Epilogue （2）
Two Months After That…
Salay
Regattas are not my favorite boat activity.
But I do kind of, sort of, really fucking love this one is for me.
So to speak.
It’s really in honor of the treasure we discovered for Prince Fuckface – may he buried underneath Davy Jones Locker – whose “tragic death” along with his twin and his father’s are still trending more than I care to see.
To my surprise, no one suspects what actually happened happening.
Why?
Because Ravencroft’s very good at being crazy it seems.
Plus, capsizing is a real thing that kills people all the time.
The story wasn’t that hard to fabricate for the masses.
Especially once their so-called grieving younger sibling took ensuring that it did.
“Isn’t the ‘Under The Sea’ theme a bit too…” Garcia’s head mirthfully bounces back and forth, “…un poco obvio?”
“Miles past, my guy,” Zero cheekily chortles on a bite of cocktail shrimp.
“I know you’re dressed in theme,” our boyfriend teasingly points out at the same time he winds an arm around my lower back, “however, it is necessary to act in theme as well? Cómete unos cuantos más de esos y te convertirás en un flamenco.”
“Did you know that flamingos are actually born white or grey?!” he joyfully spews, damn near flinging cocktail sauce onto my short, red and orange tropical cowl neck maxi dress.
“Did you know that flamingos were thought of as a sign of ‘new world’ and ‘uncharted’ adventures to sailors?” I cutely retort.
“Is that why we’re dressed in this color?” Garcia slides his other arm around so that his hand can lovingly rest of Zero’s hip. “You trying to flamingo to the other guests?”
“That’s peacocking, grandpa,” escapes alongside a teasing grin.
“Te pondré sobre mi rodilla,” he salaciously threatens.
Being over his knee is a great place to be.
Especially when it’s right at cock level for Zero.
Like when we’re on the couch.
Relaxing after a long day.
Listening to whatever animal world nonsense we couldn’t get him to stop binging.
You know, I always thought being this docked in life would be the worst thing to happen to me.
That I’d be bored and stir crazy.
Go mad like the old sailors used to on voyages that lasted much longer than they could’ve ever fathomed.
And yet…I love it.
It’s not quite as comforting as putting my toes in the wet sand after hard day, but it’s similar.
The way that feels like home is the way they feel like home.
I like falling asleep sandwiched between them.
I like Garcia making us dinner and Zero hang drying my bikinis and being the one to guarantee everyone’s getting enough daily dose of vitamin whatever to ward off colds and ancient spirits that may have followed me back from the dive.
I like that I have a shore to call home.
I…actually…love it.
Them.
Which I’ve said.
I just don’t say that shit often.
That’s not my shit.
That’s Zero’s shit.
He says it all the time, every day, and it’s adorable.
He’s adorable.
And the little fucker knows it.
It’s how he gets his way so often.
“Can I have more crabcakes?” questions my shaggy haired boyfriend, completely unaware of the sauce on the corner of his mouth. “Or is there a limit?”
“Do you have a limit?” Garcia chortles on a shake of the head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you put back this much seafood.”
“It’s free.”
“And we’re not exactly starving,” he effortlessly argues in return.
“Yeah, but we don’t have to do the dishes here.”
Once more, Garcia lightly laughs and shakes his head.
“It’s a fair point, Counselor,” I tauntingly support. “No one has to do the oarfish worth of dishes your cooking creates.”
“You love my cooking.”
“I don’t love the fucking dishes we have to do,” is thrown back on anther sassy beam.
Zero begins licking his fingers clean. “You know they call oarfish doomsday fish?”
“Did you know oarfish are also called messengers from the sea god’s palace?” an unexpected voice interjects during their approach from behind.
Denial over the voice hits immediately; however, it becomes impossible to continue the second the man comes into view.
“Mitch,” Garcia immediately croaks out.
“Dad,” escapes me at a volume just above a whisper.
Rather than say a word, Zero starts choking on the last of his cocktail shrimp, prompting me to pound on the back of his chest while Garcia extends his hand in the milk chocolate complexion man’s direction. “We weren’t expecting to see you here.”
Probably weird to be thankful your boyfriend is possibly choking and needs your focus.
But whatevs.
I am.
I haven’t looked that man in the eyes in I don’t know how long.
I damn sure didn’t plan on having to do it tonight of all nights.
The night that’s meant to be honoring and praising me for the fantastic work I’ve done on the salvage, for accomplishing so many firsts for the city as a woman and as a black woman on top of that.
Tonight was supposed to be about getting all the attention Ravencroft assigned me in public, then all the worship I could handle in private.
Seeing him was nowhere on the docket.
Trust me.
I checked.
They cordially shake yet my father investigates, “We?” His dark eyebrows lift in question. “Who exactly is we, Garcia?”
“Either of us,” I state, post ensuring Zero is actually alright.
Shock doesn’t hesitate to appear in his expression. “You’re…an us?”
“We are,” he states before I can.
“We’re actually all an us,” Zero announces and extends an eager palm. “Zero, Sir.”
“Don’t call him sir,” is swiftly sneered.
“Mitch,” Dad politely states during their shaking.
“Nice to meet you!”
“And you, young man.” Once they’re done, his stare finds mine. “And nice to see you, Salacia. In person.”
My lack of retorting encourages both men to loving curl themselves around me in a protective fashion.
Fuckme.
I love when they close ranks like this.
They become like pacific octopus.
All tight.
All tenacles.
I’d totally be turned the fuck on if it wasn’t my father we were dealing with.
“I’ve been seeing your name attached to the find and would’ve extended my congratulations via card or letter except you never have a steady address. I would’ve done it by phone call or texts except I didn’t have your number. And email would be a possibility, but I don’t have that either.”
Easier to keep us at opposites ends of the ocean when none of that info is available.
“However, had I known you were…involved with…an…associate of mine,” he cuts Garcia a minor glance, “I would have simply asked him to convey the message.”
Garcia gives his collar a slightly awkward tug.
“Congratulations on the historical find,” Dad continues without waiting for additional commentary.
“You deserve the accolades. You have more than earned them. And if it’s possible…
in the future…I would love to have dinner with you and hear more about them or about… anything else you would like to share.”
My lips momentarily press together in new realms of disbelief.
Huh.
This is…unexpected.
Even more unexpected than actually finding a treasure historians were pretty sure didn’t actually exist.
Too bad I knew what to do with that.
I’m not so sure what to do with this.
No, we haven’t had the best relationship – or really any real relationship – since Mom died, but maybe we could?
Maybe we should try?
I mean…I let myself become anchored to Garcia and Zero.
Maybe I could let myself forgive the old man too?
“I’ll have Garcia get in touch,” leaves my lips before I can overthink anything else.
“Soon,” my oldest boyfriend adds to ensure this doesn’t become the brush off it could.
“End of the next business week,” Zero cheekily adds to the conversation, anxious to be involved.
“I look forward to it,” Dad politely states and nods his dismissal.
It takes a little longer than expected for us to be huddled in the tent alone; however, once we are, Garcia asks, “You sure you’re ready to take that step?”
“No.” Leaning into their joint hold is effortless. “But I wasn’t ready to fall for the two of you and look at me now…”
Zero leans over to press his lips gently to my cheek. “You look perfect, baby.”
“And you’ll look even more perfect riding our cocks…” Garcia wolfishly declares, open palm sliding down to cup my ass. “Soon.”
“Definitely before the end of the next business day,” cheekily jokes our boyfriend.
“You’re a hot mess, Nemo,” I playfully scold and swipe away the lost cocktail sauce. “But clearly, so am I.”
“The hottest of messes,” Garcia hungrily announces. “And we love you for it.”