14. Failure Point #2
He stared at the wood, then at me. “You’ve got nothing if that base washes out.”
“Then quit wasting time telling me about it.”
Another scrape came from beneath the hull.
Piper called, “Skipper, move!”
He dug both hands into the mud and shoved himself backward. His trapped boot finally tore free, leaving the shoe coated to the ankle.
“Hold it steady, Callahan!” he shouted. “Don’t let it slip!”
My boots pressed farther into the soaked ground as the timber took more of the boat’s weight.
“I’ve got the leverage! Just move!”
Skipper twisted onto one hip and shoved himself toward open ground. The remaining stands creaked beneath the hull while I kept my shoulder against the wood and watched him fight for each foot of distance.
He still wasn’t clear.
“Keep going!”
“I am!”
The timber shifted against my palms.
I pinned it against the hull and shouted, “Move, Skipper!”
“Keep it right there!” Skipper shouted. “I’m almost clear!”
“Then keep moving!”
The hull settled harder onto the timber. Wood dragged across my palms before I could adjust my grip, and splinters tore across the skin. I tightened my hands around it anyway.
Skipper shoved himself backward through the mud. One knee cleared the shadow beneath the boat, but the rest of him was still too close.
Another shudder ran through the stands.
The timber drove toward me.
My boots plowed backward through the mud as I fought to stay upright. The lower end held, but the upper end scraped along the chine and shoved me with it.
My side hit the steel cradle.
Pain burst across my ribs, knocking the wind out of me. The metal stopped me from giving any more ground, leaving the timber trapped between my shoulder and the hull.
“Nolan!” Piper shouted. “The brace is slipping!”
“Stay back, Piper!”
“I’m not coming closer. Just don’t let that thing crush you.”
That was a reasonable request.
The timber moved again against my palms, tearing the cuts wider as I fought to hold on. Blood slicked the wood beneath my fingers, and I pressed harder with my shoulder to keep it seated.
Skipper dragged himself another foot toward safety.
“Come on,” I shouted. “You’re almost out.”
“I know where I am, Callahan.”
“Then quit arguing.”
His boot caught in the mud again.
The boat lowered another inch.
“Skipper!”
“I’m moving!”
He braced both hands and pulled. The trapped boot broke free from the mud, and he rolled onto one hip beyond the failed stand.
The timber scraped across the chine.
“Nolan, it’s going!” Piper called.
“I’ve got it locked! Go, Skipper!”
My side burned against the cradle every time the boat shifted. There was nowhere left for me to step back. The only choice was to lock in place.
Skipper rolled onto his hands and knees and crawled away from the hull. Mud coated his shirt, his arms, half his face, but the distance between him and the boat finally started to look survivable.
“Keep going!”
He pushed himself farther into the open yard.
The hull ground against the surviving steel.
My hands slipped on the timber, then caught again.
Skipper rolled once more and escaped the overhang of the hull.
“I’m clear!” Skipper shouted. “Let it settle!”
“Stay clear until I know it’s holding.”
I eased pressure off the timber instead of stepping away. The hull lowered against it with a harsh groan, then shifted onto the remaining stands. Mud pressed outward beneath the bases, but nothing else kicked free.
“Don’t fight the whole load,” Skipper yelled. “Let the stands take it.”
“I’m trying.”
The timber sank another inch into the mud. I let it move with the boat, keeping both hands against the wood until the hull stopped shifting.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
“Is it holding?” I asked.
Skipper pushed himself onto his knees and studied the supports from where he was.
“It’s holding for now. Get away from it.”
I released the timber.
Pain flared the moment my hands left the wood. Blood tracked across both palms where the splinters had torn through the skin, and my fingers resisted when I tried to straighten them.
My first step away from the boat went badly.
The impact against the cradle had left my side useless for anything resembling a normal stride. I made it back to the steel and leaned against it before my legs could give out.
“Don’t move yet,” Skipper said.
“The boat first. Is it stable?”
“I just told you it was.”
“Tell me again.”
His eyes went back to the stands. “It’s stable enough that neither of us needs to crawl underneath it again.”
“That works for me.”
Skipper got to his feet and crossed the yard. He had a hitch in his step from fighting his way out of the mud, but he was upright, talking, and annoyed.
That was enough.
He stopped in front of me and held out a filthy hand.
I looked at it, then at him. “You sure you want to pull on me?”
“If you plan on sleeping against my boat cradle, I’ll leave you there.”
I caught his forearm instead of his palm to spare my torn hands. Skipper locked his grip and hauled me upright.
My side flared at the movement, forcing me to stay close to the cradle until I found my footing.
Skipper stared at me for a moment.
“Well, I’ll be damned. You actually held the line, QB1. You saved my neck.”
“I’m just glad everybody is in one piece.” I glanced toward the boat. “That was a hell of a lot worse than a blindside blitz.”
“Maybe next time you’ll listen when an old man tells you boatyards are dangerous.”
“Maybe next time the old man won’t crawl under a falling boat.”
“Don’t get smart with me.”
Motion at the edge of the yard pulled me away from him.
Piper had come down from the deck. She took in the blood on my hands and the steel structure behind me, then met my eyes.
“You hit that cradle hard, Nolan. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I told the lie before Piper reached me. “Stay out of the mud. You don’t need to come over here.”
She looked down at my hands. Blood had worked into the grooves of my palms and along my fingers, mixing with dirt from the timber. A few splinters were still buried beneath the surface.
“You’re bleeding.”
“It looks worse than it is.”
Skipper snorted beside me. “That’s quarterback language for ‘I’m hoping nobody makes me admit I’m hurt’.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“On a football field with ten trainers standing around you,” he said. “Different situation.”
Piper kept walking.
She reached me before I could think of another reason to stop her, stepping straight into the churned mud to take hold of my wrists.
“Piper, you don’t have to—”
“Stop moving, Nolan. Let me see your hands. You’re covered in deep splinters.”
Her fingers closed around both wrists.
I went still.
For weeks, she had stepped back whenever I reached toward her. She had kept counters, doors, knives, work, and silence between us whenever I pushed too far. Now she had crossed the yard on her own and taken hold of me before I had asked for anything.
She turned my right hand palm up.
Blood smeared across her fingertips.
I tried to ease my wrist out of her grip. “I’m fine, Piper, I swear. Just scraped up. Don’t get too close. I’m going to get grease and blood all over you.”
“I don’t care about the grease right now.”
“You’re already covered in it.”
“Then I’m already covered in it.”
Skipper made a sound that might have been a laugh, then bent to retrieve the abandoned wedge. “I’m going to make sure that boat doesn’t decide to finish the job. Holler if he passes out.”
“I’m not passing out.”
“Good. Saves me paperwork.”
Piper ignored both of us and brought my left hand closer. She studied a splinter near the base of my thumb.
“Don’t close your hand.”
“I need it to brace my side.”
“No, you don’t.”
“That sounds medically questionable.”
She met my eyes. “Do you want me to leave you standing here?”
“No.”
I answered too fast to pretend I didn’t mean it.
Her expression shifted, but she looked back down before I could decide what it meant.
“Then stop arguing.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She turned my wrist again, checking the cuts without touching the worst of them. “This one needs to come out before it breaks under the skin.”
“I’ve got tweezers at the motel.”
“You’re not going back to the motel like this.”
I hadn’t expected her to sound so sure. “Piper—”
“We have a first-aid kit in the office. There’s ice in the freezer. You’re going to use both.”
I shifted away from the cradle, and pain cut through my side hard enough to make me stumble.
She let go of my wrist just long enough to grab my forearm. “That’s what I thought.”
“It’s a bruise.”
“You slammed into steel.”
“I noticed.”
“Then quit pretending it doesn’t hurt.”
Skipper glanced over from the boat. “For once in your life, Callahan, listen to somebody smarter than you.”
“That list keeps getting longer.”
“It was never short.”
Piper adjusted her grip so she could guide me without touching my palms. She nodded toward the office porch.
“We are walking to the porch, and you are going to sit still while I clean these cuts out and get an ice pack for your side.”
“I can walk by myself.”
“I know.”
She didn’t let go.
That mattered more than it should have.
Every step toward the office pulled at my side, but I kept pace with her instead of pretending I could move faster. Mud dried across my clothes. Blood marked her fingers. She never once looked down at the mess rubbing off onto her skin.
At the bottom of the porch steps, she glanced at me.
“Slow down.”
“I am going slow.”
“For you, maybe.”
I laughed before I could stop it. She smiled in answer, brief but real.
I didn’t ask what any of this meant.
I let Piper guide me toward the porch, holding on to the first real sign that I might be earning my way back to her.