Wicked Nights (Men of Discovery Island 2)

He was pathetic.

“How’d it happen?”

He didn’t have to ask what the “it” was.

“One bad mission and now I can’t dive.” The words hung in the air behind them. “I can jump off the cliff, but when I descend...it’s all shit.” He wasn’t sure what he expected her to do. She couldn’t fix this, either, and it was his mess anyhow.

“I noticed.” When he risked a look at her, she didn’t look pitying—just accepting.

He scrubbed a hand over his head. Daeg and Tag certainly knew, as well. Apparently the Fiesta cruise execs were the only ones who hadn’t gotten the memo.

“Maybe we can work through it.” She bumped her shoulder lightly against his.

“Some things can’t be fixed,” he said. And some things had to be said.

“We’ll try.” She threaded her fingers through his and tugged him forward. Screw it. He let her.

“Not being able to dive is a pretty big liability for a dive master.”

The beach rose up before them as she murmured her agreement—and he was fairly certain she owed her curse jar another round of quarters—and strode toward the water.

“Sit,” she demanded, dropping to the sand right above the waterline.

Since she didn’t let go of his hand, he followed. Okay, he was also curious to see where she’d take this conversation and, since he wasn’t diving today, he had plenty of time. He sincerely doubted she could do anything about his unwelcome phobia but he already knew Piper didn’t know the meaning of the word quit.

Piper...

She’d taken a devastating hit to her knee, a career-ending injury. She didn’t look unhappy, though. On the contrary. She’d healed and then she’d come back to Discovery Island and started over. He didn’t know if he had that in him, but he admired her tenacity. She made up her mind about what she wanted and she went for it. Her head was definitely on straight, unlike his. Which made him wonder why she was out here with him. If she hadn’t known before, she knew now. He wouldn’t be leading any diving trips for the Fiesta Cruise Lines’ folks.

“What exactly bothers you about diving?” Their hands, he couldn’t help but notice, were still connected. The waves washed in, swirling around their feet before retreating. “You clearly don’t have a problem with getting wet. And you used up all the hot water at my place, by the way.”

“Nope.” He was A-OK with that part of diving. And with showering at her place.

“So, which specific part don’t you like?” She wiggled a little, digging into the sand with her butt, and the move had her shoulder brushing against his. Then, because apparently that wasn’t torture enough, she reached up and unzipped her wet suit. The black Neoprene rubber parted, revealing a sun-kissed V of skin. The daisies on her bikini top winked mockingly at him.

He gritted his teeth. “I panic when I submerge,”

“That must have been one heck of a mission.” Score one for Piper.

When he didn’t say anything, though, she poked him in the side. “Confession’s good for the soul.”

He’d never believed that. “The mission went...south.” She poked him again. “Jesus, Piper. You’re not helping.”

“I’d like to.” Her voice turned unexpectedly serious. “But you have to let me, Cal.”

Right.

“Have you discussed this with Daeg and Tag? Or with your family? A trained professional?”

“No,” he said curtly. “This is something I have to get over. It’s not something anyone else can fix.”

“The first time I climbed the diving tower after my accident, I told myself everything would be fine. A nice, easy forward pike. Nothing too complicated or twisty. The minute I made my approach, though, I knew I was in trouble. My knee didn’t have any intention of cooperating. My power leg took the hit in the accident, and I didn’t get any height off the board. I told myself it was just one dive, so I tried it again. Same story.” She shrugged. “Every time I climbed the tower.”

“So you quit.” As soon as the words were out, he wished he could take it back. A look of pain flashed across her face, quickly masked. Piper didn’t like it when other people saw her hurting. She’d been like that the day he’d pulled her out of the water, too, insisting she was fine even though she’d been out of her head with pain and shock.

“I thought of it as moving on.”

“I’m not ready to let go of this,” he said quietly.

Acting on impulse, he reached down and touched her knee. She’d chosen to wear a shorty rather than a full wet suit, and for the first time, he wondered if she’d known there was no way he was diving. The scar on her knee was a thick, twisted ridge. No matter how much sun she got, the scar tissue would always stay white. He ran a finger along the side of her leg.