastrophically wrong.”
I didn’t even turn around. I just kept swirling the hydrometer sample, watching it bob. “Not unusual. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“The other night,” he rushed on, “when I told you Tessa had nothing to do with the Scripps team? I was just plain wrong. She’s the one running the whole project. She was just in the dive shop—our dive shop. Here!”
I set the sample down with deliberate, painstaking slowness. I turned and leaned back against the cool steel of the tank, crossing my arms. I let him stand there, vibrating with his big, terrible news.
“Yeah,” I said, my tone flat. “I know.”
The wind went out of his sails so fast it was almost comical. His jaw went slack. The dive slate clattered to the ground. “Wait. What? How could you possibly know?”
“We met. Again. She fell off a dock in front of me this morning. It was a whole thing.”
Eli stared, his brain clearly trying to reboot. “She… you… oh, man.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, panic shifting to genuine concern. “Braden, I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t know it was her project until she was standing in my office ten minutes ago. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lied as I rubbed a spot on the tank too hard.
“Right.” He didn’t believe me for a second. “What happened?”
I exhaled and gave him a more detailed version, including the mutual mortification and how I’d stalked off in an offended huff.
Eli winced, dragging a hand through his hair.
“Ow, that’s rough. So much for easing back into things.
” He shifted his weight, his usual breezy confidence replaced by a careful, deliberate tone.
“Look, I know the timing is terrible, but... you’re still good to run backup for me, right? Like we talked about?”
I dropped the towel I’d been holding, incredulous. “Are you serious? That was when some sixty-year-old professor named Albright was running the project. That was before I knew Scripps was code for Tessa Donovan.”
“I know, I know.” He held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “But the contract is signed. And... I might have another problem.”
I ground my teeth, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Tony over at Key Divers just called,” Eli continued, words rushing out. “He thinks he’s coming down with the flu. If so, he might need to shift some classes to me.”
“And what’s that got to do with me?” I kept my voice neutral, but a knot of dread formed in my stomach.
“Everything. I can’t be in two places at once. I can’t teach a class and run surface support for a high-profile research team at the same time. The resort can’t drop the ball on this contract. I only need a boat driver.”
My jaw worked. “You seriously want me to chauffeur my ex-girlfriend and her team of scientists around the reef?”
“I know how it sounds.” He had the decency to look pained, and his tone acknowledged the delicate ground he was now treading.
“But… the Scripps team. Tessa’s team. They’re not your average let’s poke a starfish crowd.
They’re serious science types with a serious contract, and they need special handling.
We’re contractually obligated to be on site with them. ”
Which he’d conveniently left out the other night. “We have to be on the boat? Find someone else.”
“I don’t have anyone else.” He leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Consider it a charitable donation to the Keep Mom from Firing Me for Screwing Up a Major Contract fund. This is a big deal, Braden.”
I scowled. The worst part was that Eli was infuriatingly right, wrapping the obligation in just enough charm that I couldn’t call him an asshole for it. This was my family and our business. Tessa was just a ghost who decided to put on a wetsuit.
He held up both hands. “Listen, you’d only be topside.
You drive the boat, manage the anchor, work the radio.
She’ll be sixty feet down, doing her science thing with the others.
There will be a perfect, professional barrier of fiberglass and water between you.
Just for a few days. Two or three until I can get things sorted. Please. You’d be saving my ass.”
Maybe I wouldn’t need to spend that much time with her. I could enjoy being on the water without getting anywhere near the actual blast zone. I’d be a captain—a glorified water taxi. I could do that.
“You just need a driver?” I confirmed, keeping my voice level, testing the boundaries of the deal.
“A captain,” he agreed, looking immensely relieved that I hadn’t bolted. “That’s it.”
“One day. I’ll give you one day. After that, you’re on your own.”
The relief on Eli’s face was immediate and absolute.
“One day is better than zero! I’ll take it.
Thank you. You’re a lifesaver. Well, I’d better get back to the ol’ salt mine.
” He swooped down to pick up the slate, his mind already moving on.
“By the way, Jules says hi and to stop dodging dinner invites. Mom’s making ropa vieja tomorrow. ”
Right. Sunday dinner. Another obligation I couldn’t escape. “Why not? Tell your wife hello back, and I’ll bring the beer.”
His gaze sharpened for a second, catching the tension I couldn’t hide. “You okay, man?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I stared out at the endless blue. “Just getting used to a rather enormous change of events.”
“I imagine you are. Thanks for helping out with the project. Really—I know that was the last thing you wanted to hear.”
“Remember. I’m only driving.” I shot him a hard glare.
He nodded and gave my shoulder a final squeeze, a silent acknowledgment of the minefield he’d just pushed me into. “I’ll text you the details.”
I trudged out of the tank room like a guy walking away from a ticking clock. I told myself Sunday would reset me. Family could do that—even when they were the ones putting you in the line of fire.
The next twenty-four hours were an exercise in controlled distraction.
Inventory. A supplier snafu with CO2 canisters.
A recipe tweak on the Key Kolsch had me shaving zest off limes until my fingers were perfumed and a little raw.
Each task was a bead I slid along an imaginary cord to keep my hands busy.
It worked, the way tourniquets worked. The bleeding slowed. The pain didn’t disappear.
I made my way down the path to the main house, the sprawling rambler at the end of the beach that had always been the heart of our family.
It was still strange to think of it as my sister Harper and her husband Chase’s place now.
Recently returned from extended travels, Mom had made the trade without a second thought, giving her home to their growing family and settling into the quiet of Harper’s old guest cottage behind it.
But we all agreed Sundays were still Mom’s domain.
The screen door squeaked—a sound Harper refused to fix because it sounded like home—and the familiar smell of Mom’s ropa vieja met me before I was even inside.
She stood at the stove, silver-streaked hair up in a clip, wooden spoon in hand.
The kitchen smelled like tomatoes and cumin.
“Hey Mom,” I said, kissing her cheek.
“There’s my boy.” She squeezed me, then smacked my forearm lightly. “Beer in the fridge, then set the table.” Her gaze skimmed my face. “You look tired.”
“I own a bar.”
She made a noncommittal noise that meant don’t get smart with me and turned back to the pot. After opening the fridge, I slid the beer in next to Jules’s chocolate mousse, labeled Do Not Touch or I Will End You. I grinned.
The house filled as always. Harper and Chase with Finn pinging around their legs.
Their twins were napping, which made the noise level noticeably less.
Eli and Jules bickered about whose turn it was to feed the fish in Finn’s tank.
Brenna and Hunter leaned against the table, with baby Colton snoozing like a potato.
Ben set a bouquet of grocery-store flowers on the counter and nodded at me.