Page 47 of Storm and Sea

Atreus took the moment to wipe sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt. Luckily, his own perspiration didn’t trigger the change. Summer was upon them, and the humid air wrapped around him like a second skin he couldn’t shed. But he liked the work—no, he loved it. The burn in his arms, the strain in his back—it was proof that what he was doing mattered. That it meant something.

“Dante’s boat is coming in,” another worker hollered. Their brief moment of reprieve was over when Dante’s boat docked, and they began unloading his catch.

“Any luck?” Atreus asked, lifting the lighter-than-usual barrel.

“As you can see, no. Not a good start to the season.” Dante sighed, his sunburnt nose peeling. “And I was up by the rocks. That’s usually good fishin’.”

“Next run will be better,” Atreus encouraged but knew it’d likely end with the same disappointing result. After unloading the catch and resupplying the boat with chum, Dante was off again.

This went back and forth as boats docked, unloaded, and went out for another run. All of them returned with light catches, and the poor yield caused many to anchor down for the day, unable to afford the fuel to make another trip into the bay.

Atreus knew them all by name, both the boats and the men driving them. The same faces, but more lined now. Many had their sons aboard, teaching them the ways of the water. Yet even with young, eager faces, the air was solemn. This would be another short season, another hungry winter.

A bull horn sounded from the edge of the bay. The industrial fishing giants were only a speck on the horizon. The horn’s vibrating boom was meant for them, a reminder of where their life source was going. Many of the men cursed at the dot in the distance. Others made rude hand gestures.

Atreus looked ashore to the only thing that could distract him from the darkening atmosphere. Nyel worked at a long metal table, sorting the barrels of fish in carefully marked bins. This was the job Atreus tasked him with, the one farthest from the water. Atreus spent years mastering how to walk along the ever-rocking deck without getting splashed. Just this morning, he watched Nyel almost stick his hand under the stream of a small fountain before Atreus snatched his wrist away.

“Oops,” Nyel said, “forgot.”

Atreus was going to have a heart attack. But despite the grisly and smelly work, Nyel didn’t complain about his task. Sure, he shoved some twisted newspaper in his nostrils, but he worked hard.

“Friend of yours?” asked a voice behind the adjacent barrel.

“Not really. But he’s my problem, in a manner of speaking—Leo!” Atreus nearly dropped the barrel of sardines at the sight of his best friend.

“Took you long enough. I’ve been standing here for ten minutes.”

“Sorry, I was distra—I wasn’t expecting—what are you doing here?” Thick white bandages looped around Leo’s head, flattening his bright blond curls. “You shouldn’t be lifting that.”

“Ugh, you sound like that pretty boy doctor,” Leo said, lifting the heavier of the two barrels.

He was the same height as Atreus, though narrower in the shoulders. Atreus didn’t like the way his tan skin lacked its usual glow.

“He probably has good reason for telling you to take it easy,” Atreus said, lifting his barrel with ease.

“I’m fine. Anyway, Dad told me you needed some help at the docks, so I came right over,” he said, then added, “And tell Giovanni thank you. For the food.”

Atreus nodded. “So the Vino Rosso…”

“Gone,” Leo said shortly, “she’s completely sunk.”

“There is no chance of getting her back? Signore Cicco has a crane mounted to his boat. We could try⁠—”

“No.” Leo cut him off. “After that storm, she’s gone. The tide probably dragged her along the sandbank, where she’s likely stuck in the rocks.”

“I’m sorry,” Atreus said, but it didn’t feel like enough. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from pressing his friend: “Why didn’t you wait for me, Leo?” he said on an exhale, “I could have helped.”

Leo snorted and genuinely sounded amused. “You? On a boat? You’re kidding, right?” He laughed louder than necessary. “Oh, I can only imagine it, Gatto on the sea.”

“Laugh all you want; you know I’d do it for you,” Atreus said, shaking his head at the nickname. One he’d earned for his obvious ‘fear of water’ and ‘severe lack of swimming skills.’

“I know,” Leo said, dropping the barrel with a grunt. “That’s what makes you a good friend.” He looked like he was about to say more when his attention caught like a fish on a hook on something up the hill.

Atreus followed his gaze to where Nyel sorted through the last boat’s catch, dropping one of the slippery bodies. Shaking his head, Atreus was about to tell him off when he paused, noticing Leo’s expression. His best friend’s eyes were glazed over, and color rushed to his cheeks.

“Who’s that?” Leo asked breathlessly. “He’s… really cute.”

“Cute?” Atreus asked with a raised brow.