Chapter 22
jett
Three loud, obnoxious bangs rouse me from a peaceful dream.
A heavy weight hangs over my chest, and memories of last night fly through my mind.
“The fish wait for no one, Jett,” Mateo yells, disrupting the slumber of the woman wrapped around me.
I have the urge to tell him to fuck off, that I’m happy where I am, but Doug is waiting for me, and we need to spend all four dives today filming content for the docuseries. As gently as I can, I try to peel her off my side, but Sofía groans, burrowing deeper into my chest.
“Gotta be quiet,” I murmur, “or else the whole boat will know whose bed you’re in.”
I’d happily scream it from the top deck, tell every person on the vessel that I have Sofía in my bed, but I don’t think she’d enjoy that type of declaration. This is hers to control. Her lead. Her pace.
A sleepy, unamused eye cracks open. She blinks, and the fog clears, the wheels in her mind turning as she realizes where she is. I hold my breath, waiting for the disappointment or embarrassment to flash across her face, but she closes her eyes and flops against my chest.
Mateo knocks again, and she grumbles, “Tell him to be quiet.”
“I’m coming,” I yell, and she smacks my chest, the words turning into laughter. “I’ll be back in an hour. Will you be here?”
“Do you want me to be here?” she counters, sitting up.
She’s beautiful like this—mussed and sleepy.
A bit unkempt. She’s gorgeous when she’s put together, but I think I like this version more, one I don’t think many people witness.
She tucks a rogue strand of messy brown hair behind her ear.
My t-shirt hangs off her shoulder, and I have to wrestle the urge to climb back into bed with her.
I’ve never hated work more in my life.
“Yes,” I say.
The word doesn’t seem strong enough, but it will do.
“Then I’ll be here.”
Before I can change my mind, I lean down and steal a kiss. Nothing crazy, a small peck that lights my chest on fire, before I slide swim trunks on and tie my hair back. She’s watching me, a brow quirked when I reach for the door handle.
“Not brushing your teeth?” she asks, already burrowing back beneath the covers.
“Fish can’t smell my breath,” I reply, slipping out the door to the sound of her laughter. It’s a glorious sound.
The rest of the group, minus Molly and Sofía, is on the second deck, groggily pulling cold, damp wetsuits on. Charlie mutters about the early wake, and Mateo shoves a piece of chocolate in her mouth. Her nose scrunches in pure joy.
“Morning, Blondie,” I say, digging my wetsuit out. “Morning, Ames.”
“Jett Pack!” Amy smiles, her scuba mask nearly the same bright pink as her hair. I offer her a smile of my own, and she whispers, “Where’s Sofía?”
My stomach somersaults. “I—well,” I fumble.
I am a terrible liar.
“I went to see if she had a tampon this morning. I was gonna sneak in, but she wasn’t there.”
“Did she have the tampon? We can find you one if you need.” This is an opportunity to deflect. I search, opening a random bin stuffed with dive gear. “Nope, none in here,” I say. “Maybe check with Charlie.”
“All set, big guy. But I think you know where she is…”
I glance at our friends. Doug is already on the first deck, and Oliver skips down the stairs. Charlie and Mateo are in their own love bubble. Confident no one will overhear, and knowing Amy will keep the secret, I lean in close.
“She’s in my room.”
Amy squeals. The sound draws attention, and Charlie’s head darts in our direction, her scar pulled in concern. “Sorry, stubbed my toe,” Amy says, waving her off.
They grab their gear, and I stand awkwardly, waiting for them to disappear, and once they’re down the stairs, Amy grabs me by the shoulders and shakes. “This is amazing,” she yells. “Tell me everything.”
“Sofía can share what she’s comfortable with if or when she’s ready.”
I’m not betraying her trust, not when I think there’s more to her previous relationships she hasn’t shared—trauma that led her to ask what I wanted while we hooked up. It wasn’t in a way that felt natural, but like she was expecting me to ask her to do something she wasn’t comfortable with.
The thought still makes me queasy.
I want Sofía far longer than a few weeks, but if that’s all she’s offering, I’ll take it. Having her for a short time is better than not at all. Not when she’s one in a million.
Amy nods her approval. “Right answer.” She grabs her gear. “But at least tell me you kissed her, right?”
I shoo her down the steps, ignoring her side-eye while I slip into the scuba gear. Amy double-checks my gear, and I do the same for her, and then we’re leaping into the water, ready for the first dive of the day. Right before I descend, I look at her.
“Yeah, I did,” I admit, making those my last words before we drop below the surface, the water still dark while the sun rises.
I stick beside Doug, holding the camera rig while he unclasps the GoPro attached to his BCD—the vest responsible for buoyancy and holding the tank while scuba diving.
He trades it for the larger camera I’m holding, and we slowly descend to the reef, taking a right toward the deeper sections of the drop-off.
The rest of the group takes a left, following a whitetip reef shark, and we hover along the reef edge, searching for schooling fish like barracuda or wrasse and inspecting coral for small invertebrates like nudibranchs.
Doug signals to descend lower, and I listen, positive he’s caught sight of something.
Beneath the outcrop of a coral bommie, nearly buried in the sand, the distinct whisker-like barbels of a wobbegong stick out. The white sand disguises its mottled-brown coloring, and I give Doug a shaka while he takes footage of the incredible shark.
We leave the guy to chill in peace and move on, keeping the reef on our left and occasionally glancing out past the drop-off.
Colorful snappers and snubnose pompanos dart around nearby.
We pause to record a juvenile barramundi cod swimming around an outcrop of rocks and a pair of clownfish weaving through a sea anemone.
A titan triggerfish swims by, and my balls shrivel in fear. I go limp in the water column, waiting for it to pass before we continue on our way. I can tell Doug is laughing from the shake of his head, and I flip him off—a universal scuba signal.
Moving to shallower waters for the remainder of the dive, we each record footage of various coral species.
Doug has the better setup for the docuseries, but I record as much B-roll for social media as I can, even a few videos of our friends when we run into them admiring a loggerhead turtle sleeping on a bed of coral.
Mateo points down, and peeking its head out of a crevice is a moray eel, warily watching us like he’s going to yell at us to get off his lawn. I salute him, moving on my merry way. I would prefer to make it to land without being attacked again.
When I spin around, I spot Amy and Oliver farther down the reef. He’s pointing at something on the coral, though she’s floating away. He drags her back but doesn’t let go of her hand. I snap a photo of them, in case their circumstances change, then leave them to have their underwater moment.
I wish Sofía could scuba dive so we could have our own little moment beneath the waves. I’d encourage her to get her certification if I didn’t think she would get claustrophobic underwater.
Mateo signals for us to do a safety stop—a break at five meters to prevent decompression sickness—and while we hover, Doug swims in circles, snapping photos of us in various poses.
Charlie and Mateo pull out their regulators and kiss, and Amy wraps her arms around me like I’m a tree and she’s a koala taking a nap.
Once the stop is over, we all ascend, taking our first breath of fresh air in an hour.
“Did you see the nudibranch?” Charlie asks to no one in particular. “We’ll have to look at the species ID sheet after breakfast.”
They’re chatting away, but I’m focused on something far greater.
Because on the top deck, wrapped in a sweatshirt and holding a steaming mug of coffee, backlit by a beautiful sunrise, Sofía stares down at us, a tiny smile on her face. She wiggles her fingers in a wave, and my heart clenches in my chest.
Not quite waiting in my room for me to return, but waiting for me, nonetheless.
It could be so easy to make her the end of my road.
If only she saw it the same way.
“What are your plans after this?” Sofía asks the group, slipping into the empty seat beside me in the lounge.
Her hair is wet from a shower, and the soft cherry scent of her body wash and perfume wraps around me as she tries to burrow into the worn-down leather.
Charlie and Mateo share the loveseat across from us, while Oliver and Amy sit on opposite sides of the floor, a coffee table covered in a puzzle separating them. Energy is low after a day of diving, and Molly and Doug ditched us the moment they were done eating.
I can’t say I blame them. I’d much rather hang out with Sofía alone than sit next to her and pretend I don’t want to hold her hand in mine. She shifts, and her feet wiggle beneath my thighs.
“First to Sydney for a few days, and then we’re headed to New Zealand,” Charlie says, kicking her feet into Mateo’s lap. He lays a hand over her shin, kneading the calf muscle beneath, and she sighs.
“First stop: Hobbiton,” Amy says. “I have the most beautiful dress I’m going to wear while we frolic through fields.”
“Doug and I went there a few years ago. It was incredible.” I swallow a yelp when Sofía’s foot presses against my ass. Her eyes glitter with mischief. “Are you going, too, Olly?”
He shakes his head, sliding a puzzle piece into its spot. “I have to head back to England. My brother is graduating, and I’m expected to make an appearance.”
Oliver does not seem thrilled about it, and Mateo grimaces in a way that suggests we shouldn’t press the matter. After the sloppy make-out session in the pub, he’s been reserved far more than normal. I tap him with my foot.
“You good?”
He hums. “I don’t want to go.”