A Star to Steer Her By

by Beth Anne Miller

  “Sorry,” he said, setting me on my feet. “You gonna join us for breakfast?”

  “You guys go ahead. I’d like to just enjoy being on deck without feeling sick.”

  I stood at the bow and closed my eyes. As the ship rose and fell with the movement of the sea, my body naturally found its balance, my knees bending slightly, my calves tightening. I was able to stand there without clutching on to something to keep myself from falling over or staggering as the ship rolled.

  I savored the taste of the salt spray on my tongue, the caress of the sun on my skin, the feel of the wind against my face. I opened my eyes and looked out at the cresting, rolling, diving waves and felt exhilarated. This was why people went to sea and never came back.

  That afternoon, I plunked down on the deck and leaned back against a locker. It was a hot day, and the deck was quiet, with most students and crew not on watch having a siesta down below—a perfect time to get a head start on my Navigation and Seamanship assignment. The captain taught the course, and it was the one I struggled with the most.

  It was pretty tedious stuff, and I felt myself nodding off. Cold water suddenly ran under my foot, and I jumped, my eyes snapping open. And then my mouth went dry.

  Tristan stood a few feet away at the starboard rail, wearing only navy swim trunks. He’d just dumped a bucket of seawater over his head and was soaping up with Lemon Joy from a bottle that stood beside him on the deck. He even lathered up his hair with it. He leaned over the rail and dropped the bucket on its long rope (tied to the rail with a neat bowline knot that I’d done earlier) into the water. I slid my sunglasses down my nose and watched the muscles in his back flex as he hauled up the bucket of water. (Okay, I also checked out the way the wet swim trunks clung to his butt.)

  He turned partially toward me and upended the bucket over his head. And then brought up another bucket and did it again. And then a third. His eyes were closed, and droplets of water clung to his eyelashes. He slicked back his wet hair with both hands, then wrung out the long ends. The sunlight caught upon a drop of water near the center of his chest. I watched, transfixed, as it trickled between his pecs and down his abs before disappearing at his waist, where his low-riding shorts revealed cut hipbones and paler skin beneath his belly button. I could just see the edge of the tattoo on his lower right side, but wasn’t close enough to make out what it was.

  “Hey, Red. I didn’t see you there.”

  The sound of his voice shook me out of my trance. I shoved my sunglasses into place and cleared my throat. “Hey. You look clean,” I said, and then rolled my eyes. Was that really the best I could do?

  “Well, people were starting to veer away from me, so I figured it was time.” Unlikely. He crouched next to me, resting his elbows on his bent knees. “What’re you working on?”

  “Nav-Sea. Trying to get ahead on the reading, but it’s putting me to sleep. It’s the class I struggle with the most,” I admitted. “I mean, I’m okay at the helm, but the actual textbook stuff eludes me.”

  “You’re a hell of a lot better than just ‘okay’ at the helm.”

  My stomach did a little flip-flop. “Thanks. That’s nice of you to say.”

  He tipped down my sunglasses and stared into my eyes. “It’s the truth, Red. You’re by far the best helmsperson among the student crew. And it’s not just me saying that, either. All the crew have noticed. Including the captain.”

  I knew the captain thought I did well at the helm, but he thought I was the best? I smiled, feeling my face flush with pleasure. “Thank you for telling me. It means a lot.” It meant everything, really.

  Tristan continued to look at me, making no move to get up. I licked my lips, unsure what to say. His eyes left mine to stare at my mouth, his own lips parting slightly. “Tristan?” I whispered.

  He blinked, then drew back. “Well, I’ll let you get back to”—he glanced down at the book in my lap—“the scintillating subject of dead reckoning.” The word scintillating was far too sexy coming from his lips.

  He smiled—that slow smile that crinkled his eyes at the corners and caused my heart to beat faster. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, then dropped his hand to my bare shoulder for a moment before rising to his feet. “See ya later, Red,” he said, and walked away.

  What was that? Trying to ignore the flutter in my chest, I returned to dead reckoning, but couldn’t concentrate. I looked over to where he stood chatting with Nick. He’d definitely been flirting with me. But why? It wasn’t like anything could come of it. And even if students and crew were permitted to hook up, what would be the point? In a couple of months, we’d be going our separate ways, and this program would just be a memory.

  Of course, he could just be looking for a fling to pass the time. But I wasn’t here for a fling. I was here to work hard and get a great recommendation from the captain to earn a kickass internship in my very competitive field. I couldn’t risk getting caught ‘flinging’ with the captain’s son.

  No matter how much I wanted to.

  Chapter Eleven

  “All hands on deck, Ari.”

  “Huh?” I squinted into the darkness, trying to see who was peering through the curtain.

  “We’re all hands on deck.” Still no clue who it was. I guess it didn’t matter.

  “Okay, I’m coming.” This was our first “all hands” in the middle of the night—and this was why I always wore a bra or bikini top underneath the T-shirt I slept in. I never knew when I’d be dragged up on deck with no time to get dressed.

  I stumbled into the gray light of dawn and joined the group at midships. “I have good news and bad news,” said Captain MacDougall, who looked wide awake. “Bad news first. We’ve been watching the weather, and there’s a storm off the south-central coast of Puerto Rico that’s directly in our path. There’s no sense in sailing directly into a storm, so we’re heading for Cabo Rojo, a town on the southwest coast of PR. We’ll be there in an hour or so, so I called all hands to prepare for our arrival.” I looked toward the bow and saw the shore lights up ahead.

  “What’s the good news?” asked Steve.

  “Instead of waiting until we get to Dominica to go scuba diving, you’ll have the opportunity to do it this afternoon in Cabo Rojo.”

  My stomach dropped to my knees, and the rushing in my ears drowned out the cheers of my shipmates. Today? No, oh no, I’m not ready yet! I thought I had almost a week left to prepare myself.

  After the captain dismissed us, Tristan joined me at the rail. “You don’t have to dive if you don’t want to,” he said quietly. “No one’s going to force you.”

  He was so kind, so sincere—it was all I could do not to lean against him and try to absorb his strength. I managed a small smile. “I know. But one of the reasons I’m here is to get back in the water. Besides, putting it off isn’t going to make it any easier.” Bold words, but inside I was quaking with terror.

  “Aye, that’s true, but it’s still your choice.” He squeezed my hand and left me to my thoughts.

  I stared at the horizon, watching as the sky and sea seemed to diverge as dawn approached sunrise. The sea was calm, the silence broken only by the occasional cry of a gull. I felt the tranquility of the moment seep into my soul, calming the panic that roared through my veins.

  It was better to get the dive over with now, before I had time to worry about it. I pictured calling home that evening and telling my parents I’d gone back in the water. And maybe I’d even be able to finally talk to my brother—and wouldn’t that be worth everything?

  Several hours later, I stood on a dive boat with my shipmates and some of the crew, my stomach in knots. I began setting up my gear. The mask, fins, snorkel, and wetsuit were mine and the regulator and BCD vest were rented, along with the weight belt. It was too much hassle to lug all my gear from home for just two or three scheduled dives.

  My few attempts at diving may have ended with me paralyzed with fear and shaking in my dive boots, but I could
still assemble my gear in the dark. I attached the regulator to the valve on the tank, secured all its hoses to their fittings on the BCD, and hooked up the power inflator. I checked how much air was in the tank and then set out the rest of my gear.

  “Hey, Red.”

  Tristan stood beside me, a mesh dive bag slung over his shoulder. His hair was pulled back into a low ponytail to keep it out of his way during the dive. I hadn’t seen him wear it completely pulled back like that before. It enhanced his cheekbones and strong jaw—and also made him look really hot.

  “Hey.”

  “You look like you’d rather be keelhauled than do this.”

  Truth. “Do they still keelhaul people?”

  “Well, Marine Classroom strongly discourages it. Creates far too much paperwork. But you’re changing the subject.”

  I sighed. “You know that other than jumping into the water with you the other day, I haven’t been back in the ocean since the…accident. I tried a few times, but I chickened out each time. I just don’t want that to happen again.”

  “First, it’s not ‘chickening out’ when you’re afraid to get back in the water following a traumatic event. And second, I’d like you to buddy up with me.”

  I turned my head sharply to look at him. “Why? I mean, I probably won’t be much fun. I was just going to join up with the gang from A Watch, who’re going as a group—if I even manage to get in the water.”

  “You should be with one dive partner, who can pay close attention to you. I’m a certified Divemaster, and I’ve logged hundreds of dives. You’ll be in good hands, I promise,” he added with a devilish grin that carved dimples deep into his cheeks and made my insides quiver.

  How could I say no to that? And to be honest, I didn’t want to. He was right, I should be with a Divemaster. Maybe knowing I was with someone with all kinds of rescue training would help me get through the dive. And who was I kidding—of course I wanted to dive with him. “Okay, then. If you’re sure.”

  “I am. I do have one condition, though.”

  That sounded ominous. “What’s that?”

  “After the dive, I want you to tell me what happened to you.”

  My stomach jumped into my throat. He’d asked me once before, on one of our late-night encounters on deck, and I’d hedged. I just couldn’t talk about it. He hadn’t pushed, and the subject had been dropped. As my dive buddy, he was within his rights to make me tell him before the dive, but he was offering me this compromise.

  “Tristan, if I get through this dive, I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” I said.

  “Anything?” he drawled suggestively, peering at me over his sunglasses.

  My body grew warm under his stare. Honestly, I was fast reaching a point where I would say—or do—anything for him, regardless of whether I got through the dive. But he didn’t need to know that. “Mostly anything,” I amended.

  “Fair enough. It’s a deal, then.” He held out his hand, and I shook it. He checked over my gear. “It looks like you haven’t forgotten how to set up.”

  “No, that part I can do just fine.”

  The boat slowly motored through the no-wake zone of the harbor. Tristan began laying out his gear. I reached for my wetsuit, and while he was still occupied, I slipped out of my shorts.

  I tugged the wetsuit up to my hips, then stripped off my extra-long T-shirt and pulled the wetsuit up the rest of the way over my one-piece swimsuit. I used to think that putting on my wetsuit was like putting on armor. It was hard to get into, just like a suit of armor (have you ever tried pulling on a tight neoprene one-piece suit while you’re sweating under the blazing Florida sun?), and it was a layer of protection between me and whatever I might face out there, be it cold water, fire coral, jellyfish, or the slime that coated the metal parts of a wreck and could really irritate your skin.

  But that suit of armor had failed me, six and a half months ago, and as I tugged this new wetsuit up my arms and zipped it, I wondered if I’d ever again feel safe in my dive gear.

  Tristan finished setting up his equipment. He reached behind his neck and pulled his T-shirt over his head, then reached for the strings of his board shorts. Wait, he wasn’t going to drop them right here, was he?

  Yes, he was, completely oblivious to the effect it could have on my blood pressure. But fortunately (or not), he wore black Lycra dive shorts underneath. Snug enough to fit comfortably under his wetsuit, they conformed to the muscles of his thighs—and everything else as well. Oh, my. He looked up, and I quickly glanced away, grabbing my dive booties and taking an unnecessarily long time to put them on.

  When I looked over again, he had his wetsuit on. Whereas mine covered me from wrists to ankles, his had long sleeves, but came to just above his knees. Clearly, he wasn’t as bothered by cold water as I was. He pulled on his dive boots and strapped a knife to his right calf.

  A dive knife was generally meant to be a tool, not a weapon. The blade could be helpful if you ran into fishing line or if your gear got fouled up somehow, and the handle could be used to bang on the metal tank, a sound that would carry pretty far in the water. The likelihood that it would ever be used to fight off a predator was slim, but it comforted me to know that he had one…just in case.

  I clenched my hands in my lap and bounced my foot on the deck, wishing I could fast-forward to an hour from now, when the dive would be over, and I’d be back on the boat, hopefully dripping wet and triumphant. The wait was excruciating.

  Tristan’s hand covered mine. “You’re gonna be all right, Red. Relax.”

  I wanted to believe him.

  The boat slowed, and my stomach dropped. Julio, the captain of the dive boat, cut the engine, and with a long boat hook, snagged a round buoy that floated on the surface and attached a line that was tied to a cleat on the dive boat. He threw the buoy back in.

  “Okay, guys,” he said with a slight Puerto Rican accent, “here we are. If you follow the line straight down from the buoy, you’ll find the reef at about thirty-five feet. It’s a big reef, with plenty of fish and other things for you to see. Don’t forget your safety stop, and start heading back at no less than one thousand psi. And stay with your buddy. Okay, have fun.”

  Stay with your buddy. It was like Rule #2 of diving (Rule #1 being don’t forget to breathe). A simple rule, and yet it was the cause of all my problems.

  I checked over my gear one last time, made sure my air was turned on all the way. (I’d made that mistake before, and when I got down to twenty feet, I couldn’t take a deep breath.)

  But really, I just wanted everyone else to get in the water first—the last thing I needed was to freeze on the dive platform and have everyone watch me fail.

  Tristan seemed to know what I was up to. He made no attempt to finish getting ready, just leaned back and tipped his face up to the sun. Splash. Splash. Splash. One by one, my shipmates jumped in.

  “You guys coming?” asked Kevin.

  “I like to be the last one in,” said Tristan, “which means Ari’s stuck at the back with me.”

  I could have kissed him. His quick response saved me from having to explain things to them.

  “Cool,” Kevin said, then waggled his brows at me suggestively before Jenny rolled her eyes and dragged him to the dive platform.

  “Thanks for that,” I said.

  “You didn’t need anything else to worry about right now.”

  Julio never asked why we were stalling when we were both obviously ready to go, and I wondered if Tristan had given him a head’s up before we left the dock.

  The deck grew quiet. “Okay, Red, it’s just you and me now,” Tristan said, getting to his feet and fastening his weight belt.

  No more procrastinating. I stood and reached for my weight belt. Dread settled on me, as heavy as the lead apron they make you wear at the dentist when you get x-rays, and I literally staggered beneath the weight of it.

  Tristan caught my elbow. “Are you all right? Is it your leg?”

  I
shook my head. “My leg’s okay. But, Tristan, what if I can’t do this?”

  He peered deeply into my eyes. “You can do this, Red. You will do this. If not today, then another day. But you won’t know until you try. So let’s give it a try, okay?”

  His encouraging smile could light up a small city on a dark night. He believed I could do it. I had to try.

  “Okay,” I said, hefting the weight belt around my hips and fastening it. I pulled on my mask, and then Tristan helped me into the BCD after double-checking my air.

  He sat beside me and quickly slipped into his own gear. Remembering that I was his dive buddy just as he was mine, I checked his air to make sure it was on all the way, checked that the strap around his tank was secure. “You’re all set.”

  “Thanks. Are you ready?”

  I took a deep breath. “Ready.” I got to my feet and instinctively adjusted my stance under the forty-odd pounds of gear on my back. I grabbed my fins and walked to the dive platform, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. I slipped on my fins and tightened the heel straps, the familiar actions helping my nerves.

  Tristan joined me on the platform. “I’ll go first.” He adjusted his mask and put the regulator in his mouth. Holding them in place, he took a giant step into the water. Splash. He popped up and turned to face the boat, taking out his regulator. “Okay, Red, whenever you’re ready.”

  I stood at the edge of the platform and stared into the turquoise water below. I used to love this moment, the anticipation of jumping into the water and seeing what wonders lay beneath the surface. I wanted to feel that again, so badly.

  But now those wonders terrified me. For so long, I’d been paralyzed by fear that kept me from doing what I loved—from being what I’d loved to be. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I looked at Tristan, who waited patiently off to the side so I wouldn’t land on him when I jumped in. If I jumped in.

  He pushed up his mask and smiled at me. “Come on, Red. Just one wee step.”