Page 5 of Try Easy

“I found it again,” Bones said.

Keoni put the fish down, his appetite gone. “What were you doin’ out there so deep?” he asked.

“Lookin’ for the coral,” Bones said as if it was obvious.

“Alone?”

“Nah. Kenny was driving the boat.”

“You dumbass. That was, what, 250 feet deep?”

“More like 300, brah.”

“Shit, Bones.” Keoni felt like he might throw up. He got to his feet and paced back and forth on the sand. His ribs screamed with pain whenever he moved, but he was so angry he didn’t even feel it. “What the hell is wrong witchu? You gotta death wish, or wot?”

Bones unfolded his long legs and got to his feet, glaring down at Keoni. Bones was one of the few people Keoni knew who could do that. Most people were shorter than Keoni, but everyone was shorter than Bones. Ever since Bones had grown taller than Keoni when they were teenagers, he’d used his height to his advantage.

Bones’s thick eyebrows were drawn together over his stormy gray eyes, and a muscle bulged in his neck.

“You’re the asshole who just spent all day tryin’ ta commit suicide! Had us all fuckin’ scairt to death.” He shoved Keoni’s shoulder. “And I got one death wish, eh?”

Keoni winced as the shove sent a fresh wave of pain through his injured ribs. He drew himself up to his full height, still three inches shorter than Bones, and raised his chin.

“I know what I’m doing,” he said.

The cousins glared at each other for a long moment, neither one of them wanting to be the first to give in. They had inherited more than height and build from their warrior ancestors. They had also inherited passion and a stubborn streak. Bones and Keoni argued loudly and often, but they hadn’t come to blows since they were fourteen.

Bones gave in first and looked away. Keoni let out the breath he’d been holding and relaxed his fists. He knew Bones was right: he took too many chances on the waves. Ever since Eddie had died, Keoni had been pushing harder and harder to make a name for himself. His risks had so far paid off—he was famous all over the islands for his big-wave riding—but he knew that one day his luck would run out.

“I got a boat lined up,” Bones said after a long silence. “I could use another diver.”

“And you want me?”

“I need somebody I can trust.”

Keoni finished his beer, tasting blood from his cut lip as he swallowed. There was no one he trusted more than Bones, not even his own brothers. Keoni guessed Bones felt the same about him.

“Those trees are worth about a grand each,” Bones said, lowering his voice.

It was a lot of money for only a few hours of work, but the danger involved raised the stakes.

“You’re the best diver I know,” Bones said, sweetening the pot. “Not just anybody can dive 300 feet.”

That much was true, Keoni thought. But it wasn’t skill he needed. It was luck. Anything over 200 feet was plain stupid.

“When?” Keoni asked.

“Two weeks.”

“Awrite.”

“Awrite?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

Bones grabbed two more beers out of the cooler and tossed one to Keoni. They popped the tops, tapped their cans together, and drank to their agreement.

“Now all we need is a driver,” Bones said. “Somebody who will stay on the boat while we dive and get us out of there quick-like if anyt’ing happens. Not that anyt’ing is gonna happen,” he said. “Just in case, eh?”

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