Michael slid his sheepish, apologetic gaze to Tanner. “Yes,” he said.
His bride beamed.
“How do you do it?” Michael asked Tanner quietly. “Always stay so calm?”
For one thing, scuba diving was as natural to him as breathing. So was swimming. For another, his life hadn’t exactly been a walk in the park. That he was now a one-third owner of a charter company consisting of a warehouse, yard, waterfront, dock, hut, and fifty-foot Wright Sport boat, where he was the resident scuba diving instructor and communications expert, was a piece of cake compared to where he’d been. “It’s my job,” he said.
“Your job gave you nuts of steel?”
“Actually,” Cole said helpfully, “his life’s given him nuts of steel.”
Michael looked like he thought this was really cool. And once upon a time, Tanner might’ve enjoyed being thought of that way. Back in high school, for instance, when he’d lived on adrenaline rushes.
He no longer thrived on being stupid. In fact, he’d made it a lifelong goal to never be stupid again.
An hour later he, Cole, and Sam were at the Love Shack, Lucky Harbor’s local bar and grill. They had a stack of hot wings and a pitcher of beer. As always, they all raised their glasses and clinked them together. “To Gil,” Sam said.
“To Gil,” Cole said.
“To Gil,” Tanner echoed, and felt the usual tug in his gut at the name.
Gil had been, and in many ways still was, the fourth musketeer of their tight-knit group. He’d been gone and buried for two years now, but that hadn’t erased the hole he’d left in Tanner’s heart. Losing Gil in the Gulf after a rig fire had changed Tanner’s life. Or maybe that had been because he’d nearly lost his own at the same time. At the reminder, he rubbed his leg, which was aching like a sonofabitch today.
Sam’s gaze slid to the movement.
“I’m fine,” Tanner said.
Sam and Cole exchanged annoying “right” glances.
“I am,” he said.
“Uh-huh.” Cole dove into the wings. “Saw Josh last week. He said you were overdue for an appointment.”
Probably true. But Dr. Josh Scott, an old friend and excellent physician, couldn’t fix his leg. All that could be done had been done. “Subject change.”
“Fine,” Cole said. “How was dinner with Troy last night?”
Troy was Tanner’s fifteen-year-old Mini-Me and until two weeks ago, he’d lived in Florida with Tanner’s ex, Elisa. “Good,” he said. “I think I actually got four whole sentences out of him this time.”
“Progress,” Cole said.
“He’s a teen,” Sam said. “Four sentences is a miracle.”
Plus it was a hell of a lot better than Tanner and Troy had managed in the past. He might not be Father of the Year but, unlike his own dad, who’d taken off when Tanner was five, he was trying.
“And it’s not like you were a joy at fifteen,” Cole reminded him.
Tanner eyed him over his beer. “What was wrong with me at fifteen?”
Cole laughed but when Tanner just looked at him, he turned it into a cough instead. “You were a real punk ass. Wild. Uncontrollable. Always looking for trouble.” He turned to Sam. “Right?”
Sam stuffed a fry into his mouth. Sam pleaded the fifth a lot.
“Whatever,” Cole said in disgust, and pointed a finger at each of them in turn. “You were both shitheads.”
“And yet you hung out with us,” Tanner said.
“Well, someone had to keep you two assholes in line. And you know how teenagers are,” he said to Tanner. “It’s just going to take you time to connect with him. Time and effort.”
Tanner was more than willing to put in the effort. In fact, he’d never tried harder at anything than he had at being a dad, but in truth there were times when it’d be easier to part the Red Sea. This parenting-a-teenager shit was not for the faint of heart.
“Heard he got fired from the pier,” Sam said. “Something about having a bad attitude with his boss at the arcade.”
“Yeah,” Tanner said, and shook his head. When he’d been fifteen, he’d gone to school, then football practice, and then he’d bagged at the grocery store for gas and car insurance money before finally going home to handle the house for his single mom. In comparison, his son’s life was a walk in the park. “That’s not why I’m pissed.”
“Is it because he was taken to the police station for filling the principal’s car full of packing peanuts?” Cole asked.
“I bet it was that he posted a pic of his handiwork on Facebook after,” Sam said.
“He says he didn’t do it, that someone hacked into his account and put up the pic to get him in trouble.” Tanner scrubbed a hand down his face. “But even if he did, Jesus. At least I was always smart enough not to document my own crimes.”
Sam shook his head. “Not always, you weren’t. Seventh grade, when you had a thing for the mayor’s daughter. You stole the town’s Christmas tree lights and used them to decorate her front yard, and then when everyone freaked out about the theft, you got caught in the act of trying to return the lights.”
Cole started laughing at the memory and spilled his own beer. Tanner supposed it was wrong of him to hope that he choked on it. “Okay, fine,” he said. “So the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”