But it didn’t happen.
Instead, he took a deep breath and said, “I owe you an apology.”
Beka nearly fell over. “What?” she said. Maybe quieting the storm had done something to damage her ears.
Marcus gritted his teeth. “You heard me. I’m sorry for yelling at you before.” He paused, probably trying not to do it again. “You startled me, climbing over the side like that. I was, well, I was worried about you. And when I’m upset, I yell.”
He nodded his head in Fergus’s direction. “Your boyfriend here reminded me that you are an experienced diver and surfer, and you wouldn’t have done something like that if you hadn’t been sure you could do it safely. I still don’t understand how dolphins could possibly have told you where we could find fish. It sounds like something out of the ridiculous stories my da used to tell us when we were kids. But since we’ve got a hold full of fish, I can’t exactly argue with the results.” He shrugged, massive shoulders moving up and down like a mountain during an earthquake. “So I’m sorry, and thank you. I still think you’re a crazy woman, but I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”
Beka blinked. “That’s one of the worst apologies I’ve ever heard, but I’ll accept it.” She laughed and added, “And Fergus isn’t my boyfriend; he’s just a surfing buddy who offered to lend a hand.”
An unreadable expression crossed Marcus’s craggy face, and he opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by Kenny, who appeared from the front of the boat, looking alarmed. His waterlogged tee shirt clung to his skinny chest, the beer logo on the front slowly bleeding red dye into the white cotton expanse behind it.
“Marcus! Marcus!” Kenny skidded to a stop in front of the larger man. “Come quick! Your father collapsed—I’m not sure he’s breathing.”
EIGHT
MARCUS SIPPED AT the cup of insipid hospital coffee and resisted the temptation to get up and pace around the drab, almost empty cafeteria. Its beige walls, beige tables, and beige food were getting on his nerves.
His father was still in the emergency room, being treated for exhaustion and dehydration, but otherwise fine. They’d both had to suffer through a lecture on chemotherapy patients not overdoing things from a resident who looked about sixteen, and then Marcus’s father had unceremoniously kicked him out of the treatment room.
“There’s no need for you to sit around and watch fluids drip into my arm,” Marcus Senior had said in his usual tactful manner. “Go down to the cafeteria and ogle a nurse or something. You’re getting on my nerves.”
Marcus knew that it was hard for his father to appear weak in front of him, but that didn’t make any of this easier to take. The truth was, he didn’t know why he was here at all, putting up with his old man’s bad temper and lousy attitude again after all these years. It wasn’t as though they liked each other. Hell, they hadn’t exchanged one word since Marcus ran away to join the Marines the day he turned eighteen. Until the day he’d gotten that call from his father’s doctor, Marcus hadn’t even been sure that his da was still alive. Or if he cared, one way or the other.
And yet, here he was, sticking to the old man like a burr under a horse’s saddle; trying to make sure he made it to his chemo appointments and followed the doctor’s instructions. Not that anyone short of God Almighty could have gotten Marcus Senior to rest and take it easy. It was like trying to make a shark sit up and beg for treats.
Much to his dismay, it turned out that Marcus cared after all. Even though seeing the old man brought back all the anger and grief. Even though they didn’t get along, no matter how hard he tried to keep the peace. Somewhere in his heart of hearts, it seemed that he wanted a relationship with his father after all. Hell of a time to figure that out.
Marcus scrubbed at gritty eyes with the heels of his hands. They’d been up and out at five in the morning, and he hadn’t slept well the night before. Or the night before that. It was ironic that he’d slept just fine in the middle of a war zone, but ever since he’d gotten home, it seemed like every little noise had him wide awake and twitching at nothing. And sometimes his nightmares made it seem like he was right back in the midst of it all. It didn’t help that he and his da got on each other’s nerves so much, he’d taken to spending half his nights bunking on the boat, which wasn’t exactly built for comfort.
Still, it was only temporary. Either his father would get better and Marcus could leave and get on with his life, or the cancer would beat the old man when nothing else could, and Marcus would leave and get on with his life. Either way—another six months or a year, max, and he was out of here. And not a moment too soon.