Page 30 of Neap & Spring

“Good. Settled.” Dad looks at Wesley. “Wes?”

Wesley’s been quiet, working on his cioppino like he’s got nowhere else to be. He glances up and wipes his mouth with a napkin, the movement unhurried. “High: We had good fishing this week. Caught enough halibut to cover Cal’s order and then some. I sold the rest at the market and made a decent profit. And we landed a big contract this week. That new hotel in Crescent Bay wants me as their primary seafood supplier. It’s a year-long contract.”

“Wes, that’s enormous news,” Hayes says, straightening in his chair.

“Seriously,” I add. “That hotel’s a big deal. How many covers do they do a night?”

“Three hundred, give or take.” Wesley shrugs like it’s nothing, but I can see the pride in his eyes. “They want daily deliveries. It’s good money.”

“Good money?” Beckett laughs. “Dude, that’s massive. You’re basically the biggest fisherman in the area now.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“You are,” Dad says firmly, pointing his spoon at Wes. “You’ve worked hard for this, son. You should be proud.”

Wesley ducks his head slightly, uncomfortable with the praise the way he always has been, ever since we were kids. Two years older than me and still the worst at accepting a complement. His hand wraps around his beer bottle. “Thanks.”

“And the low?” Dad presses gently.

Wesley hesitates. He takes a drink and sets his bottle down carefully. “The boat needs a new engine. The quote came back at twelve grand.”

I choke on my water. “Twelve grand?”

“It’s a marine engine. They’re not cheap.”

“Wes, that’s —” Beckett starts.

“I’ll figure it out,” Wesley cuts him off. “With the new contract, I’ll have the money in a few months. I can pull from savings now and replenish it.”

“Or,” Hayes says carefully, leaning forward, “you could let us help.”

Wesley’s jaw tightens. His fingers drum once against the table then still. “I’m not taking money from you guys.”

“It’s not charity,” I say. “You’ve been giving me fish at cost for three years. Let us help with this.”

“Cal, your restaurant is —”

“Probably doing better than your boat engine situation,” I lie. “How much can you put toward it?”

Wesley looks like he wants to argue, but Dad gives him a look. The look.

“Six grand,” Wesley says finally, his voice tight. “I can cover six right now.”

“I’ll cover two,” I say.

“I can do three,” Hayes offers.

“That’s eleven,” Beckett says, doing the math. “I can cover the last thousand.”

“Beck, you just lost your sponsor.”

“And I’ve got savings. I told you.” Beckett leans back in his chair. “Besides, if your boat doesn’t work, Cal doesn’t get fish. If Cal doesn’t get fish, the restaurant suffers. It’s an investment in my brothers’ businesses. And Hayes —” He pauses, thinking. “Hayes benefits from the general goodwill this generates within the family.”

Hayes points at him. “That is a fact.”

“Also,” Beckett continues. “I love you guys and want to help, even though you are all annoyingly self-sufficient.”

Wesley’s throat works. He looks around the table at all of us, and I can see him trying to come up with an excuse to refuse. His hands flatten on the table, pressing down like he needs the solid surface. “I’ll pay you back.”