I turned my head to find him looking forward, his eyes tracking the movement of one moray easing through the rockwork, its body appearing and disappearing through shadow.
“In California?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He shifted the crutch beneath his arm, wincing faintly before smoothing the expression away. “Not, like, competitively or anything. I just liked it. There were places near home where I could go out early when the water was calm, and everything felt…” He trailed off, searching for the right wordwith a small frown between his brows. “Quiet, I guess. But not empty quiet. More like all the noise got filtered into something I could understand.”
I knew better than to speak too quickly.
Cove was offering me something.
Not forgiveness.
Not trust.
Something smaller and perhaps more dangerous because it had emerged before he could fully censor himself.
So I waited.
He continued after a moment, voice lower. “I haven’t gone since getting to Australia. Which is stupid, considering, you know, it’sAustralia. But I didn’t have gear at first, and then I was busy, and then I didn’t really know people well enough to go with anyone, and you’re not supposed to free-dive alone.” His mouth twisted. “At least, you really shouldn’t.”
“No,” I agreed, uncomfortable at the idea of him doing just that. “You should not.”
He glanced at me. “Don’t sound so intense about it.”
“You just told me you have a history of entering the ocean and voluntarily limiting your access to air.”
“That’s certainly one way to describe free-diving if your goal is to make it sound horrifying.”
“It is accurate.”
He shrugged. “It’s also beautiful.”
I watched him as he said it.
The change was immediate.
Not dramatic, not obvious enough for most people to catch, but there in the slight unfurling of his posture, the shift of focus from the room around him to some memory of water I could not see. His face altered when he spoke of being beneath the surface. The lingering fear did not completely disappear, but it steppedback from him for a moment, replaced by that same immersion I had first seen what felt like a lifetime ago.
He was never more himself than when speaking of water.
“What’s beautiful about it?” I asked.
His brows lifted faintly, like he had not expected the question to be sincere. “It feels honest,” he said.
Honest.
Of all the words he could have chosen.
I remained silent.
Cove noticed, and a bitter awareness crossed his face. “I know. Weird word choice right now.”
“No,” I said. “I understand.”
He laughed without humor. “Really? Do you?”
“Yes.”
His eyes moved back to me, skeptical and tired. “Okay. Then explain.”
