Silver swam by and splashed Micah, barely missing the tablet. It was covered by a thick plastic waterproof slider, but he’d ruined more than one smartphone when his favorite dolphin was feeling playful.
“Not today, Satan,” Micah said to the dolphin, who seemed to be grinning at him. Micah laughed when Silver chirped and bobbed his head out of the water. He reached out and rubbed his hand over the slick skin. Silver had lost most of his dorsal fin in a boating incident when he was a calf, and while Micah felt bad he couldn’t be out living wild and free, he’d formed a bond with the dolphin. He’d been a junior researcher when Silver came in, and spent a lot of his off hours patiently getting to know the clever creature. Micah had a cat at home—mostly because it wandered onto his lanai and never left—and he knew the difference between a pet and a wild animal—he spoke about it often to groups both at the aquarium and off-site. He knew Silver wasn’t the same as a domestic companion animal, but they definitely had a bond.
Still couldn’t keep him in his bathtub, though.
“I know what you want,” Micah told the dolphin, pulling out his phone. “You have to promise not to splash me, Sil. My cellular company straight-up told me dampened by dolphin is not going to get me a new phone. Not a third time.” He held up his hand, and Silver chittered and went up vertical, using his tail fin to keep himself upright. He chirped, as if to say hurry up, buddy, this isn’t that easy, you try it and Micah neatly slid in the frame, turned his phone around, and snapped a selfie.
Today’s #selfiewithsilver, Micah typed, sending the photograph to the aquarium’s Instagram feed. He hashtagged it appropriately, then switched over and added it to his personal account. It was a popular feature, and Silver often “posed” with others, too. Sometimes it skirted the line of performance, but it also brought attention to the aquarium and that brought in money for more rehab and better facilities. It was a delicate balance. He rubbed his hand over Silver’s head, whistled, and promised an extra fish as the dolphin gave him a last chirp and dove underwater. The tank was huge, with a large outdoor area and the inner section comprising both the upper and lower levels. Micah’s favorite place to be was in the tank with his dolphins, but today he had some tours to lead and—even though it was his least favorite—some paperwork to do in his office before checking in on Dudley.
As he went back to the lobby, he smiled when he saw Ava and her moms heading into the gift shop—if he knew kids, and he liked to think he did a little, she’d want a stuffed dolphin to commemorate her visit. Micah was also happy to see the nontraditional family unit, and it made him feel a little wistful; would he ever be able to stroll around the aquarium with his own kids, telling them about dolphins? His work took up a lot of his time, and while he’d had a few relationships in his life, most of his focus had been on his education and landing his dream job. Maintaining a social life while being in school and on research trips on boats was not easy to do. Micah didn’t have any family close by—he’d had a falling-out with his parents shortly after he’d come out—but he did have a great group of friends, and that along with his position at the aquarium had been enough to satisfy him for the last few years.
Things were beginning to settle down, though, and Micah was starting to think about having a family. Or, first things first, a partner; someone who would listen to him talk excitedly about sea turtles, since Micah was never going to be the kind of guy who could leave his work at home. But his last attempt at a relationship had been pretty abysmal, though it hadn’t been so much a clash of personalities as schedules. Vin was a chef at a fancy hotspot in downtown Miami, and they did not at all have compatible working hours. They’d left it as friends, but Micah was still bummed. He didn’t want to have to choose between his job and a family, even if he did appreciate the free tapas he scored whenever he went by the restaurant.
The tour group was waiting, though, so Micah put on a grin and a wave, and went to meet them. It was comprised of older kids that were part of a homeschool group, which Micah was used to by now. At first he’d had some pretty narrow-minded ideas about what that meant—his parents had disowned him thanks to a Southern Baptist upbringing in which being gay was a sin—but he’d quickly come to realize there were a lot of nontraditional education options and not all of them involved religion. Thank goodness. One visit where a teacher told the group kindly after Micah’s presentation about sharks that sometimes science doesn’t have the answers was enough, thanks. He didn’t think they’d ever come back.
This group was inquisitive and interested, though, and clamoring to see Dudley.
“How come he’s hurt?” asked one of the kids, who looked to be about fifteen.
“A boat strike,” Micah said. He gestured to Dudley, all two hundred and four pounds of him floating languidly in the tank. “Luckily the skipper reached out immediately, and we were able to get to Dudley here pretty quick. Sometimes people are worried they’ll get in trouble if they call someone, and sometimes people just honestly don’t notice. But thankfully, this person was a Good Samaritan and called us. Dudley had a wound from the boat propeller, and has been receiving fiber and antibiotics. Also, sometimes air gets trapped in the shell and that will cause them to float and not be able to dive, and that happened here, so we’ve had to do a procedure to fix that. He’s been here a while, though, because of his size and the likelihood of infections, which aren’t too dangerous but do add some time to his stay with us. Most of our turtles are smaller, but this guy is a fighter.” Micah smiled fondly.
“He’s pretty,” one of the teenagers said.
“Make a great handbag,” drawled another.
“Ugh,” said the first. “Stop being such an edgelord, Madison.”
“When will he be able to go back in the wild?” one of the adults asked, shooting a dirty look at Madison.
“Probably in the spring,” Micah said. “Dudley here is also going to be a pioneer for some new tracking technology we’re going to use, to better understand migration patterns.” He warmed up to his topic, explaining the new technology and how they would use it to hopefully send out advisories to local wildlife areas about potential risky areas for boats. “We can’t always make boaters more aware or responsible, but we’ve really made a huge impact using this technology and awareness to help the manatees.”
“Manatees are stupid,” whined edgelord Madison.
“You’re stupid,” the guy next to her muttered.
Micah did not miss being a teenager.
“Well,” he said with a smile, ignoring the small battle of wills between Madison and her nemesis, “who wants to see some dolphins?”
Chapter Three
“Morning, Daniel. Thanks for coming in.”
“Hi, Tom.” Daniel shook the hand his general manager offered. Tom Fenton was huge, a few inches taller than Daniel’s six foot three, and his cheek bore a jagged old scar from a high-sticking incident during his pro hockey days. Another scar from a puck that had nearly cost him an eye bisected his left brow, and his crooked nose was a testament to the countless occasions he’d dropped his gloves while on the ice. Even in a suit and tie and pushing sixty, he looked tough as hell.