Thirty minutes later, wearing a long-sleeve swim top and bikini bottoms, I was making my way inshore on a wave. I tried to turn too hard and wiped out, staying underwater long enough to rip the fabric on my shoulder and use my nails to scrape off the scabs on the front of my shoulder from my mating scar. I swam back in, holding my shoulder as blood leaked between my fingers. "NICHOLAS," I yelled.

He ran into the surf and carried me back to our chairs. He held a towel over my shoulder as a lifeguard ran up. "Scraped it on a piece of coral," I told them.

"It...