Brent: Military Heroes (The One I Want Series Book 2)

by Ellie Masters

  Sudden vertigo hit him. He wobbled out of position, disorientated. Feeling light-headed, he paused his descent. Stretching his hand out, he spread his fingers and wiggled his hand back and forth, giving the trouble signal to Donald.

  Donald returned with the okay symbol, then followed with a hook of his forefinger. That turned it into a question. He was asking if everything was okay.

  Brent shook his head.

  Vertigo made his sense of up and down go haywire. The lightheadedness intensified and a queasiness settled in his gut. Violent retching caught him unaware. He simultaneously gagged and coughed, fighting not to spit out his regulator and only source of air. The slightly positive flow of gas into the regulator helped somewhat.

  Looking at Donald, he signaled trouble again and gave a thumbs-up. He was calling the dive.

  Every instinct told him to race to the surface, but he forced himself to ascend at the appropriate speed, nothing too fast that would place him at risk for injury. Since they had only started the dive, he decided to forgo the safety stop, but as he approached the surface, things got worse.

  He could no longer tell which direction was up or down and couldn't follow his bubbles. The queasiness in his stomach had him retching, a dangerous situation underwater where he depended on keeping an airtight seal with his regulator to avoid sucking in water and drowning.

  He did that twice and fought to breathe while simultaneously coughing as he inadvertently inhaled salt water.

  Donald came to his aid, taking control of his ascent. Donald held the regulator in Brent’s mouth, making certain he couldn’t spit it out with his coughing. When they breached the surface, he spit out the regulator and gasped for air. Donald spun him to his back, inflated his vest, and buddy swam him to the swim platform.

  "Brie!" Donald called out. "Help!"

  Brent stared into a bright sky, gasping and gagging, retching and struggling, as disorientation overwhelmed him.

  Donald took off all of his gear, clipping it off on a line. Brent's world tilted as Donald lifted him out of the water while Brie dragged him onto the dive platform.

  "What's wrong?" She unzipped his wetsuit and yanked it off his shoulders. Placing a finger to the pulse in his neck, she turned frightened eyes to him. "Brent?"

  When he didn't answer, she slapped his cheeks.

  "Answer me." She slapped his cheeks again, this time harder.

  His mind cleared and he blinked against the brightness of the sky, but he couldn't find his words.

  "Donald?" The pitch in her voice rose with concern.

  "I don't know. We were headed down and he started to jerk, then gave the trouble sign. Next I know he's choking and gagging, and heading back up. He completely lost it. I had to take over."

  "Well, help me get him to the deck. I can't lift him."

  "Is he breathing?" Donald asked.

  There was a slight pause. Brent tried to speak, but he couldn't make sense of where he was, what was happening, or why the world kept spinning. Nauseous and disoriented, a heaviness settled in his limbs. He couldn’t move. Donald gripped him beneath the shoulders and Brie tugged at his feet, lifting his ankles and spreading his legs.

  The world shifted again, rocking back and forth. Donald's face loomed over his, blocking out the sun, while his legs wrapped around Brie's waist. Why would his legs be around her waist?

  "Get him to the deck," Brie huffed with exertion. "Lay him down and get the oxygen kit."

  The back of his head thunked against something hard. Was that the deck? There was more tugging and pulling as Brie stripped him out of his wetsuit. Something smooshed over his face. Cool, dry, air blew into his nose and eyes, making him pull away. He batted at the thing covering his face.

  “Hold still!” The stark terror in Brie’s voice was the only thing which made him drop his hand.

  “Breathe. There you go. Just breathe.” She brushed the wet strands of his hair away from his face and kissed his forehead. “Just breathe.”

  “What happened?” His head slowly cleared and the nausea receded.

  “You tell me?” She hovered over him, brows drawn tight and chin trembling.

  “I don’t know. I just got sick.” Weakness pulled at him. He could barely move.

  Donald leaned over him. “It had to be the tank air. I’m checking the compressor. It may have been that filter, but I changed out the bad one. I’m so fucking sorry, dude. You could have died.”

  Brent pressed a hand to his forehead, or tried to. As weak as he was, his hand flopped and he smacked himself in the eye.

  “Can you get me to my cabin?” He pushed the oxygen mask off his face.

  “You need to breathe that.” Brie hunched over him, her face lined with worry.

  “I’m already feeling better. If it was bad air, it should get better with time.”

  She tried to put the mask back to his face, but he slapped it off.

  “I’m good. I already feel ten times better.” He turned, trying to find Donald. “Can you take me to my cabin. I don’t think I can make it myself.”

  “Sure thing.” Donald helped him to sit and then to stand. He slung one of Brent’s arms over his shoulder and together they managed to stagger down to Brent’s cabin.

  Brie followed, fussing the whole way and waving the oxygen mask in his face. When Donald put him on his bed, Brie slapped the oxygen mask back on his face.

  “Breathe.” She leaned over him and brushed his temple lightly as she brought the mask to his face.

  “I’m feeling better.”

  “I don’t care. Breathe!” She thrust a finger at Donald. “And you! Go take a look at that compressor. Find out what happened.”

  “I’m on it.” But Donald didn’t move. He sat at the edge of the bed and gripped Brent’s hand. “I’m sorry, dude. I really am.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Brent reassured his friend, feeling awful that Donald might blame himself for an accident.

  “I’m going to take a look at that filter.”

  When Donald left, Brie flung her arms around Brent’s chest and pressed her cheek to his face. All he could feel was the wetness of her tears and the gut wrenching realization that he could have died. He lifted an arm to wrap around her, but he was still incapacitated and his arm flopped.

  They sat there for a few minutes, Brie sobbing and him struggling. The entire room spun, leaving him dazed and confused.

  A dark shape filled the doorway, blocking the light from the hall.

  “Well? What did you find?” Brie’s cutting comments pierced the air.

  Donald held something in his hand. “It was the filter. I’m so sorry. Somehow oil got in it and I didn’t realize it when I changed it out. I’ve drained all the tanks and replaced the filter. I have tanks filling now.”

  “He can’t dive.” Brie’s screech made him flinch.

  “How do you feel?” Donald ignored Brie, and focused on Brent instead.

  “Weak, but maybe a little better.”

  “Brie, can I have a minute alone with Brent?”

  She cast her worried gaze to him, not wanting to leave, but he gave a soft nod.

  “It’s okay. I’m feeling better.”

  “I’m getting you some water. I’ll be right back.” Reluctantly she left, but not before planting a kiss on his lips.

  Donald shut the door. “Dude, I can’t say enough how sorry I am.”

  “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

  “We need to talk. You’re in no condition to dive, but we need to get this done quickly. The longer we sit here, the more exposed we become.”

  “I hear you.”

  “Can Brie go down with me? You said she’s competent, and I already showed her how the lift bags work. I know what needs to be done, the photos and cataloging. I can do it.”

  “I know you can.”

  “What do you say? Do we ask Brie or not?”

  “Ask me what?” Brie had snuck back into his room, opening the door with barely a sound.<
br />
  Donald breathed out a deep sigh. “I wanted to know if you would dive with me, at least until Brent feels better.”

  “Is it really that important it can’t wait a day?” Her gaze cast to Brent, then shifted to Donald.

  “It’s okay, Brie. We really shouldn’t wait. I’ll be fine. The two of you can head down.”

  Chapter 18

  Brie

  Brie did not want to go on a dive with Donald. Why would Brent consider such a thing? Especially when her place was by his side.

  "I'll prep the gear." Donald turned to the door. "There's no rush, but our plan was to get another couple dives in by the end of the day."

  "I just don't understand why we can't wait until tomorrow?" The whiny tone in her voice made her cringe.

  Brent and Donald exchanged a look; it held a sense of urgency she hadn't picked up on before. Brent mentioned needing to secure their find, but she'd never gotten the impression time was of the essence.

  "I'll see you up on deck, Brie. I can set up your tank if you want."

  "I'll set my own gear, thank you." She tried to keep the harshness out of her tone and failed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you."

  "It's okay. I'll just give you two a moment alone." He left Brent's cabin and gently closed the door behind him.

  Brent took her hand in his or tried to. Despite what he said, he'd been hit hard by the foul gas in his tank. Weak and shaking, his grip did not give her any reassurance that he felt any better. Not to mention he was violating his rule about leaving someone on board while divers were in the water. She didn't think an incapacitated man counted as sufficient protection against the ship coming off its anchors.

  "You sure you want me to do this?" She cupped his hand and held it against her cheek. The saddest part was he didn't have the strength to lift his hand himself. "We should wait and let you recover."

  His eyes pinched. "I'll call my friend in the Coast Guard. It'll take a bit, but I think I have enough to establish our find. It'll take a second before I can get up to the bridge, but I'll call and get them to come.”

  "Are you sure—“

  “Yes, I'm sure. Go ahead and do the dive with Donald. I'd love to see what else is buried there. Just make sure to photograph before you remove anything. You can dig, but before you move anything, pictures first. Got it?"

  "Got it."

  "Hey, it's going to be okay." He flashed her a weak smile. "I'm going to be okay."

  There was nothing to do but trust him, although her gut told her otherwise. She believed in Brent and trusted his instincts. The accident had been a close call and she knew how Brent felt.

  When she breathed that tank of bad air, she felt like crap for the rest of the day. It had taken months for her to dive again. There was a great deal of fear associated with nearly losing it underwater. Perhaps this was Brent's way of telling her he felt the same. An accident like that could shake the most experienced diver's confidence.

  "I'll go, but only because you insist." She tried to sound happy, even if she had to lie.

  "That's my girl." He patted her thigh. "I'm already feeling better. I'll be okay."

  She leaned down to kiss his forehead and then gave him a light kiss on the lips.

  "You promise?"

  "I promise."

  "Okay. I'm going to change and grab my gear." She squeezed his hand, then left him to recover in bed, alone.

  On her way back, she passed Donald's cabin and got an idea. Brent wouldn't have to get to the bridge to call his friend. He could use the satellite phone and do it from his cabin. That would keep him from having to navigate the rocking of the ship in his weakened condition. The idea of him wandering around the boat, unsteady and weak, did not sit well with her. She grabbed the phone.

  She popped into Brent's cabin and found him already asleep. A quick shake to his shoulder and he roused easily, if not a bit groggily.

  "Hey, you fell asleep."

  "I'm a bit tired."

  "Well, I thought maybe you'd passed out again."

  "Not passed out, just exhausted. You need to get upstairs. I'm sure Donald is wondering where you are."

  "He knows exactly where I am. He left to give us time together."

  "He's a good guy." Brent closed his eyes, and started to drift off again.

  "Hey, sleepyhead."

  He peeked at her. "Yes?"

  "Here." She thrust the satellite phone at him.

  "What's this?" His brows drew together.

  "A satellite phone silly. I got it from Donald's cabin. This way, you don't have to go to the bridge. You can call from here."

  He gave a slow blink, looking confused, but then seemed to drift off again.

  She figured he was still disorientated. Sleep was the best medicine for him right now. Not wanting to bother him anymore, she tucked the covers around him and left the satellite phone where he would see it when he woke. Then she headed up to find Donald.

  "How is he?" Donald glanced up from prepping for their dive. He had his tank hooked up and was checking his instrument cluster and regulators.

  Brie walked over to her gear, stopping to put on her wetsuit before setting up her tank.

  "Exhausted. He's sleeping now." She gave a slow shake of her head. "I'm worried."

  "Brent's tough. Don't worry too much. He always seems to come out on top."

  "Does he?"

  "Yeah."

  "I sense a little something there." Her brows pinched together.

  "Old history, to be honest, nothing that matters now." He brought her tank over. "Thanks for agreeing to go on the dive."

  "I didn't want to, but it seems important to him. He wanted to call his buddy in the Coast Guard. Something about them coming to help you guys secure the site. He thinks he has enough to establish a real claim."

  "The china is more than enough. That with the couple coins and the silver, although I'm not sure he should be heading to the bridge to call though. I'll do it when we get back."

  "Oh, you don't have to worry about that. I gave him the satellite phone from your cabin."

  "Excuse me?"

  "I know I shouldn't have pried. It beeped when I was down below."

  "You shouldn't have done that." His lips pressed together and he glanced back at the stairs leading below decks.

  "I'm sorry for being nosey." She struggled to put on her tank and gear.

  "Let me help you with that." He lifted her tank and vest while she put her arms in. "Got it?"

  "Yes. Thank you." The weight of her gear settled on her shoulders and back and she moved to the end of the dive platform while he donned his gear. "Ready Freddy?" She grinned as she used his and Brent's corny phrase.

  "It's a deal, Steele." He responded with less enthusiasm than she expected, but then they were all a little tense. Dive accidents always brought a heightened concern to the next dive. She felt some of that anxiety and had checked her equipment twice before putting it on.

  She took a giant stride off the dive platform and plunged into the welcoming embrace of the sea. Donald followed moments later after she cleared the area behind the dive platform.

  They performed a secondary buddy check at the surface and then gave the signal to begin the dive.

  The very first feeling she experienced was the same each and every dive. It was why she loved scuba diving so much. From the moment the water closed over her head, absolute freedom embraced her as gravity released its hold on her body. Underwater, she felt like she was flying over an alien landscape where she could explore a whole new world.

  Her gear allowed her to breathe underwater so efficiently she sometimes forgot that she couldn't actually breathe the water. As with every dive, calmness overcame her. Everything slowed down. She didn't swim as much as she glided. Her heartbeat slowed and all her problems and worries were left behind. Underwater, she became a part of something indescribable.

  A state of deep relaxation took over as she focused on her breathing. She heard nothing other than
the pull on her regulator and the bubbles streaming out with each exhalation.

  Donald glided beside her, hands clasped to his chest, knees bent in perfect posture, as he aligned himself facing down to the seafloor.

  They had a job to do but during their descent she admired the beautiful, natural environment that could only be experienced from beneath the turbulence of the waves overhead.

  Donald dropped to hover a few feet above the grid he and Brent laid out on their first dive. He looked at her, perhaps giving her a moment to take it all in, then held his hand up, signaling Okay.

  She returned the signal, letting him know she was fine.

  Then she followed him over to a square which had been excavated. Donald sank until he hovered mere inches above the area. He waved over the area, letting the movement of the water stir up the sand. He dug in the small pit, then pointed at the sieve tubing.

  She brought the end over to him. Not familiar with how it worked, she handed over the rig and paid close attention to what he did. Making exaggerated movements, he showed her what to do and how to work it. She gave a nod, letting him know she understood. Communication underwater could be both incredibly efficient and tremendously frustrating because divers had to rely on gestures and signs; however, she found it surprisingly easy to follow Donald’s commands.

  He turned on the sieve, removed all the air from his BCD to make himself heavier, and braced his fins on the sand. With a rumble, felt more than heard, he sucked sand out from the hole. When he stopped, he waved her over to see what he uncovered.

  A stack of silver ingots appeared. She pulled them out of the small pit, removing them one by one, handing them up to Donald who placed them in the tray he had sitting nearby. Then she grabbed a stack and fell into the pit when she tried to pick it up. She glanced at Donald, because this stack was thicker than the others.

  They’d found gold!

  He placed his hands together, a slow clap, and reached out for a fist bump.

  They’d done it.

  The next fifteen minutes became an exercise in brute force. Donald manned the sieve, sucking sand from the adjoining squares of the grid as they exposed more and more of the gold bars. She set them in the sturdy tray and watched the pile grow. They had less than twenty minutes of air remaining when Donald pointed to the next adjacent square with the heavy cannon resting on top. To get to the gold underneath, they would have to lift the cannon and move it.