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A Deeper Love: Year One (Suamalie Islands Book 9)

By Heidi Gray McGill

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A Deeper Love
Chapter 1 - Alicia

“You’re as stubborn as your father, Alicia Garry.” My boat captain huffs and turns as I climb the ladder into the boat. His hat shakes in his trembling hand.

Puffs of air evaporate the words trying to escape my mouth. Tug hasn’t called me Alicia in years. He’s always called me Algae.

“You shouldn’t be diving alone,” he scolds as he takes my gear.

“Don’t even go there, Tug.” I squeeze the excess water from my ponytail, then pull the tab to unzip my wetsuit. “Today’s not the day.” My harsh tone sounds foreign in my ears.

Moments pass before his shoulders slump and a meaty hand runs over the leather-like skin of his neck. He turns back and fidgets with the brim of his now crumpled hat. “I’m just saying, diving is always better with a partner. I don’t like you charting unfamiliar territory alone. You need a dive buddy.”

His sly look makes me wary.

“It wouldn’t hurt you to go on a few dates here and there.”

“Are we talking diving or life partners?” Now I’m the one forcing air from my nose to keep the unkind words in. It doesn’t work. My mouth has a mind of its own.
“You’re one to talk. When’s the last time you went on a date?”

Tug can slip a 40-footer into a dock sideways and never need a boat fender, but put him with a pretty lady, or at least one with all her teeth, and you’ll need to throw him a life preserver.

I shrug out of the neoprene and let the limp black sleeves dangle like my emotions. I wipe a drip of water from my eye and sigh. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” My eyes plead for forgiveness for my tone and harsh words.

He nods once. “The anniversary of your dad’s death is tough for both of us. Let’s start over. Put this little tiff to rest. Water under the boat.”

“I think you mean water under the bridge, but I get your drift.” I square my shoulders and take a deep breath, forcing cheer into my voice and a smile onto my face. Everything sets me off lately. Not just today. I work to find my usual easy-going demeanor.

“Excellent dive today. This is one I’ll add to the website.” I hope the change of subject leaves all thoughts of dating and Dad behind.

“Did you get decent pictures?”

“I think so. I could use another camera light, but that’s not in the budget.” I secure my gear. “Ready when you are.”

Tug starts the engine, and I finish peeling myself out of the neoprene, then throw a Go Navy T-shirt over my swimsuit. I plunge my hand into the ice-filled cooler and grab a water bottle, guzzling it. Tug hits a wave, and I gasp when my drink sloshes out on me. I wipe my face and salt from my forearm stings my eyes.

“You in a hurry?” I move beside Tug at the helm, doing my best to ignore the picture of him and my dad taped to the dash. He hits another wave head on. My already tired quads are getting a workout. “Can you slow it down, Mario Andretti?”

“Your dad liked a good run across the water. Said the South Pacific was the most beautiful water in the world.” His smile tells me he agrees.

He glances at the two, grass-skirt-clad figures with cheesy grins in the photo before he turns to me and sobers. The lines around his mouth match those at his temples, but no words escape. His dark eyes hold a pain I feel in my chest. He runs his thick fingers through his hair, their yellowed nails peeking out from his still dark mop before focusing on our route back to the shop at a more reasonable speed.

“Your dad was a good man,” he says over the noise.

The water has not quenched the dryness in my throat. I hide my discomfort by returning his nod of earlier and lowering my gaze. My dad’s been gone for five years today. Memories of the man who raised me to live up to our family name float away on the swells beneath the boat with each passing year.

“What’s on the docket for the week? I saw your bag at the shop. You rent your place again?” he asks. His jovial tone tells me I’m forgiven for my attitude earlier.

“It’s about the only money I’m making these days. I’m happy to sleep above the shop if it means paying the bills. Airbnb is a godsend.”

“Who is it this time? Please tell me it isn’t a celebrity. Too much coddling for me.”

“No. Just some rich guy who requested a private charter for a week-long dive excursion. Scheduled through his secretary. No personal connection, just a fax of his diving credentials and proof of insurance. Who does that?”

“Someone who either likes to remain anonymous or is used to having everything done for them.”

Tug slips the SCUBA Deux into the dock, and I jump out and secure the lines, then climb back in to grab my gear. We work well together, each fulfilling our duties with precision. My dad left me many things, but his greatest gift was the friendship he had with Tug. He’s been like an uncle to me.

Tug hands me the last tank and joins me on the dock. “What time in the morning?”

“I’ll see you here at five-thirty. He wants to dive the shipwreck at Tenebre off Oli Oli.”

“Treasure hunter, eh? You know I can’t get close to shore, right? That’s a long swim in rough waters.”

“I know.” I smirk, and Tug’s deep belly laugh follows us up the incline to the shop.

“The last time you pulled that with a stodgy, old businessman, he wasn’t able to dive the following day.”

“I seem to remember that. But since this client’s paid for the week, it’s his choice if he cancels. Not mine.” I feel a twinge of guilt at my saucy attitude. I’m a professional. I should do whatever it takes to make this client’s week of diving a true adventure. Sorry, Lord. Forgive my thoughtlessness.

“You feel okay about this guy? I mean, you don’t have to take a customer if you feel uncomfortable.”

I’m not one to turn down a full boat charter for one person, nor the extra this guy has paid for me as his private guide, but I do like to get to know whom I’m dealing with. Money and power often create mavericks and dare devils. Neither are good for diving.

“His credentials are good, but I promise to give him the once over before we head out. I have no qualms about saying no if he’s not capable of the dive.”

We allow silence to fill the air as we finish securing everything from the day. The gentle sound of water splashing up against the boat hull is soothing, and I turn to give Tug a grin but sober when I see the twisted hat in his hands that has once again captured his attention.

“I just want you to know your dad would be proud of you.” Tug clears his throat.

“Thanks, Tug.” Any more words and they’ll be accompanied by tears.

Tug slaps the mauled hat on his thigh then places it on his head.

“Now, how about a Mahi Mahi sandwich and those crispy taro chips you like?” he says with too much cheer.

His offer is tempting since I’m hungry, but tonight I want to be alone.

“Thanks. Can I take a raincheck?”

The lines around his eyes deepen, and one hand runs down his weathered face. It scrapes across the rough stubble on his jaw. My hand looks small on his broad shoulder, and his ridiculously loud floral shirt is soft under my palm. His shoulder muscle tightens at the unfamiliar gesture meant to convey what I cannot say. A sheen covers his eyes, and I leave him to his memories. I feel his gaze on me as I walk away, then turn when I reach the door to the shop.

“See you in the morning,” I say, then unlock the shop door.

The SCUBA Deux Adventures sign flickers as I enter, its neon fading in and out. Island residents are home for the evening, causing high electricity demand. I’m used to brownouts but having little to no airflow this evening means another sleepless night.

Photos of Tug and Dad line the wall behind the shop counter. Dad’s blond hair gets thinner, and Tug’s girth gets thicker as my eyes move from left to right over these cherished moments in their history. My heart aches at my loss, and I second-guess my decision to say no to Tug’s kind offer for dinner. He’s missing Dad, too.

My gaze stops on the picture of them in something other than their ridiculous choice of outerwear. Tug is in his native dress, and Dad is in his Sunday best. Their goofy grins are the same as Dad holds a paper in one hand and shakes Tug’s with the other.

Thirty years of friendship ends with a single image of Dad in the water displaying both thumbs up. Behind him are rocky outcroppings and crashing waves. My heart clenches knowing tomorrow I will be going to this very location. 

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