Chapter 8 Malia #2
“Will you tell me?” I asked, daring to sit next to him. With both of us on the settee, it now seemed rather small. And, much to my surprise and delight, he nodded, staring into the dead fireplace. “When I was a boy, I watched my father drown.”
My breath caught. Drown?
“There was nothing I could do–nothing anyone could do. He was swept away so quickly. I tried to dive in after him but my mother wouldn’t let me.”
“How old were you?”
“Ten.”
Stab. That was too young. Too heartbreaking to watch such a scene unfold.
“I swore I’d never be that weak.” His voice was rough. “That I’d take instead of being taken from.”
I wanted to do something, like touch his hand or place my hand on his arm, but it seemed too intimate. So I spoke instead. “You were just a boy.”
Alaric finally looked at me, and, in his eyes I could see the pain, the helplessness, a feeling he tried so desperately to never feel again.
My heart hurt for him, and, at the same time, I felt as if I’d been invited into something.
It was like watching the perfect ingredients meld together to create a healing remedy.
“I’ve never shared that with anyone so…” He rubbed his forehead, as if embarrassed. “I’d appreciate if you kept that between us.”
“Of course.” I leaned back against the settee and we sat in a content silence. Yet though we were quiet, there was something happening between us, something safe, something warm.
“I didn’t watch my father die,” I said, “But I know what it’s like to lose him. I lost my father when I was ten too.”
Alaric looked at me, and the softness in his voice made my legs weak. “I’m so sorry, Malia.”
Malia. He knew my name now, thanks to Noni barging in on us earlier. Hearing my name on his lips warmed me from the tips of my toes to the crown of my head.
I swallowed hard, my heart pattering as Alaric asked, “What happened? If you don’t mind me asking…”
For some reason, I wanted to tell him everything, but I fidgeted with the sleeves of my nightshirt and was sure not to share any names.
“One night he… just didn’t wake up.” It happened so suddenly that the doctor said there was no way to explain it.
I finally came to the conclusion that he was called to the other side early.
“That sounds…” Alaric shook his head. “Difficult. I’m so sorry.”
“I think I would’ve been able to cope better if my mother hadn’t remarried so soon,” I said, and Alaric frowned, but he probably figured my family was destitute and mother needed a husband to take care of us.
“Was your stepfather kind?”
“I didn’t get to know him well. He was indifferent to me–all of my parents were. It was as if I was invisible to them.” I played with my hair. “Sometimes I wondered if I even belonged to them. It often seemed like I was an orphan that they’d been obligated to take in.”
The whaler tensed. “Why would they treat you that way?”
I shrugged. “I wondered if my mother had an affair… because I don’t look like my mother or father. My mother had soft brown hair. And father’s hair was even lighter.”
And then I pulled on a strand of my midnight hair. Alaric gently touched it, his fingers brushing against mine. My heart skipped a beat.
“Were you adopted?” he asked, quickly pulling his hand back, his cheeks warm.
I shrugged. “I don’t think so.”
“Do you have memories of your earliest childhood?”
For some reason, I appreciated Alaric exploring this with me. I’d never told anyone–because, truly, I had nobody to talk to. Maybe I was also afraid that if I did talk to someone, they might reveal that I was, indeed, an orphan, and I had no place being in the noble family I was in.
I swallowed hard. Beyond that though, the fact that Alaric cared, that he was curious… it made me feel…
Important.
And it made me want to smile, even though the smile had nothing to do with my sad history.
“My mother gave me a necklace,” I said. “I can show you later. She never explained where it came from, or why, but…” I gently touched the whalebone necklace on Alaric’s chest, my palm touching his shirt. I could feel his warmth. “It reminded me of this.”
“Will you show it to me later?” Alaric asked.
I nodded. “I’ll have to find it in my room.”
The whaler shifted. We were suddenly closer, my head practically on his chest.
“I can move–” I started to say, when Alaric laughed.
“Or you can stay.”
Stay. I liked hearing him say that.
I blushed now that the whaler had his arm around my shoulders, his thumb circling lazily on my shoulder as he took a breath. “So you grew up with a stepfather?”
“He died too.”
At this, Alaric gave me a look. “Your mother’s husbands weren’t poisoned, were they?” I wasn’t sure if he meant this to be a joke, or if he was serious. I answered anyway.
“No. My stepfather died from a sickness that ailed him since youth. I was left with a stepsister.”
“Ah.” Alaric nodded, then let his head rest back, voice quieter. “So does any of this have to do with your secrecy? Why wouldn’t you tell me your name?”
I hesitated, the answer catching in my throat. “I just… don’t like people knowing,” I admitted. “It felt safer that way. Especially with you.”
His brow lifted slightly, but there was no offense in his tone. “Because I’m a whaler?”
“Because I didn’t know if I could trust you.”
He was silent for a long moment, the sound of the waves filling the space between us. Then, softly, “Do you?”
I swallowed, thinking before I answered. “Yes.”
His eyes narrowed, curious. “Why?”
A hundred reasons swirled in my mind, but one rose above them all. “Because you saved my life,” I said. “And because… I think there’s more to you than the man you want the world to see.”
Something unreadable flickered in his gaze before his lashes lowered. “It’s a pretty name,” he murmured, like a secret meant only for the two of us.
My cheeks warmed as his hand squeezed my arm. He closed his eyes, his features softening into sleep. I watched him for a long moment. The light was dim, and I still had to look out the corners of my eyes, but being this close, I could get more details of his face.
I liked his rough tanned skin, dark lashes, and shadowed facial hair. He looked so rogue, yet so… calm.
I relaxed. Here was this man I’d sworn to keep at arm’s length, and yet I wondered how someone could be both storm and shelter in the same breath.
And I saw him… really saw him. He wasn’t just the whaler bloodying the seas.
He was a boy who was terrified of weakness.
Of the sea.
Who needed to be in control, to be the most powerful man the world had ever seen.
Because his father was not.
He was too young. Too young to witness what he did.
But no girl should have to endure what I did after my father died… For the first time, I began to feel something for myself that I never had before.
Compassion. It was warm, like snuggling in a blanket after being out in the cold.
I sighed and closed my eyes, dozing off until my head rested on his chest. His arm instinctively held me closer and I couldn’t recall ever sleeping as well as I did on that night.