Chapter 7
Rylan Cameron
Call sign: Minnow
Rylan kept out of the way as his father, MJ, and the new crewman strode across the deck. They shouted at one another and shuffled
with the lines, preparing The Old Eileen to set sail. Rylan hadn’t been able to sleep after talking with Tia, who was still out cold in their cabin. The anxiety had
been just enough to keep him awake and exhausted at the same time. When Tia got an idea in her head, it was impossible to
uproot it. At least, it had always been impossible for Rylan.
This time he had to find a way.
The day was windy already. Rylan’s feathery dark hair whirled in every direction, and he closed his eyes. What would it be
like to actually leave with Tia? They would live from adventure to adventure, nights in hostels, days outside. How long would
it be before her passion burned out or Rylan gave up or their parents tracked them down? Because they would track them down.
Lila would be heartbroken.
Francis would be dismayed.
They would never trust Rylan again. Everything Francis had been working on with him would be pointless. He would finally say what everyone always seemed to be thinking about Rylan.
Coward.
“Son, come on over here.”
Rylan’s eyes popped open. His father was standing in the cockpit, one hand on the silver helm, the other holding out a radio
to him.
“Come on,” he repeated with a smile. “Wanna be mate while we pull out?”
Rylan walked over, shrinking into the collar of his linen Brunello shirt. The first mate was in charge of undoing the dock
lines and maneuvering the ship out of the marina safely. Rylan would have to stand at the bow and make quick calls on how
to avoid collisions.
“But, uh, MJ is your first mate,” he said. He didn’t want to be on lookout duty. What if they collided with something and
it was all Rylan’s fault?
“Baptism by fire,” Francis said, a favorite of his sayings. He pushed the radio into Rylan’s hand. “Go to the bow.”
Rylan looked blankly at the black box. “You sure?” You wanna risk your multimillion-dollar boat getting scratched?
“Go on, my boy. We learn by doing,” Francis said.
Rylan turned tail and headed to the front of the ship. His heart murmured its unease behind his ribs. All he’d meant to do
was come up here and watch them take off from land. He should have guessed he’d be conscripted. When Rylan was nine and ten,
those first couple summers day-sailing had been miserable, spent hidden below deck, vomiting into an ice bucket. He didn’t
get sick anymore, not like his mother anyway, but the anxiety was there, reminding him he couldn’t be too careful. Better
to be on deck breathing in the wind and staring at the horizon till his eyes watered.
Only, on deck was Francis Cameron’s domain.
The radio crackled. “Can you hear me, Rylan? Over.”
Rylan pressed the button down. “Yeah.” He waited for a response, then quickly added, “Over.”
MJ and the new crewmember had hopped onto the dock and were throwing the looped lines back to the deck, so the boat was no
longer tethered to land. They don’t even need me, Rylan thought with relief. I can just stand here and wait.
“We’re pulling out now,” Francis’s voice sparked from the radio, and Rylan gripped the railing. “Watch out for buoys and other
boats. Or unidentified floating objects,” he said. Rylan could hear his father’s smile at his own joke through the radio. “Over.”
The Old Eileen moved with such graceful suddenness that Rylan didn’t notice they were off the dock until he glanced back. MJ and the crewman
were back onboard. They must have jumped.
But when Rylan looked back to the front, his breath caught.
They were headed toward open water, but at this angle and pace, their left side would scrape a very expensive sports yacht
docked mere yards away. Rylan fumbled with the radio, but his fingers wouldn’t listen. When he managed to press down the button,
he froze. What was he supposed to say? Francis hadn’t told him. Hadn’t given him any instructions other than to go to the
bow and be baptized. Was this the fire part of the baptism, then? Rylan thought wryly even as his fingers trembled over the button. The yacht was getting closer.
This is one of the tests, a voice hissed somewhere deep inside him. Rylan’s skin crawled. You always fail the tests.
A warm hand plucked the radio from his grip. The new crewman. He gave Rylan a wiry smile, then pressed the button and spoke
clearly. “Possible collision portside, slow and redirect, over.” As he spoke, the man held his left arm in the air to give
Francis a visual cue where the problem was.
“Copy,” was all Francis said, and The Old Eileen turned with ease.
Rylan’s stomach settled, the pressure relieved. He felt silly for having ever been worked up.
The man turned to him, still smiling and relaxed. He was young and strong with ropey arms, big hands, and skin well-versed
with the sun. He had stacked tattoos, line after line of them up and down one arm. Like ink from a store receipt had bled
onto his skin and dried there forever.
“He really threw you in it, huh?” said the man. His smile had never seen braces, teeth akimbo and an extraordinary white.
Rylan nodded, shrugged. “He does that.”
“First time I was aboard a ship, my captain ordered me to raise the halyard on my own. I didn’t know what a halyard was, let
alone how to raise it, but I was scared shitless of asking questions, so I just grabbed a line and pulled. I ended up lifting
the fucking courtesy flag. He never let me forget it.”
Rylan laughed, even though he hadn’t understood all the words. The man’s voice was temperate, eyes penny-bright.
“I’m Nico, Mr. Cameron.”
Mr. Cameron? “Oh, I, no—”
Nico broke into another easy grin. Did he ever not smile? “I’m only teasing. Anyway, if you’re ever tossed to the lions again,
lemme know if you need a hand taming ’em, okay?”
“Sure, yeah. Thank you.”
Nico tipped an imaginary top hat and strode back to midships to help MJ with sail-raising. Rylan turned to look out front
once more, in case there were more obstacles in their path, but he didn’t need to worry.
The Old Eileen had glided out to open sea.