21. Morgan
TWENTY-ONE
Morgan
The ocean is an inky black mass interrupted by rolling boulders of crumbling swells. I’m coming off twenty hours on deck setting traps with only a few hours of sleep before taking over the wheel.
People don’t understand how dark it is out here when the clouds cover the stars. You can try to explain that if the lights go out on deck, you’ll have to crawl on your hands and knees to find your way back. But it’s more than that.
The darkness out here isn’t empty. It’s crowded with all the things you can’t see, but know are there—the ocean sure, but that’s not what I’m talking about. It’s all the nightmares your brain crafts when there’s no visual input to stimulate it.
We were treated to fair weather the last few days, but a low-pressure system crept in today and shows no sign of stopping. Massive waves stacked so close together while we were working, staying upright was a challenge on the slippery deck, and thirty-foot rogue waves pummeled us at random.
Morale is at an all-time low. We’re all stuck in our heads, quiet on deck. I don’t know what memories haunt the others, but saying goodbye to Seb and starting the actual work of crab fishing dredged up memories I tried to forget. The rough seas haven’t helped.
The sorting table is back in working order, but I dread sorting, and we all avoid standing at the side that nearly killed Cole. The crane triggers me too. I can’t stop thinking about it hauling me out of the water, leaving Seb behind to die.
Cole’s been a hypervigilant asshole. Every time a wave sweeps the deck, he barks at us to pay attention. As if we weren’t already.
Rogue waves are difficult to predict, and the visibility has been terrible. As a captain, you try to do the best you can, warning the crew so they can hide or grab onto something, but sometimes you’re taken by surprise. And sometimes the crew can’t get out of the way in time.
Getting clobbered by a wave isn’t a personal failure, but trust Cole to find a way to blame himself and take it out on us.
When Alejo rolled his ankle, Cole actually berated him. That’s not how things work on the Briar Anteros. Javi offered to man the wheel so Cole could take a break, which went over so well Cole accused us all of insubordination.
I know he’s hurting, but I’m losing patience.
He’s already hurt me in so many ways. Kicking me out, packing up my stuff, abandoning Finn.
Inviting me to be vulnerable, then leaving after I confessed Seb died because of me was the final straw.
I trusted him, and he didn’t support me. He said nothing.
I don’t have a husband. I haven’t for a while. There isn’t a place on this boat far enough away from him.
“Sleeping Beauty, this is Super Fathom, you got me?”
I snatch the mic like a lifeline, grateful for the distraction. “Cute call sign, Kent.”
“You think? I’m trying it out.”
“Yeah. Clark Kent? I get it. Where are you guys headed?”
Kent and crew started two hundred miles away from our grounds, at their own unofficial territory, and are working their way up to join us. We usually work together for a string or two, funneling crab between our traps. It’s another ritual.
My phone lights up.
Kent
Dad and LJ are planning to test Cole’s boundaries, see how much they can get away with.
“Wow,” I say on the radio and laugh.
Morgan
I thought they’d at least wait a season. What with Seb, and all.
Thanks for the intel. I’m not worried about it though. They can have our table scraps.
Kent
Never underestimate rednecks with meth-fueled engineering and no morals.
Morgan
True, but we have Cole and Lawrence.
Fights over fishing territory don’t happen often, and today’s sabotage shenanigans are nothing like the cocaine-fueled sea wars of the past. I’m not going to stir shit by telling Cole, but if he finds out, I won’t interfere.
He needs to show the fleet they can’t fuck with him, and the crew could use the pick-me-up of a group project.
My phone rings.
“How’s Cole doing?” Kent asks. “Lawrence told me things are pretty strained all around.”
“Yeah.” I massage my forehead. “Maybe we need a new face to balance us out or something.”
He laughs.
I navigate Briar over another monster wave. “I think we’re all grieving by ourselves instead of together.”
“How do you grieve together, then?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we can’t without Seb. Maybe he was the only thing that held us together.”
“Shit. I’m sorry, man,” Kent says.
“Thanks. It is what it is.”
Hopefully the string of traps I plotted based on data, and the supernatural intuition Lawrence claims I have, fills our tanks over the next few days. I can’t wait to get the hell out of here and back to Finn.
My soul is carved out and scraped raw. I’d take Cole back in a heartbeat. I want to be with the man I love. But it takes two people.
I rub my face with my hands. When I lower them, I see someone on the bow, a man in an orange jacket drifting to the rail.
“Kent, I have to go.”
I recognize that dark blond, nearly brown hair. Cole.
My heart lurches toward him. I don’t even grab a coat; I shove the door open and barrel down the metal steps and out onto the deck.
Rain lashes my skin. The wind blasts salty spray over the deck. It reminds me of the night Seb died. I can’t tell if the chill running through me is from the weather or the thought that I won’t make it to Cole in time.
“Cole!”
He doesn’t slow. Doesn’t turn. He climbs onto the rail. A single jolt will throw him overboard.
I curl my hands around my mouth, sprinting toward him, and bellow, “Cole!”
He swings his leg over the rail and leaps.
“No!” I sprint to the edge and nearly tumble over, shoes skidding on the slick steel.
“MAN OVERBOARD!” I shout toward the wheelhouse.
I wrap my hands around the cold rail. I should turn back and rouse the others, or push the emergency button by the bait station, but Cole doesn’t have time for that.
I scan the water, but I didn’t even bring a light. It doesn’t matter. I climb onto the rail. I’ll find him. I’ll save him, or we’ll drown together. I go where he goes.