I trace the wedding band tattooed on my finger, irrationally afraid it will disappear. “Okay. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
He pushes off the window and stands behind me. Warm hands land on my shoulders and I bask under his touch.
“I know you didn’t come for me, but I’m grateful that you did,” I say. “I couldn’t do this without you.”
“You could.” He releases my shoulders and returns to his post at my side. “That reminds me, actually. We should talk about hiring another deckhand.”
My hand tenses on the throttle. “We have enough people.”
“I know, but if someone gets hurt?—”
“If someone gets hurt, we’ll work a man short.” We need to mourn Seb as a boat before we talk about adding another person.
“It’s not about replacing Seb. You can’t plan on always having me here.”
Ouch.
“Shay has her own life to get back to,” he says. “It comes down to us. Even if we don’t work things out, we need to prepare for the future.”
Well, at least he finally brought up Shay leaving, even if he was vague as hell about the timing. I’d ask him about it, but if he lies, I’ll have to accept that he isn’t just lying by omission; he doesn’t trust me at all.
“Fine. Let’s get king crab out of the way first.” I chew on my thumbnail and scan the bay. “We’ve keptBriara family boat for so long, we’ll have to pick someone we can trust.”
“What about Kent?”
“Kent has his own boat.”
“He wants a break. It’s a temporary fix, but we know him.”
“Iknow him.”
“You stopped returning his calls, so now I know him too. He’s been worried about you.”
“Tell him not to take it personally.”
“Kent’s having a really hard time. He needs to get away from his family.”
Luke makes my dad seem like a model parent. There’s an urban legend that he murdered a deckhand who slept with his wife by stuffing him into a crab pot and shoving it overboard.
“If Kent needs a place to stay, he can have it, but the crew needs to vote on it.”
“You got it. Thanks, Cole.” He releases my shoulders. “I better go help the guys get our girl tied off.”
Usually when Morgan uses my name, it feels intimate and possessive, but that felt like a conversation between coworkers. I don’t like it.
Sure enough,a steady stream of mourners greeted us upon arrival. Derrick from theLady Wisteriainvited himself aboard to reminisce, and have a drink at ten AM. Wes volunteered to talk to him, which was a huge relief because I could hear his tearful walk down memory lane from inside my en suite.
Derrick and my dad became best friends back in the boomtown days of crab fishing. He looks like he leads a motorcycle gang, but he’s a big softie who loves nearly everyone he meets andhas a little too much practice vomiting out his wheelhouse window.
Morgan called me down to the engine room after Derrick left. I’m pretty sure he made up an issue with the water pump to spare me from the next handful of visitors coming to pay their respects.
He taps his wrench against my good hip. “I think they’re gone.” He cracks the door open, and ducks his head out, then turns to me and nods. “You should try to get some sleep.”
The mere suggestion summons a yawn from me. I don’t even want to count how many hours I’ve been awake.
He holds the door open and hangs our headphones up, then follows me into the hall. I stretch my arms over my head and wince.