9. Colt #2
A tug on my line jolts me back from staring at him in his element, and a trout breaks the surface.
Ethan exclaims like an excited toddler as he points the phone toward the fish and records the catch.
The fish jumps and fights as I pull in the line, and once close enough, I unclip the net from my vest and scoop up the fish.
“Crap, I’m gonna have a wet foot. We should have had hip waders or rubber boots on.” I gently take the fish in my hand and explain to Ethan about the hook. “They might be small, but they still hurt when they get stuck in the meat of your finger or thumb.”
The fish lies in my hand. It’s a decent size, and Ethan takes about six dozen photos. “I’m gonna let him go.” Stepping to where I can reach deeper water with my outstretched hand, I lower the fish into the river. With a splash of its tail, it takes off, and I straighten up.
“I need to try this, Colt. I want to catch a fish.” Ethan nods, convinced because he said it would happen, so there’s no other outcome. I hope he’s right.
After switching us both into rubber boots and setting my wet cowboy boot in the sun to dry, it’s clear Ethan isn’t a natural at casting. His eyebrows scrunch together, and I think he might be one more cast away from throwing the rod down the river.
“Hey,” I gently call to get his attention. When he looks my way, the tightness in my chest surprises me, and I almost forget what I was going to say. “Casting doesn’t come easy for everyone, but I can show you a different way to fish that might work.”
“Sure. I guess I might have gotten ahead of things. This is harder than it looks.”
“It is. Give yourself grace. It’s a very technical skill.
” After setting my rod down safely out of the way, I wade over to Ethan.
“You don’t have to do the back cast if you have a floating fly.
” After pulling in the line, I quickly cut the other fly off and place it in a small container in one of my vest pockets.
In another container, I pop the lid and show the flies to Ethan. “Pick one. Whichever one you want.”
“This is so Pretty Woman-ish, Colt. Holding open a box and telling me to pick whatever I want.” He wiggles his eyebrows over the lid, and I shake my head with a smile. “That black one with the shiny wings looks cool. Let’s try that.” When he leans closer, I snap the box shut.
“Colt…” His body shakes with laughter. “Good one.”
“It’s a good movie.” I shrug and switch the reel on his rod to one filled with a floating line. I add a leader, pluck the fly he chose out of the box, and tie it on before returning the rod to him.
“You know…until now, I didn’t think fishing could be a turn on.”
“Is that so?”
“Mhmm.”
“Well, you still need to learn how to do this, so pay attention.”
Ethan stands straight, a serious face on. “You got it.”
“This line and fly floats. You just kind of toss it out a way, then use your hand to bring it back.”
“So, a drag it across the water kind of thing?”
“Yeah. You ready to try?”
Ethan nods, and after I’m out of his way, he wades to a shallow spot that brings him closer to the deeper pool where the fish have jumped. He’s focused on his task, and before I retrieve my rod, I let my mind wander and wonder what it would be like to have someone enjoy this with me all the time.
The people who pay me aren’t the same. They’re usually passionate about fishing, but they don’t share…well, me. What might that feel like to be here with someone I care about and maybe have breakfast with? Would fishing be more joyful as a result?
“Colt!” Ethan’s cry of surprise, accompanied by the splashing of a fish, pulls me from my musings. “What do I do? You didn’t tell me what to do if I actually got one!”
“Oh, shit.” I laugh and take a few steps over to Ethan. “Take a step closer to the shore, then raise the hand with the rod in the air.”
Ethan takes a step, and the fish jumps. His rod dips low before the trout breaks the surface again, flashing its body in the late morning sun before splashing into the water again. Ethan laughs. It’s so joyful and uninhibited that it steals my breath.
“You’re doing great. Just raise your arm, and it will come to you. There’s only so much line out.” Unclipping the net from my vest, I step closer and gently adjust his arm higher. “He’s close. Just keep your arm up, and I’ll net him.”
Ethan holds his breath as the trout shows itself, tired from the fighting, and I scoop it into the net.
“Let’s get closer to the shore.”
“Fuck, I caught a fish. This is so cool. Hey, do you think you could take my picture?”
Ethan is practically vibrating; his words coming so fast together, I hope he remembers to breathe.
“Of course. There’s no way this is going undocumented.
” Once at the river’s edge, Ethan bends closer.
“First, you need to take the hook out of its mouth gently with the pliers. I usually use my fingers unless it’s set in its throat, but you should use the pliers until you’re used to handling hooks. ”
“It’s just a tiny hook. I can do it.”
Ethan, the confident person he is, just goes in. His grip on the fish isn’t secure, and when it thrashes, his hand slips, jamming the hook deep into his thumb.
“Fuck, fuck…” Shockingly, he laughs and grips the fish tighter and glances at me. “Take a photo, Colt. Bleeding thumb and all.”
Ethan stays crouched and somehow holds the fish with his thumb still impaled on the hook and the biggest smile on his face. After I take a few photos and hope they turn out, I drop next to Ethan quickly.
“Are you okay?” I ask as I bring the pliers to the hook in his thumb.
Thankfully, the hooks on these flies have tiny barbs, but it’s still going to hurt.
My pliers grip the shaft of the hook, and Ethan’s gaze holds mine.
“I’m fi—” He can’t finish his sentence because in one swift pull, I’ve removed the hook.
He looks at his thumb, blood oozing in a steady stream down into his palm.
“Ow! You just pulled it out without telling me.”
“Sometimes that’s easier, and the fish needs to get back into the water.” Taking a step out, I gently wiggle the fish in the water until it flexes its tail and breaks from my grip, swimming away into the water.
Ethan bends to rinse his hand in the river. “I hope you have a first aid kit.”
“Of course I do.” Taking him by the elbow, I lead him up the short embankment toward the horses. “Sit here.” He sits under the tree I’ve placed him at and leans against it with a sigh.
With the small first-aid kit, I crouch in front of him and gently take his hand to have a closer look. “Bigger hooks cause bigger problems when you hook yourself. This one still did some damage, though.” Opening an antiseptic pad, I warn him this time. “This might sting.”
Ethan nods and hisses as the antiseptic hits his wound, and instinctively, I blow on it. His gaze catches mine as I do so. “Why do you blow on it?”
“My mom used to do that when I skinned my knee or hands, or even took off a Band-Aid. It, ah…I guess it made it feel better, so I just always do it.”
A crackling silence settles as I dab an antibiotic ointment on the small wound before applying a bandage.
“Colt?”
“Yeah?”
Is it my imagination, or do we both sound like it’s hard to breathe right now?
“Kisses make me feel better. My mom would kiss the bandage, and I thought that was always the special touch that made the hurt go away.”
Slowly, I bring his wounded thumb to my lips and feather a gentle kiss against the bandage. Ethan’s breath catches, and his throat bobs as he watches me. “More,” he whispers. Turning his palm, I place a kiss there and another on his wrist. His eyes close as his chest heaves, and I shift closer.
“Can I kiss you for real?” I ask, and Ethan’s eyes flutter open.
“If you don’t, I might die,” he laughs, but I don’t see the humor. Just a man who I wish were here longer and who has brought me to life before we’ve even kissed. So I lean forward the rest of the way and press my lips to his.
And my entire world changes.