Chapter Eleven
eleven
adrian
Three times today I’ve touched Hope. Once to steady her when she was flustered in the water—an instinctive grab to pull her to safety, which I barely had time to process. Once when she had that close encounter with a cooler—and awkward as the moment was, the way she clung to me afterward nearly undid me, all soft curves and wary trust.
And just now, a high five, the most platonic of all touches, and yet when our palms met and my fingertips grazed the delicate skin at the inside of her wrist, it was enough to ignite a hunger that’s lain dormant for years. A forbidden attraction I absolutely cannot indulge.
Instead, I kept to the boundaries of our arrangement, remaining solidly in colleague territory by tossing out the first thing that came to mind...an offhand, rhetorical question. Given her performance with the first shark, I assumed the camera would be a nonissue. Turns out I was wrong.
The moment Gabe started filming, Hope’s confidence evaporated. We had the good fortune to catch another shark shortly after the first—a juvenile dusky. Small enough to handle with ease, but when I glance over to see if Hope’s ready to lend a hand, she’s frozen, eyes locked on the camera like it’s about to leap from his hands and pounce.
“Hope,” Marissa says, her voice tight with tension, “time to get started.”
With a shaky nod, she steps forward, but her movements are unsteady, like she’s in a daze.
“Tape measure,” I prompt.
“She knows,” Marissa snaps, and I wince. I was trying to help, not undermine Hope, but I get it. I need to chill. My own nerves kick into high gear with a new awareness of being filmed. How will my interactions with Hope translate without context? Our first day of field research together and already the cracks in this arrangement are showing like a leaky fiberglass hull.
“Maybe you should do this one,” I hear Hope say, and turn to find her holding out the tape measure toward Marissa. This is a woman who I’ve seen do a work-up on a five-hundred-pound tiger shark without batting an eyelash, and yet when she holds out her hand, it’s trembling.
“Sure.” Marissa gestures toward me. “You assist Adrian then.”
Great. This is a small shark, less than a meter, which means she’s going to have to get close to me. Not a problem with anyone else, but I don’t want Hope on this boat, let alone in my space. “I’ve got it,” I tell them, but Marissa frowns.
“Stop being weird.”
“I’m not being weird.” During our quick exchange, Hope’s come over to crouch next to me, and my whole body is tense. I will myself to calm down, not wanting to startle the animal with my nerves. “Really, I’m good here. You’ll need to take notes.” Preferably from the other side of the boat, practical or not.
She nods, looking more composed, and rises to her feet, then takes a seat and sets the open laptop on her bare knees. I swallow and look away.
My cousin leans around me to measure the shark. Under her breath, she asks, “You cool?”
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. Not only do I need to keep my composure around Hope, I need to do it convincingly. If there’s a whiff of something off between me and the newest addition to the team, we could lose credibility. I need to make sure no one speculates about our history, or who we are to each other. I worked too hard to build this platform to screw things up, and much as I don’t want her here, I couldn’t bear to have Hope’s reputation called into question. The line between who we were to each other and our working relationship needs to be clear as the south Florida waters where we met.
“Uh, Marissa, what’s your password?” Hope holds up the laptop. “Lock screen.”
“Are you serious right now?” Marissa asks. Her voice is tight with tension, but I can’t fault her intensity. The shark is top priority and right now, we’re not working as a team. “Just use the notebook.”
Marissa wraps the tape measure around the shark’s body and calls out a girth measurement to Hope, who mutters, “Shit.”
I snap my head up, but she dodges her eyes away. “Pencil snapped.”
Gabe digs in his pocket and holds out a pen, keeping the camera aimed steadfastly toward the shark—and away from Hope. He’s been silent, which isn’t normal for him. Usually, he likes to chime in with funny comments to coax explanations out of us when we forget that what’s just another day of fieldwork for us is new territory for viewers. Seems like he’s trying to remain unobtrusive for Hope’s benefit, but his lack of chatter only adds to my nerves.
Marissa glances over her shoulder and frowns at Hope. “You got those measurements down?”
“Yup, 98 centimeters.” She sits back, cross-legged, and makes a notation.
“Eighty-eight.” Marissa turns her focus back to the shark. “Pay attention.”
It’s a reminder for me as well. Hope doesn’t need my eyes on her, and normally I’m so focused I tune everything else out. But I don’t understand how the camera’s got her so off her game. These are basic steps we mastered years ago, and not only did she say her prior job involved fieldwork, she also did all this ten minutes ago with the first shark.
Is it me? I hate to think she’s that bothered by my presence. Then again, a few hours ago I did try to send her home.
Gabe steps forward to get a better angle of Marissa, and Hope sits up straight, like I used to when my piano teacher called out my poor posture.
“Just pretend I’m not here,” he says, eyes on the viewfinder.
“Yeah. Of course.” Hope nods so vigorously I’m worried for her vertebrae. “I’ll just stand out of the way and—”
“We need to wrap this up,” Marissa interrupts, saving Hope from rambling. “Can you pass me the case of syringes?”
Hope steps forward, freezing when Gabe swings the camera her way. She lifts one hand in what might be either a wave or gesture of surrender and sidesteps her way toward us.
She hesitates, not close enough to step in if need be. I gesture her nearer with a jerk of my chin, and she squats down. She doesn’t look at me, but I can’t help but catalog her profile in the flat light of an oncoming storm. Upturned nose, rounded cheeks, full lips parted with rapid breaths, like a landed fish trying to draw in oxygen.
Voice low, I say, “He’s not going to bite.”
“It’s a female,” Hope hisses, “and I’m not worried about that.”
“I meant Gabe.”
Her warm brown skin has turned ashen, a match for the overcast sky. She grips the side of the boat like she’s about to lose the contents of her stomach, but her next words make it clear that seasickness isn’t the culprit. “What about the people watching?”
Before I can formulate an answer, Marissa barks my name, calling my attention back to the task at hand. Good thing my back is to Gabe, or else the lens would probably capture a wide-eyed look of panic not at all suitable for a scientist handling a shark.
The wind is picking up, clouds lowering, and a chill drips down my nape with the first drop of rain. She has every right to worry. I do, every time we upload new content. The potential for a positive impact was enough for me to risk my professional reputation and privacy to launch this channel, but despite our complicated past, I’d never choose to risk Hope.
But she’s made her choice. Sink or swim, we’re in this boat together. And right now, we’re pulling each other under.