Chapter 42
Fisher
Present Day
I know I shouldn’t be diving in this area, especially alone, but I needed to be here, needed to be somewhere that reminded me of Lucy since I can’t actually be with Lucy right now. I know she needs space to figure things out, but all this time away from her is killing me. How am I supposed to convince her that we’re meant to be together if I can’t touch her and kiss her and show her how much I love her? Sticking that note and picture in her mailbox first thing this morning was my last ditch effort.
The random, gurgling whoosh of my breathing apparatus forcing air into my lungs every few seconds is the only sound filling my ears at the bottom of the ocean. It’s calm and peaceful and, other than Lucy, it has always been the one thing that helps clear my head when I’m distracted or feeling uneasy. I love being down here, sharing space with nothing but fish and coral. I lost track of time as soon as I submerged myself, but going by the faint beep of the alarm on my tank signaling I only have about thirty minutes left of air, I’ve been down here for quite a while. Even though I’ve already gone through almost four tanks, I’m still not ready to surface. I don’t want to come up and deal with the reality that I’m still waiting for the woman I love to decide if I’m worth the risk. I want to be worth it to her, dammit.
Everything was going so perfectly. We got past so many hurdles that I never imagined anything else could possibly fuck it up. I’d been sneaking away from her every chance I got to work on our cottage, fixing the bedroom door I kicked open the day I lost my shit and Bobby helped me paint and move the furniture he’d put into storage for me after I went to rehab back into the house. I wanted to surprise Lucy, to drive her out to our home, get down on my knees and beg her to be my wife again. I wanted to give her the wedding rings I still carry everywhere and ask her to spend her life with me and to love me forever. I’d finally gotten everything finished the day she went to the beach with Ellie and fucking Melanie decided to spew her bullshit.
I should’ve spent more time talking to Lucy about what didn’t happen that night at Barney’s. I should’ve done everything in my power to reassure her that she has been the only woman for me since the first time I kissed her. No other woman could ever compare, and I wish she could see herself the way I do. I wish she could see how beautiful and perfect she is to me. When Ellie repeated the shit Melanie said to Lucy, it’s the first time in my life I’ve ever wanted to strangle a woman. Melanie, with her fake tits and fake hair and her feelings of entitlement about everything around her make her the ugliest person in the world to me.
The rage I turned on her erased that haughty look from her face for the first time in my memory. Melanie cried like a baby, but I didn’t feel a bit sorry for her. She’s gone through so many husbands that I don’t think she has any idea what true love really is. I fucked her once in high school and the bitch is so convinced of her own appeal that she truly believed I was pining away for her ass almost fifteen years later. One drunken mistake last year that lasted less than five minutes was enough to convince her that I was ready for seconds. I told her in no uncertain terms that I wouldn’t fuck her again if she were the last woman on earth. I reminded her that it’s ALWAYS been Lucy and it always will be, and I told her if she didn’t stay away from both of us, I would make her life more fucking miserable than it already is. She tried to apologize, but I told her to fuck off. She’d already done enough damage, and a few words of contrition weren’t going to fix anything.
Lucy made offhand comments about not being pretty enough or good enough for me when we were younger, but I never imagined she would still carry some of those insecurities to this day. I didn’t realize what happened at Barney’s would still be festering inside of her, just waiting for a chance to boil over and ruin everything we’d worked so hard to build. Why didn’t I spend more time explaining to her what was going through my head that night? We talked about it once and I foolishly thought that was enough. I should have known her better. I DO know her better, dammit, and I should have realized she’d need more from me. A woman who believes her man has cheated on her doesn’t get over something like that easily, no matter how many words of reassurance you throw at her. I should have held her face in my hands and looked into her eyes and told her NO ONE could ever make me forget the vows and promises I made to her. Even when I was half out of my mind with flashbacks and whiskey, the very thought of being inside another woman was enough to make me physically ill.
I also can’t let go of the betrayal I felt over Lucy going behind my back and talking to that fuck face ex of hers to make a deal to save the inn. Naturally, my father was the one to share that little tidbit with me when he found out through whatever investment grapevine he keeps his ear glued to. I don’t understand why she refuses to trust me or accept my assistance, but more than willing to put her faith in him and allow him to help her. All I’ve ever wanted to do is protect her and make sure she’s happy, why can’t she see that?
It’s being here, under the water, where everything is calm and beautiful, that helps me realize it’s all trivial bullshit in the grand scheme of things. I almost lost her forever. Do I really want to engage in a pissing contest with her ex? Does it even matter where the money comes from, as long as she gets what she wants? And what right do I have to bitch about her lack of trust, considering I served her with divorce papers and left her twisting in the wind for an entire year after I broke her fucking heart?
When the alarm on my tank starts beeping frantically, I set aside my thoughts and kick my legs through the water, beginning my assent up to the surface. The closer I get, the less calm the water becomes. I can see it churning angrily far above my head and I wonder what the hell has been happening up top since I’ve been down here. It takes a lot of extra effort to kick through the water and the current is so strong that it keeps trying to push me back down and twirl me around. I start to panic a little, realizing I don’t have much air left in my tank. Using every ounce of muscle I have in my body and with the help of the fins on my feet, I kick and practically claw my way to the surface, my head popping out of the water just as a giant wave crashes over top of me and pushes me back under. I tumble around, ass over end, and it takes me a few seconds to right myself and figure out which is up.
What the fuck is happening? I’m far enough away from the shore that there shouldn’t be any waves like that out here.
I kick off as hard as I can again and I’m prepared when I pop above the surface and another wave comes at me. I start swimming to shore as fast as I can, trying to stay on top of the waves instead of letting them overtake me and push me back under. The sky is almost pitch black above me and rain and wind batter the surface of the ocean all around me as I swim. I spit the regulator out of my mouth and grit my teeth, the muscles in my arms burning with each stroke I make through the swirling, angry water.
It takes me twice as long as normal to make it to the shore and when I do, I collapse face first into the sand, realizing I lost both of my fins somewhere in the water. The wind and rain beat so hard against me that it’s a struggle to even get up on all fours, especially with the heavy weight of my tank and harness system on my back. I quickly unbuckle myself from the pack and slip it off of me, letting it drop to the sand as I continue crawling across the beach, panting so hard that I almost can’t catch my breath. My legs and arms are screaming at me to take a break, but one look over my shoulder tells me I need to keep moving. I’ve never seen the ocean so crazy and I can’t believe I had no idea what was happening up here on the surface while I was down below.
Pushing myself up to my feet, I stay hunched over, covering my face as best as I can from the wind and the bruising rain to try and see where I’m going. Looking up, I notice the current pushed me a long way from where I parked my truck in front of the walkway to the beach. I’m not about to try and make a run for it when I’m closer to the lighthouse. Digging my feet into the sand, I move my body as fast as I can against the wind, finding the small walkway that will lead me right up to the door of the lighthouse.
It takes me several seconds of cursing and struggling to get the old, rusted door to open and when I do, the wind rips the doorknob out of my hand and slams the door against the side of the structure. I hustle inside, using my bodyweight to pull the door closed behind me before collapsing in a heap on the black and white checkered floor. I stay on my back, trying to catch my breath and staring up at the spiral staircase that winds around and around to the very top of the huge lighthouse. Trip and I retiled the floor years ago and added a heating system to the place in case tourists wanted to come out here in the off-season and look around, and I am more than thankful that this building is somewhat finished inside. The floor is smooth and dry and isn’t filled with puddles and there isn’t water dripping down on top of me like you’d have in some other, older lighthouses. We’ve reinforced this place as much as we could over the years and even with the howling wind and rain beating against the side of the building, I know it can withstand anything.
Panic starts to overwhelm me when it hits me that this is the start of a hurricane. I have no idea where Lucy is or if she’s safe. I don’t care what the hell it’s doing out there or how dangerous it is, I can’t stay here for more than a few minutes to take a breather. I have to get to my truck and get back to the other side of the island to Lucy. My wetsuit is starting to feel like it’s suffocating me, so I quickly unzip it and slide my arms out, pushing it off my body until I’m wearing nothing but my swim trunks. Within seconds, the motorized sound of the light turning at the top of the structure comes to a halt. The room is pitched into darkness, but thankfully, the back-up generator kicks on and the sconces on the wall flicker back to life, bathing the room in soft light. Unfortunately, the generator isn’t powerful enough to keep the heat going and my skin quickly chills. Thankfully, Trip is a romantic at heart and always makes sure there are a few clean blankets left on a small table by the door for couples that want to come out to the lighthouse, curl up together and enjoy the view. Grabbing one from the pile, I wrap it around myself, cupping my hands around my mouth and blowing warm air against my chilled fingers.
I hear something that sounds like a scream coming from outside and I stop rubbing my hands together to warm them up and strain my ears, listening harder, but all I hear is rain beating against the side of the lighthouse. I shake my head and pull the blanket tighter around my body.
I hear another scream, this one louder than before, almost like the wind carried it right here into the building. Stepping over my wet suit in a pile at my feet, I move towards the door, thinking there’s no way anyone else is out in this weather. If there’s someone out there as stupid as me, however, I can’t just stand here and not help them. I think about putting my wet suit back on to protect me from the elements, but it would take me forever to get that thing back on my body. Another scream rips through the wind and the rain and whoever is out there sounds like they’re in a world of pain. I don’t have time to do anything other than toss the blanket from my shoulders, push open the door and race back out into the storm.