Going Down (Divemasters #1) (5 page)

B
anks graciously asked the men
, “Would you like a tour of the ship?”

“Hell yeah.” Tosin practically vibrated as he looked around.

Archer hoped he’d be equally excited when he learned that the
Divemaster
could be his new home.

“Hang on. No.” Miguel glared directly at Archer, as if he had blinders on—or didn’t want to be softened up by their surroundings. “Not until we know what the fuck is going on here.”

He was smart.

Archer didn’t blame him at all. He gave a curt nod then said to Banks, “Show us to the bar, please.”

“The papers you requested are at your place,” Banks murmured as he guided them through a fiberglass door.

Even Archer was impressed when he took in the wide polished-wood hallway with calm, neutral-toned accents. He suspected Banks had done more than change out the crew onboard and make minor updates. Everything suited his tastes to perfection. Masculine, earthy, and understated elegance. Not a single garish embellishment lingered to remind him of his father.

Quietly, he asked Banks, “How’d you manage to redecorate so quickly?”

“Everything is possible with enough money, Archie.” He winked.

They didn’t have time to argue about that before they’d reached their destination near the bow of the ship. Floor-to-ceiling windows, contoured to the ship’s silhouette, lined every edge of the room, giving them an unobstructed view of the harbor and northward along the western shore of the island. Klein Bonaire looked close enough to swim to from here.

It took Archer’s breath away. Far more than the things inside that had caught Tosin’s attention. The privilege of being able to witness something so spectacular and the potential to do it every day for the rest of his life was far more valuable to him than the yacht they stood on. Though he had to admit that, as a vehicle for bringing his dreams to life, this one was pretty damn impressive.

Even Miguel seemed to thaw a bit. He ran his fingers over the glossy live-edge tabletops before sinking onto one of the stools arranged around it. It wasn’t hard to tell which place was his since his favorite top-shelf liquor was set out, ready and waiting for him.

Tosin’s and Archer’s, too.

Miguel grabbed the shot of Macallan whiskey and downed it in a single gulp before slamming the glass onto the table with a resounding clunk. He hadn’t had time to swallow before a well-dressed crew member appeared, seemingly from nowhere, with a refill.

When the man had disappeared once more, Archer sat too, his fingers picking at the edges of the folder Banks had left there for him. Where the hell did they start?

Miguel helped him out.

“So you fucking lied to us? You’re loaded? This whole time, were you looking down your nose at us? Laughing at how pitiful we were?” He crossed his arms, looking toward the exit as if he might dart out of there faster than a rainbow runner, leaving Archer blinking at the vanishing back of his friend.

His worst fears began to come true. He would be rejected, judged undeserving of his companions’ respect. Fucked over by his inheritance. If the only thing these two guys could see was his net worth, then no one else in the universe would do differently. They knew him better than anyone else.

Pain stabbed his chest. He rubbed the ache, but it didn’t fade.

The worst thing he could imagine was dying as alone as his father had been, accompanied only by bought sycophants.

“Hey, don’t be like that.” Tosin punched Miguel in the biceps. “He’s lived with us for twelve years. Roughing it. Having fun even when we didn’t have a lot else. Why don’t you let him tell us why? I would like to hear that.”

Fair enough. Archer nodded and swallowed hard.

When Miguel faced him again, curiosity in his gaze, Archer confessed, “I hated who I was. The lifestyle, the obligations, and the political maneuvering that left innocent victims in its wake.”

He scrunched his eyes closed as a particular face appeared in his mind. Raven hair down to her perfect ass, porcelain skin, and eyes as blue as the spots on the juvenile damselfish he’d stared at not very long ago.

His biggest regret.

The final straw that had sent him packing. “So I opted out of it all. Left. Became someone else entirely.”

“You’re saying you’re not an orphan like you told us forever ago. That’s why you never said a peep about home or your family. You’re a runaway.” Miguel wasn’t cutting Archer a lot of slack. The way he sneered
runaway
made it sound sort of like
chicken shit
. Or
quitter
. Two things they definitely didn’t respect and never had allowed themselves to be before.

Archer reminded himself that as much of a shock to his system it had been these past few weeks—imagining his life proceeding in an entirely different direction from what he’d planned—for these two, hearing these things would be the equivalent of taking a polar bear plunge into the Arctic after a decade of tropical swims.

They probably had no idea some people really lived like this.

Until you’d seen it yourself, it was impossible to really visualize.

At least that’s what he’d been told by Banks.

“It wasn’t exactly a lie. My father was dead to me. Or maybe I was reborn. I walked away when I was nineteen and never looked back. My father said he would disown me the instant I crossed his threshold. I thought he had. I didn’t care. About a month ago, he kicked the bucket and left me everything. So, now it is true. I
am
the last of my family. Before I’d only wished that was the case.”

“How can you say something so cold?” Miguel—who had lost his parents in an accident when he was eight and grown up in a group home in South America—glared at Archer as if he was more disgusting than the sludge that sometimes accumulated in the corners of their dive boat. “I don’t know who you are anymore. Maybe I never did.”

He stood in a rush, making his stool tilt precariously, then turned toward the door.

Until Tosin asked quietly, “What did your dad do to you to make you hate him? You don’t have a temper and I’ve never known you to hold a grudge.”

“He…” Archer cleared his throat and broke eye contact, staring out the window at the desert paradise he’d come to adore so much when the memories threatened to overwhelm him.

Sitting on his couch, not able to hear the knock on the door right away…staggering to the front door to find it was
her
. She’d come to him.

If only he hadn’t been so intoxicated, he might have noticed something was wrong.

If he’d been sober—and his father hadn’t been meddling in their lives—he might not have made such a grave and horrible mistake.

Despite the fact that his father deserved his rage, Archer hadn’t forgiven himself. Not for his failures as a son. And
definitely
not for falling for his father’s twisted scheme. He should have realized what was happening. Should have stopped before she got hurt.

“Fuck this. He’s never going to be straight with us. I’m out of here.” Miguel turned and strode toward the exit.

“Fine. Wait!” Archer couldn’t let him leave. Except the truth might make him run instead of walk. “He set me up. Conned me into raping someone.”

The words seared his windpipe as though they’d been made of stonefish venom.

There. He’d admitted it out loud for the first time. Ever.

Maybe that was the first step toward acceptance. Forgiveness would be too generous. He’d never grant himself that kind of absolution from his own self-recriminations.

“Say
what
?” Miguel turned around then, his head cocked. His bright eyes, such a contrast to his olive complexion and midnight hair, bored into Archer. “That doesn’t even make sense, dude. How can you accidentally rape someone? This isn’t even funny anymore. Did I hit my head underwater or something?”

Archer tried to explain. Nothing would come out through his raw throat. It was his turn to slam his drink and relish the fire it lit within him. He deserved the punishment. “He made me a monster. Just like him. A pawn in his power plays. I realized I couldn’t stay. What I’d done was bad enough. If I didn’t leave, I was going to become just like him someday. If it wasn’t too late already.”

He planted his elbows on the table then dropped his head into his hands, trying to ward off the revulsion his ex-best-friends would likely feel toward him now. He wouldn’t blame them.

“This is getting sicker and more twisted by the second,” Miguel snarled. “How can you still be sitting there, Tosin? Let’s go.”

Their joint friend looked from one guy to the other. Who would he side with?

Archer braced himself for them both to walk out.

“Calm down a second and think, Miguel.” Tosin urged the man to wait. “Don’t you remember the night we spent in that skanky Mexican jail for brawling?”

That had him pausing. Consciously or not, he edged a couple steps closer. “Yeah, because this moron got us tangled up in some domestic dispute.”

“Right. Does a real rapist stand up for a stranger who’s fighting off a dude, who clearly is not taking no for an answer, in a bar bathroom? Does he snap and beat the man to a pulp?”

Archer clearly recalled the flash of fury that had overtaken him in that instant.

“Maybe they do if they feel guilty about what they’ve done,” Miguel answered, his voice a lot softer now.

“I do. I regret what happened. Every day. Every hour. The woman I hurt… She’s spectacular. Special.”

“Why don’t you tell us the full story?” Tosin asked.

“I—can’t.” Archer shook his head. “The details don’t matter anyway. They would sound like excuses. I did it. I accept responsibility for it. But I wasn’t about to hang around and let anyone put me in those kinds of situations again.”

“I’m going to have to disagree on that point. I feel like you owe us the rest.” Tosin ruffled Archer’s hair briefly before polishing off his own liquor. “Someday soon. A less crazy day than today, tell us. I have a feeling we might see it differently. Seems like you could use a sounding board on this one.”

Archer dreaded that conversation, though he knew they’d have to have it.

Wait.

“Does that mean you’re planning on sticking around, then?” He could hardly breathe.

Tosin nodded, a faint smile curving his lips. “For over ten years, we’ve done everything together. Trusted each other. I know you, Archer. You’re not the person you obviously think you are.
Right
, Miguel?”

Archer risked a glance at his partner. The guy seemed unsure. With one foot out the door, he studied Archer’s face. Hopefully he could read the genuine remorse there. A lifetime of regret wouldn’t be enough to change what had happened that night, but he desperately wished it could.

Sometimes even a Scrooge McDuck-sized fortune couldn’t buy your way out of a problem.

Some things weren’t for sale.

Like forgiveness.

Or a time machine.

Or the faith of your two best friends.

Living with mistakes as awful as Archer’s could cost a man his soul.

“Shit!” Miguel ran his hands through his hair, then pivoted. Step by step, he returned. He fell onto the barstool, looking as deflated as Archer felt. “I’m gonna need another drink.”

No sooner had he said it than his wish came true.

The three guys glanced between each other, weirded out and enjoying the indulgence simultaneously.

“So basically, you came into a crap ton of money and decided to buy a megayacht and live out the rest of your life in luxury?” Tosin hummed. “Not a bad plan, really.”

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind.” Archer shrugged before opening the folder in front of him. “I had Banks draw up some contracts. I’d like you to read them. It should make everything clear.”

Already he sounded like the tool his father had always hoped he’d become. When stakes were this high, he supposed some formalities couldn’t be avoided. He handed each of his friends a copy of the agreement he hoped they’d sign.

Tosin skimmed his before asking, “You’re offering us a job? All that stuff we were joking around about on the beach. That’s what you actually intend to do, isn’t it?”

Archer nodded. “Yes. I’ve appointed Banks to be the executive director of the Banks Foundation. The sole purpose of the organization is to take my money and put it to good use. He asked me a ton of questions about things that are important to me, like women’s rights, abuse hotlines, transitional shelters, domestic violence awareness, those kinds of things. But also stuff like conservation, renewable energy sources, and clean drinking water initiatives. He’s figuring out how to address as many of those global issues as we can by creating charities dedicated to them and funding research by the world’s leading scientists in relevant fields.”

“What does that have to do with a megayacht? Is this the headquarters of the Banks Foundation or something?” Miguel asked, sounding truly interested for the first time.

“Not quite.” Archer shook his head. “Though Banks will be living onboard and he’s the head of the foundation, so…maybe. This is one of the Banks Foundation projects. Banks actually came up with it and talked me into getting personally involved. We’re calling it the Divemaster Project, for obvious reasons.”

“What exactly is the Divemaster Project supposed to do?” Miguel wondered.

“It’ll be just like we talked about earlier. A pretty cushy arm of the Banks Foundation. Deserving passengers will join us for a while at sea. We’ll foot the bill and try to tip the karma scales in their favor a little. Reward them for whatever it is they’ve done to not be assholes like some humans. Banks is taking care of the administrative shit. He’ll be sourcing the guests for us. Making all the arrangements for them. Managing the staff. We’d be mostly business as usual with a few extra perks. We’d live here and act as the divemasters on the
Divemaster
.”

“So we’d work for you?” Tosin’s brows drew together, causing some fine wrinkles to show on his forehead. “Not that I think you’d be a bad boss—”

“No. Stop, please.” Archer didn’t bother to let him finish. “Nothing changes between us. I want you to be my partners like always.”