Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Locke’s expression shifts, less closed than it was. “Charlestown’s a good neighborhood.”
“It really is.” She settles back with her drink. “I was staying in the North End though, which was either brilliant or stupid, depending on how you feel about never being able to find parking.”
“The parking’s always been a disaster. You learn to stop caring.”
“That’s what my neighbor told me. Retired longshoreman, seventy years old, had lived on the same block his entire life.” She smiles at the memory. “He told me parking in Boston was God’s way of keeping the weak out.”
Locke makes a sound that is almost—not quite, but almost—a laugh.
I notice it. I notice that I notice it.
“What were you doing in the harbor?” Locke asks.
“Risking life and limb,” Arch says gravely, and I can’t tell if he’s genuinely worried or reclaiming the conversation.
“Don’t be a drama king,” Birdie chides with a brief glance at Arch. “I’m a commercial saturation diver. Deep-water infrastructure work.”
“How deep?” Locke asks.
And there it is. A question. Voluntary, no hesitation, genuine curiosity moving through it. I file that away in the part of my brain that is always filing things about Locke Donovan.
“Depends on the contract,” Birdie says. “Harbor work is shallow by my standards. Fifty, sixty feet maybe. My offshore work runs two hundred plus. Gulf of Mexico mostly, oil and gas platforms.” She speaks about her job the way people describe their work when it stopped being remarkable to them a long time ago.
“And what exactly is saturation diving?” Locke asks.
“Oh, it’s the best kind,” she says, eyes lighting with passion. “It means you live in a pressurized chamber for weeks at a time, so your body stays at depth pressure. You eat there, sleep there, decompress there. You go down to work and come back to the chamber. You don’t see actual surface conditions for sometimes thirty days straight.”
The group is quiet for a beat.
“It’s insane,” Arch says.
Crosby nods. “Completely insane.”
“It is a little,” Birdie agrees pleasantly.
“And you chose this,” Locke says. Not judgmental. Just—processing.
“I did.” She smirks at him. “I like being somewhere most people aren’t. I like the quiet down there. And I’m genuinely good at it, which helps.”
“Seems pretty niche,” Locke observes.
“There are about three hundred and fifty saturation divers working commercially in the world right now. I like those odds.”
“Three hundred and fifty,” Locke repeats.
“Give or take.”
“Very impressive,” he says with genuine respect.
“Boston though,” she says, steering back. “I loved it. If I were ever going to stop moving—” She glances around the group with an expression that says this is a hypothetical she doesn’t fully believe. “That might be the place to settle down.”
“You will never stop moving,” Arch says with complete certainty.
Birdie looks at him. “Probably not,” she agrees. “Favorite thing about the city. Go.”
Locke considers it, which is notable. “November,” he says finally. “The way it looks in November. Before the real cold sets in. The light off the harbor is unmatched.”
I have to force my jaw not to drop. He’s having an actual conversation and I’m not sure why it shocks me so much. I’ve taken his aversion to socializing with his teammates as an aversion to people in general. But I think I might have gotten that wrong.
Birdie doesn’t make anything of it. “The light off the water,” she says simply. “Yeah. I get that.”
The conversation keeps moving and Locke is still here, still talking, fractionally less armored than he was twenty minutes ago.
I look away from him and find Arch watching Birdie with an expression that’s there and then gone so fast I almost convince myself I imagined it.
But I didn’t imagine it.
Interesting.
I file that away too, in an entirely different folder.
Before long, Cherry appears at the perimeter of the room, a warm smile in place that almost reaches her eyes.
“Everyone,” she says, her voice carrying enough to be heard over the din without being loud. “Food is ready. Please help yourselves—everything’s set up in the kitchen and dining room and there are tables in the tent out back.”
Our group begins to shift and move, and I catch Crosby watching Cherry with an expression that has nothing left in it except detached goodwill. Whatever he felt about any of this, he’s put it down. That’s an emotional maturity I find quietly impressive.
Birdie links her arm through Locke’s, chattering away about Boston. “Tell me your favorite restaurants. The seafood there is unmatched.”
Locke laughs, and this time it’s full and genuine. Another jolt of surprise hits me, because… in my mind… he doesn’t laugh.
Is it Birdie?
Is he interested in her?
Because this is not the taciturn man I’ve come to know. A new layer for me to consider. It also tells me that whatever pain he’s concealing deep, it’s definitely focused on the team dynamic.
Chapter 13
Locke
Ifollow Livia’s car through Portland’s West Side, telling myself the whole way that this is a session.