Sig starts to speak, but I cut her off. She isn’t responsible for what happened today. I am, and I won’t let her try to take the fall for me.
“We were attacked. It was my fault. Sig had nothing to do with it.”
He looks sharply at her. “They found the lookout?”
“Not exactly.” Her words trail off and he stares expectantly.
“I climbed out of it. Sig followed, so I wasn’t alone. We were found, and we escaped.”
“What possessed you to climb out of our safe hold?” he grinds out.
I know my reason will soften his anger. At least I hope it will. He knows what it is like to protect people he cares about, and that is all I did today.
“My friend was in trouble. He’s close to Fin’s age. There was no other option. I had to help him.”
Just like you helped me.
“She saved his life, Cap, and mine.” He glares at her, but she continues, “She pushed me out of the way when Mara attacked.”
“Who saw you?”
“Only Roley and Mara,” I say.
“She brought Dane and Storm back to the lookout to search for us,” Sig explains. “They looked right past us. The island kept us hidden.”
“Why didn’t you come straight back?” His eyes darken as he looks down at my arm again.
“We couldn’t risk coming back in daylight, not with them searching for us. We went back to the lookout and waited until nightfall,” Sig says.
His glare settles on me again. “You didn’t go back.”
It isn’t a question, but I can hear the word left unsaid.
Why?
I don’t have an answer for him, because I honestly don’t know the answer myself. So I take the easy way, just as I had when the questions got tough earlier.
“I stayed with Sig.”
“Leave, Signee,” he growls, his gaze fixed on the floorboards.
Sig glances at me, and I give her a small nod. She knows I can handle his wrath alone, especially when I did exactly what Weston would have done. Despite how it turned out, we came back to the ship. Both of us. That must mean something to him, after all this time.
“Aye, Cap,” she says, and steps around him, limping toward the steps until she disappears below.
Once the sound of her footsteps fades, he steps away from me, hands on his hips, and begins pacing.
“Can you please explain to me why you keep putting yourself in danger?” His voice is still harsh, full of anger and frustration, but he refuses to look at me.
“I’m not doing it on purpose.”
His head snaps up as he shoots me a glare, and I retract my words.
“Alright, today was on purpose. But I had a good reason.”
“No reason will ever be good enough to put yourself at risk.”
“You’re wrong, and you know it.”
