Page 52 of Neap & Spring

“Easy,” Wesley says. “Let it tire itself out.”

I wait, feeling the massive fish on the other end fight. Then I start reeling again, gaining a few feet before it dives again.

“What is it?” Roman asks, his eyes never leaving my line.

“No idea.” My arms are burning. “But it’s not giving up.”

We do this dance for what feels like forever. Me reeling, it diving. The rod bends almost in half, and my hands ache from gripping it so tight.

I reel harder. The line is coming up. I can see it now, cutting through the water, getting closer.

Then, the rod jerks hard to the left.

There’s a brief, undignified moment where my arms are windmilling and Wesley is reaching for me and Roman is yelling something unhelpful, and the next thing I know, I’m going over the side.

The water hits me like a wall of ice.

It’s freezing! Every single nerve ending I own turns into an ice cube. My lungs seize up, and I can’t breathe. Everything is shock and arctic water and the muffled sound of nothing.

I surface, gasping for air, and push my hair out of my eyes. I am still somehow holding onto the rod.

“CAL!” Wesley’s leaning over the side, his face frantic.

Roman is completely losing it.

Full-body, bent-over, can’t-catch-his-breath laughing.

“IT’S NOT FUCKING FUNNY!” I shout, but I feel a laugh of my own bubbling up. I start to tread water, hauling the rod with me. My clothes are immediately heavy, pulling me down. My jacket is soaked through, and my boots feel like anchors.

“It’s a little funny!” Roman wheezes, wiping actual tears from his eyes.

The rod jerks again in my hands. Whatever’s on the line is still fighting. I pull at it and continue swimming one handed, which is every bit as impossible as it sounds.

“Let it go!” Wesley reaches down, hand extended.

“Absolutely not!” I’m not losing this fish after it pulled me into the Pacific Ocean in March. “This damn fish pulled me into the ocean. This just became personal.”

Wesley leans farther over, his fingers grabbing at air. “Callum, let go of the damn rod and grab my hand.”

“Not until I —”

The rod jerks so hard I go under again, swallowing a full mouthful of water, and then the line goes completely slack.

The fish is gone.

I surface, sputtering. “Dammit.”

Roman is sitting on the deck now, full-on crying with laughter. “That was — I can’t —” He can’t even finish the sentence, just waves his hand in the general direction of where I fell in, tears streaming down his face.

“Are you done?” I chuckle, spitting out seawater, my teeth already chattering.

“Not even close. That was the most —” He dissolves into laughter again.

Wesley hauls me back into the boat, and I collapse onto the deck in a puddle, completely soaked, freezing, still holding a rod with absolutely nothing on it. There’s seaweed in my collar. And hair in my eyes. My dignity is somewhere at the bottom of the Pacific.

I stare up at the gray sky for a moment, dazed.

Then I start laughing too, and once I start I can’t stop, and the three of us just absolutely lose it together on the deck of the boat like absolute idiots.