Chapter 20 #2
It’s then that the Drifter hits a wall of water, wave cresting over the gunwale.
Losing my footing—one hand caught in Cody’s and the other holding on to the boat—I fall hard, sharp pain shooting across my stomach where the rail catches me, taking all of my weight.
Gritting my teeth, I replant my feet and heave Cody up.
He’s cursing as he comes aboard, falling against me as he tries to get his feet underneath him while the deck pitches.
Once he’s safe on board, Nils helps Dryden.
Holding a hand to the blunt pain throbbing in my side, I hold an arm out for Dryden, just in case he needs extra help.
Beneath the hood of his survival suit, his mouth is set in a grim, unhappy line.
The moment he’s on board, his eyes look out across the water toward the Maiden.
When Shiloh points us toward home, it becomes immediately apparent that I was wrong.
The ride home won’t just be bad; it’s going to be downright awful.
The chop slams into the hull as we drop into the troughs, water rising up over the bow and sluicing over our feet.
Every inch of me feels frozen, like my layers are no longer keeping in heat but instead holding in the cold.
Face burning from the force of the spray, I lean with the boat, holding on to the rail, as we roll with another wave.
I glance over at Cody, standing close enough to me that I can hear every shouted curse.
“You okay?” I ask him, voice raised to be heard over the wind.
“We were fucking grappling,” he shouts back. I wince, shaking my head at the thought of grappling for lost traps in this weather. Granted, it hadn’t been this bad earlier in the morning.
“How many?” I ask, keeping it short and pressing a hand to my abdomen once more when a sliver of pain shoots through my belly. He’ll know what I’m asking.
“Four,” he yells into the wind. I nod but don’t reply.
I don’t blame them for wanting to recover the lost traps.
All of our traps are tagged, and commercial boats are only provided a set number of tags per year.
Four traps missing might not seem like a big deal now, but once the high season hits, four traps missing will result in thousands of dollars gone as well.
Recovering them as soon as possible is the best thing to do.
It’s the thing Shiloh would have had us do.
It is, unfortunately, the wrong thing to have chosen to do today.
By the time we pull into the harbor, my entire left side is throbbing with pain.
It’s hard to ignore it, and even harder to keep my sea legs underneath me as the boat moves.
Every time I adjust my stance to accommodate the motion of the water, a flare of pain burns through my gut and up my side.
I didn’t think I hit the rail that hard, but I also wasn’t able to catch myself at all.
All two hundred and four pounds of me was concentrated on where the metal edge caught my side.
I think, once I get home and take a look in the mirror, I’m going to find a heck of a bruise there.
There’s an ambulance sitting in the parking lot of the wharf when we arrive, the EMTs watching us approach with booted feet propped up on the fence.
Dryden, who spent the entire way home standing next to Shiloh, walks over and joins me.
His expression is hard as the movement of the boat pushes him into my side.
“You okay?” I ask him, wincing at the stupid question. No, he’s probably not fine. Physically, maybe, but I imagine he’s less than pleased with how this day is shaping up. Before he can say it, I add, “They’ll tow it in once the storm passes.”
His mouth turns downward, but he glances over at Cody, and his expression smooths slightly.
“He’ll need to be checked out. I think he hit his head.”
“And you?” I press, because he didn’t answer my question. Still watching Cody, he shrugs.
“I’m fine.” After a pause, he adds, “And my fucking boat better be fine when we’re able to go back out.”
Exhausted, I merely content myself with a nod.
We didn’t really do all that much. The prep prior to launch is something we’ve done many times, and even the rough seas weren’t anything we hadn’t had to deal with before.
But I’m exhausted, suddenly, like the rescue mission required more from me than the little I actually did.
We’ve hauled five hundred traps in a day, and even that doesn’t leave me with this sort of weariness.
I’m cold and miserable and desperately want to swallow a couple of painkillers.
I want to give Dryden a hug, if I weren’t sure trying would get my head bit off.
Shiloh has to speak with the rescue coordinator, so Nils and I are left on the Drifter, working through the safety checks we’d usually complete after a haul, regardless that the boat was dry-docked until a couple of hours ago.
Nils doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his eyes on me as we work.
Once, as we pass by one another, he catches my chin in his hand, glove scratchy against my skin.
He looks into my eyes for a moment before kissing me on the forehead and stepping around, getting back to work.
That, I think, as I strip off my oilers, is about as good as an I love you from him.
“Well, he’s not happy,” Shiloh says, rejoining us and hooking a thumb back over his shoulder in the direction of the ambulance. Neither Nils nor I need to look to know he’s talking about Dryden. If they want to give him a health assessment, they’re probably going to have to knock him out to do it.
“Cody okay?” I ask, rubbing my hands together. I am so ready to go home, take a hot shower, and snuggle up in front of Nils’ fire. “Dryden said he had a head injury.”
“I’m not sure. He seemed fine, though.” Taking off his beanie, Shiloh runs a hand through his messy hair, the strands wet despite his best efforts to keep dry. He pats the side of the Drifter. “We’ll dock her again in a few days. Thanks, guys.”
“Of course,” Nils replies softly, sounding tired. I add make Nils dinner to my plan for the evening.
“Do you need anything else?” I ask. “I can whip together some stew and bring it over for you and Ewan. I made a couple loaves of bread the other day, and they’re still good. You can have those, too. Maybe some—”
“You’ve done enough, Oli. Just go home and relax. Thank you. Seriously, thank you. I think we all know that today could have been a lot worse.”
Nils puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. The message is clear: let’s go home.