My Fiancé Tore Off My Oxygen Mask Underwater

At two in the morning, the villa was drowning in silence.

From above the patio, I watched Jaxton Berry sit alone in the dark.

A single glass of bourbon sat on the glass coffee table in front of him. The ice had melted hours ago, leaving a pale, watery ring on the surface. Jaxton didn’t drink. He just leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, staring out at the black Pacific.

The waves below hit the cliffs with a low, steady rumble.

A screen door clicked. Porter Wilson stepped onto the lanai in gray sweatpants and bare feet. He looked pale in the faint moonlight, his hair messy from sleep.

He froze when he saw Jaxton.

For ten long seconds, neither of them said a word.

Jaxton slowly raised his head. He looked straight at Porter. It wasn't an angry look. It was worse. It was the tired, hollow look of a man who knew a car was about to crash and was choosing not to grab the wheel.

Porter swallowed hard. His throat bobbed. He didn’t ask why Jaxton was awake. He didn’t mention the dive, or Lachlan, or me. He just held Jaxton’s gaze until the weight of it became too much.

Then Porter looked down at his own feet. He turned around without making a sound, slid the door shut, and disappeared back into the villa.

Jaxton didn’t call after him.

He stood up and walked to the edge of the deck. He gripped the wooden railing with both hands, his knuckles turning white against the dark cedar. His chest rose and fell in shallow, jagged breaths.

I hovered close enough to see the sweat glistening on his temples.

I knew that posture. Jaxton had spent six years as a Navy rescue swimmer. He knew what drowning looked like. He knew what lung trauma did to a body under three atmospheres of pressure.

Most of all, he knew the feeling in his gut. It was the exact same sick, heavy dread he had felt eight years ago in Coronado, the night before a routine training drill went bad and his dive partner never came back up.

Jaxton squeezed the railing until his forearms trembled.

He knew. Every instinct in his trained body was screaming that tomorrow was a disaster waiting to happen.

But Lachlan paid for the boat. Lachlan booked the villa. Lachlan was the golden boy everyone wanted to impress.

Jaxton stared out into the dark water, took one last breath of night air, and said nothing.

***

By eight the next morning, the sky was a bright, cruel blue.

Our twin-engine dive boat cut through the swell off the Nā Pali Coast. The red volcanic cliffs shot straight out of the water like jagged teeth. Sea spray whipped across the deck, smelling of diesel fuel and salt.

I stood on the starboard side, checking my harness with stiff, wooden fingers. My heart was pounding hard against my ribs.

On the opposite bench, Arlet was completely in her element.

She wore a sleek black wetsuit with gold seams. Her hair was braided back tight and neat. Strapped to her right wrist was the new Garmin dive computer.

She tapped the screen with the tip of her finger. The device beeped twice, crisp and clear.

“Decompression profile loaded,” Arlet said aloud, smiling at her screen.

She turned the casing slightly, checking the tiny, pinhole camera lens built into the top edge of the bezel. She adjusted the wide-angle setting, checking the HD video feed on the digital face. It was clean. Crisp. Ready to capture every single frame in ultra-high resolution.

Across the deck, Lachlan was adjusting his weight belt. He looked over at Arlet and gave her an approving nod.

Then Arlet looked up. Her eyes found mine.

Her face softened instantly into an expression of warm, sisterly warmth. She stood up, steadying herself against the boat's roll with practiced ease, and walked across the deck to my side.

“Hey, Margot,” she said, her voice dripping with sweet concern.

I pulled my strap tight. “Yeah?”

“I was thinking,” she said, tilting her head. She laid a gentle, sun-warmed hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t we buddy up for the descent?”

I looked at her hand. Then I looked at her eyes. They were wide and bright, hiding nothing and everything all at once.

“Lachlan is leading the route,” Arlet added, talking fast and soft. “Jaxton and Porter are taking the sweep. I can stay right next to you. If anything feels off, or if your chest gets tight, just signal me. I’ll be your wingman.”

It was poetry. It sounded like pure protection.

Behind us, Lachlan smiled. “That’s a great idea, Arlet. Margot, stay with her. Don’t go wandering off.”

I didn't answer him.

I reached down and touched the steel casing of Cristian’s watch on my left wrist. The metal was cool against my skin.

*Breathe, and never stop rising.*

I pulled my mask down over my face. I bit into the rubber mouthpiece of my regulator and tasted the dry, metallic air from the tank.

I turned around, sat on the edge of the gunwale, and let myself fall backward into the dark blue sea.

From above the water, my ghost watched Arlet roll in right after me.

She didn't stay beside me. The moment we submerged, she kicked her long carbon fins and slid three feet behind my left shoulder.

She positioned herself behind me because a camera pointed at my back captures everything in front of it.