“You okay?” I ask him, voice raised to be heard over the wind.
“We were fucking grappling,” he shouts back. I wince, shaking my head at the thought of grappling for lost traps in this weather. Granted, it hadn’t been this bad earlier in the morning.
“How many?” I ask, keeping it short and pressing a hand to my abdomen once more when a sliver of pain shoots through my belly. He’ll know what I’m asking.
“Four,” he yells into the wind. I nod but don’t reply. I don’t blame them for wanting to recover the lost traps. All of our traps are tagged, and commercial boats are only provided a set number of tags per year. Four traps missing might not seem like a big deal now, but once the high season hits, four traps missing will result in thousands of dollars gone as well. Recovering them as soon as possible is the best thing to do. It’s the thing Shiloh would have had us do. It is, unfortunately, the wrong thing to have chosen to do today.
By the time we pull into the harbor, my entire left side is throbbing with pain. It’s hard to ignore it, and even harder to keep my sea legs underneath me as the boat moves. Every time I adjust my stance to accommodate the motion of the water, a flare of pain burns through my gut and up my side. I didn’t think I hit the rail that hard, but I also wasn’t able to catch myself at all. All two hundred and four pounds of me was concentrated on where the metal edge caught my side. I think, once I get home and take a look in the mirror, I’m going to find a heck of a bruise there.
There’s an ambulance sitting in the parking lot of the wharf when we arrive, the EMTs watching us approach with booted feet propped up on the fence. Dryden, who spent the entire way home standing next to Shiloh, walks over and joins me. His expression is hard as the movement of the boat pushes him into my side.
“You okay?” I ask him, wincing at the stupid question. No, he’s probably not fine. Physically, maybe, but I imagine he’s less than pleased with how this day is shaping up. Before he can say it, I add, “They’ll tow it in once the storm passes.”
His mouth turns downward, but he glances over at Cody, and his expression smooths slightly.
“He’ll need to be checked out. I think he hit his head.”
“And you?” I press, because he didn’t answer my question. Still watching Cody, he shrugs.
“I’m fine.” After a pause, he adds, “And my fucking boat better be fine when we’re able to go back out.”
Exhausted, I merely content myself with a nod. We didn’t really do all that much. The prep prior to launch is something we’ve done many times, and even the rough seas weren’t anything we hadn’t had to deal with before. But I’m exhausted, suddenly, like the rescue mission required more from me than the little I actually did. We’ve hauled five hundred traps in a day, and even that doesn’t leave me with this sort of weariness. I’m cold and miserable and desperately want to swallow a couple of painkillers. I want to give Dryden a hug, if I weren’t sure trying would get my head bit off.
Shiloh has to speak with the rescue coordinator, so Nils andI are left on theDrifter, working through the safety checks we’d usually complete after a haul, regardless that the boat was dry-docked until a couple of hours ago. Nils doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his eyes on me as we work. Once, as we pass by one another, he catches my chin in his hand, glove scratchy against my skin. He looks into my eyes for a moment before kissing me on the forehead and stepping around, getting back to work. That, I think, as I strip off my oilers, is about as good as anI love youfrom him.
“Well, he’s not happy,” Shiloh says, rejoining us and hooking a thumb back over his shoulder in the direction of the ambulance. Neither Nils nor I need to look to know he’s talking about Dryden. If they want to give him a health assessment, they’re probably going to have to knock him out to do it.
“Cody okay?” I ask, rubbing my hands together. I am so ready to go home, take a hot shower, and snuggle up in front of Nils’ fire. “Dryden said he had a head injury.”
“I’m not sure. He seemed fine, though.” Taking off his beanie, Shiloh runs a hand through his messy hair, the strands wet despite his best efforts to keep dry. He pats the side of theDrifter.“We’ll dock her again in a few days. Thanks, guys.”
“Of course,” Nils replies softly, sounding tired. I addmake Nils dinnerto my plan for the evening.
“Do you need anything else?” I ask. “I can whip together some stew and bring it over for you and Ewan. I made a couple loaves of bread the other day, and they’re still good. You can have those, too. Maybe some?—”
“You’ve done enough, Oli. Just go home and relax. Thankyou. Seriously, thank you. I think we all know that today could have been a lot worse.”
Nils puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. The message is clear: let’s go home.
Chapter Twenty-One
NILS
Oliver looks a little pale, even though we’ve long been back in the warmth. He disappeared into the bathroom for a shower the moment we walked into the house, kissing me softly before closing the door between us. Cold myself, despite the weather being little different from what I’m used to around here in winter, I’d started a fire and then gone to the kitchen to heat some soup. Canned soup, because I’m not nearly as proficient as Oliver, but at least it’ll put something warm into his stomach.
Now, sitting next to him on the couch as we drink it from soup mugs, I look at his profile and frown. Oliver has something of a cherubic look about him during the winter, usually—cheeks flushed pink and eyes bright. Right now, though, his face is pale. I think, if I were to reach out and put a hand to his forehead, it might be clammy.
He’s also fidgeting. A lot. And not the usual type of fidgeting either, with his tapping fingers and restless hands. No, right now,he can’t seem to sit still. Every few minutes, he’ll adjust his hips, sliding his legs to a new position, sitting forward with a frown before resting back slowly. He looks physically uncomfortable, like there’s something on the couch that’s poking into him.
“Are you okay?” I ask him. Immediately, a smile pops into place as he looks at me.
“Fine. Just tired. Somehow, that short trip was more exhausting than any of our ten-plus-hour days.”
Putting a hand on the nape of his neck, I massage gently behind his ear. It was exhausting, but I think it was less the physical aspect than it was the mental. We aren’t coast guard, and even though local fishermen are usually the first to be called during an emergency, it’s not something we are precisely trained for. Add in the fact that Oliver is fond of Dryden, and I’m not surprised at all that he’s feeling wiped out.
“Bed?” I ask him, reaching for the empty mug as he tips the last of the soup into his mouth.
“Yeah,” he agrees, eyes sleepy and smile soft as he looks at me.
