16. I Need You to Climb Up #2
I don’t feel safe around men as a general rule unless I’ve known them for a long time. But Matt has earned my trust much faster than any man has before. It scares me a bit, but it’s also thrilling.
When he’s satisfied, Matt drops the anchor down into the creek bed with a sated, “Okay. We’ve done what we can.”
I swallow. “What we can?”
Matt gets up from the captain’s chair and heads down below, his steps confident despite the rocking of the boat. “It’s safer here on the creek but not invincible. There’s potential for the anchor to come unmoored,” he calls out.
The storm catches up to us, the sheets of rain, cracking thunder, and lightning consuming our sightlines. And while the creek is certainly steadier, the boat still rocks, especially when the wind kicks up.
The seasick feeling returns, so I go below deck to join him and steady my stomach.
There are four bunks in the sleeping quarters.
Two on either side. At the back is a small door, which I assume is the bathroom.
I realize now that if Matt and I are stuck here overnight, we’ll be sleeping in the same room.
Which is meaningless, of course. But I can’t ignore the knot in my throat at the thought.
Matt leans on one of the bunks, running a hand towel over his hair and face, attempting to dry off. He looks up at me.
I swallow my tongue. There’s a quality in his gaze like he doesn’t know what to do with me. Like I’m . . . bad luck.
Maybe what Marina said was right.
His eyes flick down the length of my body. “You’ll need dry clothes. Here.” Matt turns around and reaches up above to a sliding panel. He pushes it aside, revealing stacks of folded clothing.
“It’s fine, I don’t?—”
“You’re not gonna catch a cold on my boat, Lillian.”
Dry clothes do sound nice right about now.
“It might be kinda big,” he says, pulling down a couple of pieces for me and holding them out. “I’ll go up while you change.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking a long-sleeved shirt and some sweatpants from him.
Tentatively, Matt squeezes past me and goes up to the wheelhouse.
The aisle between the bunks in the cabin is not meant for more than one person at a time.
I move slowly, trying to keep my bearings as the boat pitches and rollicks.
Matt calls out while I struggle to change quickly, “I’ll set up a bunk for you. Best way to pass these things is to sleep through them. Calms the anxiety. Top or bottom?”
For the first time since the storm hit, my mind goes somewhere dirty. Sarah would be proud. Naked, Alaska . . . “Uh, what?”
“Bunk. Top or bottom bunk.”
Duh. “Bottom,” I answer. The idea of climbing into the top bunk reminds my stomach that I’m not on solid ground.
“Good choice.”
I emerge a couple of minutes later as Matt is laying out a blanket on the lower bunk, his big body contorted into it. “Okay. All set. Have to warn you, it’s rustic.”
“Trust me, I don’t care. Laying down is all I need.” Under a pile of blankets preferably. The rain has brought a chill to the air that seeped into my bones.
And he’s right. It’s rustic. A gray, scratchy-looking blanket, a pillow that looks like it belongs on an airplane, and an orange vinyl mattress.
“The boat’s old, but I’ve updated most everything. ‘Cept the sleeping quarters.”
“At least there is a toilet,” I say.
He smiles; however, it’s fleeting because at that very moment, the boat rocks. Matt grabs onto the top bunk to steady himself while I fall onto the edge of the bottom one. The back of my head knocks against the top bunk, pain splaying out over the back of my skull. “Ow.”
“Jeez, are you hurt?” Matt asks with urgency, his hand cupping the back of my head.
“I’m fine. I . . .” I reply, because it’s the truth, but I trail off because he’s so close, making sure I’m okay. I stare up into his face, waiting for his eyes to meet mine. He’s so rugged and handsome.
Matt’s brown eyes shift to mine in question. Warmth blooms across my chest.
“These bunks aren’t up to snuff for an LA girl.”
It takes him a moment to register my joke, but when he does, he beams, a big grin spreading across his face. “Well, Lillian, you ain’t in LA anymore.”
To my chagrin, he releases the back of my head and pats the end of the mattress. “Swing your legs up here. I’ve gotta show you how to sleep on this thing.”
“Show me?” I ask.
“I’m the expert, aren’t I?”
That wasn’t the question. “I didn’t realize it was a skill to sleep on a boat.”
Matt crosses his arms over his chest. Though the boat shakes and moves, he is completely stable. Forget professional, this guy is like Poseidon on the water. In control. “There very much is, Lillian. Now . . .”
He grabs my calves and swings them onto the bed. “What’s with all the forceful maneuvering?” I cry out.
“You’re being stubborn,” he says plainly.
Anyone else, I’d be spitting curse words. But I welcome Matt’s touch. His guidance and instruction. I spend so much time being on my shit that having someone else in charge, even for something as small as helping me down some stairs or making me lay down is nice.
Matt pats the lip of the bunk that rises a few inches above the mattress. “Lay on your side, top knee wedges against the lip here.” He pats the wooden frame. “And stretch your bottom leg straight to push against the end of the bunk.”
I do so and, though the bunk is small, I stretch to reach the end of it and keep myself in.
“Perfect form,” he says, then grabs the blanket and pulls it over me. “This is how you don’t fall out. Get comfortable.”
I attempt to snuggle into my bunk. The water no longer churns my stomach as much. In fact, the boat’s movement feels soothing now that I’m lying down.
“Okay, I’m gonna keep an eye on things. But if you need anything, I’ll be around,” Matt says, knocking his fist on the top of the bunk.
“Sounds good,” I reply.
Matt gives me a quiet smile before lumbering back up the stairs to the cabin, shutting off the light as he goes.
I can’t imagine I’ll fall asleep since it’s still so early. However, between the darkness and the rolling water beneath me, it might be easier than I anticipate.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been sleeping when I am flung from the bunk, a flummox of limbs as I tumble to the ground and ram up against the bottom of the opposite bunk.
“Jesus, Lillian, you alright?” Matt cries out from somewhere.
For a second, I think I’m dreaming. “What the fuck?” I groan, pushing myself up from the floor of the cabin.
A hand lands on my shoulder. I gasp and look up. Through the darkened cabin, Matt’s face comes into focus above me. He’s in the bunk across from the one I was sleeping in.
“You hurt?”
Nothing more than my pride. “Fine.”
“I told you to wedge yourself in there.”
“I was! I mean, I did. I guess, I—” A shiver runs through me. Not only is my body stunned from being catapulted from sleep, but I’m freezing. My teeth are clenched, and my nose feels so cold I’m not sure it’s still attached.
Thunder rumbles through the boat. The storm is still raging outside. Damn, Matt was right. These storms are no joke.
“Come here,” Matt says, helping me up off the ground.
I expect him to cram me back into my bunk and go through the motions he did earlier. However, that’s not the case. He pulls me down onto the bunk next to him. “You claustrophobic?” he asks through a sleep-laden rumble.
I resist another shiver, this one not from the cold. “Not usually.”
“You okay if we share a bunk then? I’ll put you on the inside.”
My stomach swoops. “What?”
“Not because—” Matt huffs. “I don’t want you falling out again. That’s it. If you sleep closest to the wall, I’ll keep you in.”
The bunks are tiny. There’s no way you’d be able to sleep next to someone without touching them completely.
But I’m not sure I’ll be able to fall asleep alone knowing how easily I can be tossed from my bunk. Not to mention, we could share body heat.
“I promise I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable or . . . take advantage.”
I’m surprised I believe him. However, after all the time we’ve spent alone, the plane ride to Dillingham, the ride down the Kvichak, and now all this time too, hasn’t Matt proven he is safe to be around? “Okay. You’re probably right. That’s a . . . that’s a good idea.”
“If you change your mind, just let me know. Even if I’m asleep, just wake me up.”
My heart flutters. This storm has been such an intense situation, and he’s still concerned with my comfort.
Matt helps me work myself up against the back wall of the bunk and then, once I’m settled, he crawls in next to me, his back to my front. We pull the blanket over our bodies, apologizing when our hands knock in the dark. But eventually, we’re both tucked underneath and settled.
Yep, just as expected, there’s zero room between us. My front is pushed up against his back like I’m his big spoon.
“You comfortable?” he asks.
Surprisingly, yes. My heart is racing, my body is tense, and I don’t think I could fall asleep if I tried though. Not when Matt is so close, and I’m already sweating. But I’m comfortable. So comfortable.
“I’m sorry if I snore,” Matt says after minutes of quiet.
I giggle into the pillow. “I’m sorry if I talk in my sleep.”
Matt groans. “Oh, no.”
“Hey! You’re the snorer!”
“And you’re going to monologue me awake.”
I laugh, settling further into our closeness. It’s a necessity. Survival.
Yeah. That’s what it is.
The boat rocks with a motion I’ve grown used to, but now the hull creaks ominously, as if in protest. I tense, gripping the back of his shirt. I can’t let myself get too comfortable—we’re still in a dangerous situation.
“It’s okay,” Matt says, reaching back to touch me, his hand landing on my thigh. “Just a sound.”
I don’t reply, letting myself sink into his touch. To my delight, he doesn’t draw away. And with each passing moment, I allow myself to unwind into sleep. Except this time, I am warm and safe, pressed up against Matt. I know he won’t let me fall or grow cold.
I’m afraid I could get used to this.