2. Morgan
TWO
Morgan
Don’t leave port on a Friday. Step onto the boat with your right foot first. Whistling summons storms. No bananas on the boat!
I don’t believe in fishing superstitions, but I understand why most fishermen do. When death lurks beneath the surface of icy waters and rogue waves shred boats into splinters, you’ll cling to whatever superstition you can for the illusion that you have control over your fate.
Freezing rain pelts my jacket. Waves crash and churn so violently they drown out the droning hydraulics on deck.
The minor storm forecasted has surged into a miserable squall, worsening with each hour of hard labor.
An arctic typhoon is on the way, and we’re racing the wind to haul our traps before the brunt of the storm hits.
At least Cole’s safe in the wheelhouse. For now. Seb hasn’t left the helm all week unless we force him away from the wheel to sleep.
Each year, we fish for three types of crab from fall until deep into the Alaskan winter.
We breezed through red king crab and bairdi, but the opilio crab season has been a nightmare.
A small fishing boat went down last week.
Luckily, the Coast Guard rescued the crew from a tattered life raft before hypothermia set in, but it rattled all of us.
Boats don’t sink as often as they used to, so it’s a grim reminder of how fragile and fleeting life can be.
“Ready when you are, Mor,” Cole says over the PA as he pulls the Briar Anteros alongside a pair of orange buoys fighting to float above the waves.
I hurl my grappling hook toward the space between them, snagging the line of rope connecting them to the crab trap at the bottom of the ocean.
We all move in silent synchrony to hoist the seven-by-seven-foot trap to the water’s surface. After more than a decade working together, we’ve mastered the job down to muscle memory.
Well, except for Alejo. Seb took him under his wing last year and gave him a job after he found him sleeping on our deck back in Seattle. He’s a quick learner, but it’ll probably take him another year or two to become a solid deckhand.
“I feel like I’m watching a funeral,” Cole says.
“Maybe it’s my funeral.” Lawrence yawns. “I’d rather be dead than work another hour on deck.”
“We’ve only been at it for twelve hours,” Wes murmurs around the cigarette dangling between his lips. “Not going soft on us already, are you, Lawless?”
Most Bering Sea fishermen are tall and brawny, but Wes has two or three inches on the rest of us and is built like he can bench press a crab pot. Rumor has it, he’s done exactly that to win a drunken bet. The man’s a legend at only forty-two; survived not one, but two sinking ships.
Alejo shuffles from one foot to the other at the rail as we wait in suspense for the trap to rise above the water. “Please, please, please.”
“Keep your feet on the ground and stop fidgeting before you fall on your ass or get caught in the bite,” Javi says.
“Oh no. Mr. OSHA’s at it again,” Lawrence shouts, rolling the massive steel sorting table into position.
Last week, a rogue wave broke the wheel locks, and the table keeps popping off the tracks, despite my best attempts to weld it back together.
I peer over the rail as the pot emerges from the water and exhale at the sight of crab piling toward the top. “There’s money in this one, boys.”
Wes guides the wrecking ball of crab up and over the rail from his station at the hydraulic controls, while Javi and Alejo spin it into position.
“Thank fuck,” Javi says. “I need to get home.”
“Trouble with Gabi?” Wes asks, sliding a crab the size of his head down the metal chute.
“Yeah. She seems pretty serious about it this time. Even gave me an ultimatum.” He drops a rejected crab into the plastic bin. “Quit fishing, take a paramedic job full-time, have two kids by the time she’s thirty.”
Lawrence winces. “Two kids in three years? You better get on that. Or should I say her?”
“Shut the hell up, Lawless.”
“Lawrence, bait duty,” Cole says through the two-way speaker.
Lawrence jumps. “Stop eavesdropping. It’s creepy.”
Alejo laughs. “Thanks for taking my job.”
“What rule did I even break?” Lawrence grumbles.
“We don’t badmouth Gabi,” Cole says. “We love Gabi.”
“I didn’t badmouth her, I said he should fu—”
“BAIT STATION!”
“Okay, okay.” Lawrence laughs, lifting both middle fingers toward the wheelhouse windows.
“You need to come up with a better punishment, Cole,” Javi says. “Sentencing my roommate to chopping bait punishes me too because I have to smell him.”
“Just hose him off before you go inside,” I say, shunting the last crab down the chute.
“One-zero-four,” I yell to the two-way speaker, using my hands to signal the number of crab in case he can’t hear me clearly.
“One hundred and four?” Cole’s voice crackles over the PA with excitement.
I’m not celebrating yet. If the rest of the traps are this full, maybe, but I won’t be happy until we’re back in Seattle.
“It’s okay to smile, Morgan,” Cole says.
“How can he even see if you’re smiling?” Alejo asks.
“Lucky guess, I bet,” Lawrence yells over the waves. “Morgan is even bitchier than usual.”
“I’d smile more if you talked less, Lawless.”
Wes barks a laugh that only twenty years of briny air and chain-smoking will give you. Javi forced us all to quit last year, but nicotine withdrawal made Wes so irritable, Javi relented.
“Go ahead. Set the trap back,” Cole says.
“Oh, bait boy!” Javi calls. “Your services are required.”
“Bait boy? Maybe I should put that in my dating profile.” Lawrence squeezes halfway inside the crab trap, and hangs a fresh cod we caught and a bag of frozen fish inside.
“Careful, Lawless,” I warn. “Javi might lock you in and send you for a dive.”
Lawrence eases out of the trap. “No way. He likes me too much.”
Javi ties the trap shut. “Do I?”
Once they’re all clear, Wes sends the empty crab pot back into the ocean. Javi tosses the rope and buoy over as the pot plummets, and Alejo follows with the rest of the line, but he’s too early and lassos Javi with the rope.
My heart stalls. “Watch out!” I run toward him before he takes a one-way ride to the bottom of the ocean.
Lawrence reaches Javi first, grabs the rope, and frees him just in time.
Cole was right about working short-handed. Alejo just isn’t there yet. We all messed up when we were new, but without seasoned deckhands watching out, mistakes can kill.
“Is he okay?” Cole asks.
“Yeah,” I shout at the intercom.
The boat crashes over a wave. Javi loses his balance and falls onto his knees.
“Javi! I’m so sorry,” Alejo says, fair features blanched.
Javi takes Lawrence’s hand and stands. “It’s all good.”
Lawrence is less forgiving. He stabs his finger in Alejo’s direction. “Never do that again!” He yanks Javi’s hood up to cover his now-drenched black hair, slaps him on the back, and heads back to the bait station.
Crisis averted. Close calls like that are common. It’s just the nature of the job, but we’ve been lucky so far.
I stifle a yawn, then throw the hook—
“Big wave on the way,” Cole yells over the PA.
We scatter back from the rail just in time to avoid the crushing weight of the rogue wave that T-bones Briar’s starboard side. Dense saltwater spills onto the deck where I last stood, and sweeps Alejo off his feet, but Wes catches him before he takes a water slide into the rail.
“Are we missing anyone?” Anxiety sneaks into Cole’s tone. “Morgan?”
“We’re good!” I rush back into position, trying to salvage the pot before we pass the buoys.
“Watch out!” Cole yells.
Another wave slams into the bow, knocking me onto my ass. By the time I get to my feet, the next wave engulfs the deck.
That’s enough of that. “We need to shut down until the weather gets better.”
“We can’t,” Alejo says. “Seb said—”
“We can’t catch crab when we’re swimming laps on deck,” Lawrence says.
The Briar Anteros has a telephone wired from the wheelhouse to other parts of the ship for more private communication, so when the one posted inside the forepeak rings, it’s safe to assume it’s for me.
“Did I hurt you?” Cole asks when I answer.
“No, babe.”
He sucks air through his teeth. “I’m fucking this up.”
“You’re not. That shit just happens out here. You know what you’re doing.”
He spent more time on the Briar Anteros than he did in high school, and started skippering as soon as he graduated. He’s just too damn hard on himself, takes the blame for the ocean, haunted by his dad’s emotional abuse and constant comparison to Seb.
Our conversation pauses as Cole smoothly navigates us over a thirty-foot wave.
“See? You’ve got this.”
“What the hell is going on?” Seb says in the background.
Great. If Seb’s up, we’ll be working through the night, whether it’s safe, or not. He’s in even more of a rush than I am.
“Sorry,” Cole says, voice muffled. He briefs Seb on the working conditions, then suggests we end for the day.
Cold seeps from my wet clothes into my bones while I wait.
“I hear you,” Seb says. “But we have to haul our gear, or we’ll lose it under the ice. It is what it is.”
Cole sighs. “Roger.”
“Tell him I said we’re going in,” I say.
“It’s okay. I’ll come help you guys finish,” Cole tells me. “See you soon.” The line goes dead.
I slam the phone back into the receiver, clenching my jaw.
By the time we finish cleaning up the equipment knocked over by the wave, Cole’s geared up and joins us on deck.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks against my ear.
“Aside from you being down here? Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Get back to work,” Seb snaps over the intercom.
“What is his problem?” Lawrence asks.
Fuck him. I grip Cole’s jacket and yank him into a brusque kiss. Every kiss keeps feeling like the last one, and it’s messing with my head.
“Watch your back, Sunshine.” I smack his ass gently.
“That’s your job, remember?” He shoots me a sly grin, then saunters to the rail and throws the hook.
The current is so strong, it keeps pulling the buoys under the water before they pop back up, and he can’t get the rope into the block.
He reaches over the rail, pulling the rope hand over hand, and I bolt forward, grabbing the strap of his life vest. The boat lurches with another heavy set, and Cole loses his footing on the slippery deck, tumbling forward with a yelp I can only hear because I’ve spent years listening for his voice over the sound of heavy machinery.
I haul him back against me, and drag him away from the rail. “We’re trading positions.”
“Mm. I love it when we take turns.”
“Stop flirting and focus!” Seb yells over the intercom.
“I’m going to kick Seb’s ass,” I mutter to Cole.
“Can I watch?” Lawrence asks.
“Fuck off, Lawless. No one’s kicking my brother’s ass.” Cole smirks. “Unless it’s me.”
“You know I can hear you, right?” Seb says.
“Yep,” Cole answers serenely.