19. Cole
NINETEEN
Cole
The pots are stacked, the bait squared away, and the harbormaster gave us the go ahead.
All that’s left is Seb’s annual speech. This year, silence stretches across the galley.
We’re all sitting thigh to thigh, crammed around the table except for Morgan, who leans against the fridge, arms crossed over his chest.
Only Seb would know what to say to rally us after we lost one of our own. In a different world, Seb would still be here, and he’d be talking about me. Or worse yet, Morgan.
Morgan’s confession rattled me. I knew he dove into the Bering Sea without a survival suit.
Lawrence forced a few of the details on me before I told him to shut the fuck up.
But I never knew exactly how dire things were.
It’s my fault for not asking, for telling Morgan I didn’t want to talk about it.
Here I blamed him and added to his guilt, accusing him of exactly what he fears he caused—Seb’s death, making Finn an orphan.
But that’s not true.
Seb saved Morgan, and while I still blame myself, the wave of gratitude I feel for Seb’s sacrifice healed something in me. Seb could have survived, should have survived, but he took care of Morgan first, the way he took care of me, the way he took care of all of us. He saved my husband.
Morgan was right about everything.
He lost more than I did. And he still rose to the occasion. He fought for me. He was there for Finn when I abandoned both of them, and yesterday, when he needed me to stay, I didn’t.
I brush my hand over my stubble and crack my neck. “I don’t know why I’m nervous. You’re my brothers.”
“Except for Wes,” Lawrence says. “He’s more like a great uncle.”
Wes ignores Lawrence’s attempt at banter, and clears his throat. “Can I say a few words, Captain?”
“Of course.”
He nods solemnly. “The season after you lose a fellow fisherman is rough. Losing a captain, a friend, a brother… That’s even worse.
But we’re Bering Sea fishermen. The bones of our kin line the bottom of the ocean.
We’ve cried enough tears to fill the damn thing.
But we don’t give up. We keep going. Because we’re not in it for the money. ”
“Speak for yourself,” Lawrence says.
“We’re in it because the ocean is the only place we feel alive,” Wes continues. “I trust you with my life, Captain.”
I flare my fingers over the tabletop. I want to disappear. I don’t deserve what he said. Seb should be here.
“Thanks,” I finally muster.
“Wes is right. I trust you, Captain,” Morgan says, gaze darting to my face for a brief second.
I don’t deserve that either.
“Captain,” Lawrence and Alejo repeat.
“Okay. That’s enough of that.” I lift my drink. “To full pots, fair seas, and going home to our families.”
“To family,” the rest agree, even Morgan.
That’s what we are to each other—a found family, a chosen one, and I need to make things right before we fracture irreparably.
Lawrence wipes his tears with the inside of his hoodie. “Who’s cutting onions?”
“Stop,” Javi says. “We’re not making light of this.”
Lawrence’s mouth falls open like the correction was a slap. “I wasn’t—”
“We almost lost you, Cole. No one talks about it. Lawrence jokes about it.” Javi stabs his finger toward the gear room.
“But your heart stopped there. Not once. Not twice. Four fucking times.” Javi lifts a finger for each time he saved my life.
“Morgan was there for one of them, but the rest were all on me.”
I didn’t know.
“You should have died,” Javi continues. “But you might as well have died with how little you speak to us, and how much you’ve changed.”
Lawrence squeezes Javi’s trap, but Javi’s shoulders inch toward his ears, and he lowers his hand.
“I’m sorry.” My apology is woefully inadequate, but I don’t know what else to say. I’m still trying to process exactly how much trauma I put them through.
“I don’t want to hear it.” Javi turns to Lawrence. “I don’t want to hear any jokes, either.” He slides out of the booth and heads to the hall.
Lawrence doesn’t follow. The door to their room slams. Lawrence looks as sick to his stomach as I feel.
Everyone is feeling something—drying tears or blinking them away. Morgan cries openly, albeit silently. I owe him everything I stole from him, but I can’t. I’m too scared. Too scared to be vulnerable. Too scared to open the door to the room I walled all my feelings inside.
Morgan’s eyebrows arch with empathy. Even after I abandoned him, even with tears sliding down his face, he’s looking out for me. Does he see the regret in my eyes? Does he see anything worth redeeming?
Because I don’t.
Morgan pushes off the counter and heads to the hall, but Wes catches him by the shoulder and pulls him into a hug. Morgan hides his face against Wes’s burly shoulder, and I almost cry then. Almost.
There’s something soul-reckoning about watching the man you love cry and knowing you’re the cause and you’re too much of a coward to comfort him. I have the strangest mix of jealousy, shame, and relief that it’s not me taking care of Morgan’s grief.
Lawrence leans across Alejo and grabs me by my shirt, dragging me closer. “I love you, man, but get your shit together and be there for him.” He smacks the back of my head. “What would Seb think?”
He would think he wasted his life for nothing. That’s what he would think.