1. Henrik #2
I snort the sip of coffee I just took. Once I finish coughing, I croak, “Sounds like my kind of woman.”
Eirik laughs. “She’s all yours. I may have seen her at the docks before we shoved off, but I’m not sure. She was too far away.”
My mind spins. Was that her? Images of the petite blonde with curves for days enter my mind. The thought of her already having had a run-in with my best friend has me twisted up.
Unaware of my reaction, he continues. “Brock mentioned she even befriended your sister.”
“Mia?” I question.
He scoffs. “Do you have another sister? Yes, Amelia.” He laughs.
“Shut up, asshole. You caught me off guard. I noticed an unfamiliar blonde at the dock. Was that her? What’s her name?” My questions are hurried because I’m desperate for more information on my mysterious siren. Who is she?
Eirik makes a noise in his throat. “I think it started with an S. Maybe?” His details are fuzzy, which means he was too focused on the woman’s physical attributes to remember. Given his playboy status, it doesn’t surprise me at all.
A nagging in my soul tells me my siren at the docks and his mystery woman aren’t the same.
Continued thoughts of her spike my adrenaline.
My pulse races and my palms grow sweaty.
Just the thought of her heats my body. If I were wearing more than a t-shirt, I’d be stripping off layers. What the fuck is going on with me?
At the same time as my freak out, Eirik’s laughter stalls and then he sputters, “W-wait. When have you ever noticed a woman at the docks? Usually, you’re eager to keep them far from the boats so you don’t get bad luck. What’s so special about this one?”
Fuck if I know.
Downplaying it, I groan. “Nothing. If she worked with NOAA, I wonder if Mia can get inside information on whether opie season is a go.”
Eirik lets out a frustrated breath. “I should have made amends before we got back to town, but I was itching to avoid the woman who showed up and completely forgot about it.”
“What woman?” I ask.
He lets out an aggravated breath. “Yeah. Some rando I hooked up with once, years ago.”
I shake my head even though he can’t see me. “You’ll never learn. Maybe she’s looking to settle down, and you look like a good catch.” I smirk to myself.
Eirik huffs, and I laugh, amused with myself. See. I’m not always grumpy.
“If she’s looking to settle down, she wouldn’t survive as a wife of a crab fisherman. From our brief encounter, I could tell she wasn’t what I was looking for.”
“Brief encounter?” I snort. “Is that what you are calling it these days?”
“Shut up, Henrik. I was clear about what I wanted. And it wasn’t a conversation to get to know her,” he growls. “As I was saying, wives of crab fisherman are a special breed. They have to be strong and have a spine of steel to handle us. She’d never fit the bill.”
Desire floods my veins as I think of my siren, and my chest tightens.
Excitement thrums in my veins as I commit myself to discovering who she is.
My response is short-lived when I realize how telling Eirik’s reaction was.
I’ve never once been distracted by a woman before.
This sudden interest in her is just a passing fancy, right?
I rub my hand down my face. Fuck, I need to get laid.
Searching my memory, I realize how long it’s been since I’ve had sex.
The radio crackles, pulling me from my musings. “Henrik, we just got to our spot. Time to go to work. Be safe, brother.”
“Same to you,” I answer before consulting my map to see we’re almost at our spot too.
Looking over the boat’s bow, I evaluate the conditions.
The skies aren’t stormy, but they certainly aren’t bright.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see our wind gauge registering at eight knots, and the swells are minimal. It’s perfect weather for dropping pots.
Switching to the boat’s intercom, I lift the radio to my lips. “Guys, be ready in ten.”
A few minutes later, I hear the creak of the metal door leading out to the deck.
Turning around, I see my crew file out, and I smile.
They’ve been with me on the Brina for the past ten years.
Roy, the only new member, trails out last. His face is a mix of emotions.
He’s wearing a wide smile like he’s excited, but his eyes are stormy, hinting at his uneasiness.
Crab fishing isn’t for the faint of heart, and growing up in Kodiak, you’re bound to hear a story or two.
From an early age, I learned it takes a certain kind of person to be successful in this demanding job.
Whether Roy has what it takes remains unanswered.
And it won’t take long to figure it out.
Wasting no time, the guys pull on their heavy-duty rain gear and get to work.
Kai jumps on the controls for the hydraulic lift while James climbs the stack and begins readying the first pot.
Since this is Roy’s first season, as our greenhorn, he’s delegated to the worst jobs.
Within minutes he’s busy grinding semi-frozen baitfish and filling buckets.
Before we release our first pot, I exit the wheelhouse and look down at my crew. Kai walks over to Roy with a smirk on his face. He pulls a herring out of the bait box and thrusts it at our newbie. I laugh, and the smile on his face disappears.
“Okay, Roy. On our boat, it’s tradition that, for good luck, the greenhorn bites the head off of the baitfish.
” I watch as Roy’s eyes go wide and he swallows hard.
Salty sea air mixed with the oily scent of the baitfish surrounds me, and memories overwhelm me.
My stomach rolls and a shiver shoots down my spine as I watch him lift the putrid fish to his mouth.
Sixteen years ago, I did the same thing, and it was one of the most profitable years the Brina has ever seen since the fishery implemented the crab rationalization program in 2005.
At seventeen, I didn’t understand how switching from a derby-style system to a regimented, individual fishing quota (IFQ) system would drastically change our industry, but it did.
Issues of safety became manageable, and the industry saw the number of deaths each year drop dramatically.
It was a major shift in crabbing, and one that every crabbing family was grateful for.
Was the industry still dangerous? Hell yes.
But with the new system in place, it encouraged captains to keep their crew away from the worst storms and hopefully, overall, safer.
When at sea, the unavoidable risks were never far from thought.
In the Bering Sea, things could change in an instant. You always have to be ready and aware.
Following each season, my dad and his friends would gather and toast all those who’d been lost at sea.
In previous decades, deaths were common during the crabbing season because of the race to harvest the biggest catch and earn the biggest paycheck.
Crews worked under the worst conditions, and it was a recipe for disaster.
They were sleep-deprived and working in the most dangerous weather.
With the IFQ system, that isn’t as common anymore.
Although we still deal with unpredictable weather, all the captains I know in the fleet make the best effort to give their crew the rest and the best environment possible.
Before heading back in, I holler out to my crew, “Be safe.”
They all grunt back. They know better than anyone how dangerous this job is.
Like in the Bermuda Triangle, things can go from normal to clusterfuck in seconds.
The weather can shift, the boat can lurch, a piece of equipment can fail, or someone can make the wrong move, and your day of crabbing takes a turn for the worst. Being solely responsible for my crew is an enormous responsibility I don’t take lightly.
Tucked in the wheelhouse’s warmth, perched in my captain’s chair, I monitor everything to keep my crew as safe as possible.
Static from the deck comms comes through the intercom. “Pot one,” Kai says while dropping it overboard. Moments later, Derrik throws the pot’s two buoys so we can locate them later.
On my computer, I mark each drop location as we work through our first string of twenty. While we slowly advance, I monitor the wind’s speed and direction as well as the temperature and swell of the ocean.
Looking out the window, I’m happy to see the sky has cleared.
Gulls fly above, waiting to see if we’ve caught anything for them.
Small waves crash against the hull, sending a foamy spray into the air.
If the swells were bigger, that spray would hit the wheelhouse.
Blowing out a breath, I give thanks it’s above freezing so we aren’t dealing with it hardening to every surface.
Every seven or eight minutes, the crew launches another pot into the sea, and I pray we’re on top of a honey pot.
With the opie season being canceled last year, and not knowing if it’s on for this year, I need to ensure this king crab season is profitable.
As the captain of this vessel, the pressure weighs heavily on me.
Rolling my shoulders to loosen the knot I feel forming, I turn and see my crew launch another pot.
Already halfway through this first string, I celebrate. We’re making great time.