5. Nick
Nick
Two hours later, we’ve all had our hands in the hauler and have nothing to show for it but raw knuckles.
We’d worked through everything we could check externally. Traced every line, tightened every fitting, checked the filter, and ran the unit under no load. The needle on the pressure gauge still dropped, and the whine came back.
Whatever is failing is failing internally, invisible without pulling the whole thing apart and likely replacing the pump entirely. We’re getting maybe two thirds of the output we need, and if we keep pushing it, new issues will start popping up like heads on a hydra.
We don’t have the parts to fix the hauler, and even if we did, it’s not a repair anyone wants to make on deck while warring with these swells. I get on the radio, put a call through to a mechanic in Dutch Harbor, and run straight in.
It sucks to lose three-plus days of the season—one day of travel each way, on top of however long it takes for the repair itself. But on the bright side, at least we’re not going in empty handed.
Opening week has been good to us. The total count comes in at just under 23,000 pounds of crab when we cash in at the port. The crew gets an early payday, they’re free to decompress at the bar, and everyone gets a few extra hours of sleep so we can hit the new hotspot hard when we head back out.
God knows I could use the rest.
I’m looking forward to having the boat to myself for most of the evening while the crew’s out at Amalie’s.
Not that my plans are much different. When they’re getting ready to terrorize the pub, I go up to the bridge, shower, and pour myself a generous glass of the “special occasion” brandy I keep in my dresser.
The special occasion being that I’d love to get drunk enough to forget the feeling of Seth’s hand in mine. The way he looked at me while I wrapped it.
The fact that, after this season, I’ll probably have to find myself a new deck boss. Because he knows.
I’d bet every penny we made today that he knows.
The brandy tastes like syrupy figs and hot cinnamon going down. And for the first time since we left this very slip, I can breathe. Fully.
I kick back for a while, half the glass drained by the time I decide it might be nice to pull on a shirt and lay out on the deck. The sky is clear tonight, and there’s a chance of seeing the Aurora.
I’ve just gotten up again when Seth walks in.
Now I wish I was wearing something more than a pair of sweatpants and some wool socks. Anything to cover the heat that floods my body when he looks at me.
“Heading out?” I ask, leaning with my bare back on one of the windows to cool my skin.
“Nah, they already left. I didn’t really feel like drinking.” His eyes flit to my glass, then back up. One rolled step, then another, carrying him closer to me. “Thought you and I could hang out tonight. Talk.”
Fuck. Here we go.
“Sure,” I say, mulling over the words: What did you wanna talk about?
But… what if I said it aloud to someone just once? On my own terms?
I’m gay.
I try it out internally, and the more times I hear it repeated, the more I think it might not be so bad. If there’s one person on this planet I trust enough to tell, it’s Seth.
Maybe honesty is the only shot I have at salvaging our friendship at this point. We certainly can’t keep going like we have been.
I’m gay, and I have feelings for you. I’m sorry if I’ve ever done anything to make you uncomfortable, but I want to move past this if we can. Friends?
And maybe it’s the brandy convincing me this will end okay. That Seth will laugh it off and say, “Well thanks, Cap’, I’m flattered. I don’t swing that way, but let’s go out to the bar after all. I’ll be your wingman.”
“Actually, there’s something I wanted to tell you,” I say. “And I’d appreciate it if this stayed between the two of us.”
Seth’s brows raise. “Yeah, of course.”
“It’s…”
This was easier in my head. I’m gay. I’m gay, and I’m so into you Seth. It makes me feel like I’m going insane.
“About Amber.” I take a sip of brandy to coax out the rest. “There is no Amber.”
His eyes narrow contemplatively. “Because you broke things off? Or because…?”
“Because she never existed. I made her up to get everyone off my back about dating and women. Because I don’t—” I chew on the inside of my cheek.
I bite down, hard, and then I make myself spit it out.
The truth about who I am that I’ve kept under lock and key my entire life.
“I’m not interested in women. I like… men. ”
A brittle, unsteady exhale leaves my lungs.
We’re in my wheelhouse, on my ship, but I don’t feel in control of anything as Seth takes another step forward. All the tension in his features unraveling.
“Am I the first person you’ve ever told?”
As soon as I nod, he plucks the glass of brandy out of my hand, sets it down on the console, and pulls me in.
He hugs me now just like he hugs me at the dock every time we come together again, but this time I don’t tense.
I soften like butter in his arms. I hug him back the way I’ve always wanted to.
“Thank you for trusting me.” He places his hands on my shoulders, a solemn look in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. “I know how hard it can be to come out.”
He stresses that word—know. Like he doesn’t only know in passing, he doesn’t know because he’s generally empathetic or because he’s had friends who have come out. He knows because he’s fucking lived it.
This can’t be happening.
I’m delirious. I’ve inhaled too much saltwater.
The weather’s frozen my brain.
I’m so exhausted, I’m in some unstudied stage of sleep where this feels real. I’ve dreamed of him so often, it’s become so vivid, that I can smell his pine bar soap and taste the mint on his breath.
“You… do?”
“Yeah.” His smile trembles, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “I do.”
I try to speak.
But all that comes out is a pitiful sigh before I grab him by the back of his head and slam our lips together.
It’s real. I can hardly believe it’s real, but I know it is, because I’ve imagined this moment so many times. In every dream I’ve ever had, Seth was shocked and confused. Reluctantly returning the kiss until we found our rhythm.
This Seth though, the real Seth… his mouth answers mine like he’s wondered for the last four years what we’d taste like together. Like he’s been ready this whole time. He’s just been waiting on me.
His teeth scrape my bottom lip and his tongue meets mine halfway while my fingers shovel under his wool cap, tossing it to the side and sifting through his coarse brown waves, still damp from the shower.
His hands go to my body without shock or fear or hesitation. One glides down, roughly exploring my chest and stomach as his bandaged hand goes to the back of my neck.
“Nicky…” he murmurs between kisses, hot and breathy and so fucking perfect I could die. “Nicky, Nicky… want you so bad.”
I groan, because I still can’t come up with the words to say it back. To say, I’ve always wanted you.
I turn us around, cornering him against the window.
My hands get twisted in the hems of his sweatshirt and undershirt before I give up and pull them both over his head.
It’s warm up here, but the glass is the same temperature as the air outside, and it chills his skin as I push him back.
Goosebumps rise beneath the brown whorls of hair that cover his chest.
I brush my thumbs over his dusky, pebbled nipples, my heart pumping faster with each gasp he makes.
“You’re gorgeous,” I blurt out, instantly second-guessing myself.
Is that the wrong thing to say? Not masculine enough for his type of beauty?
I don’t know. It’s the first word that comes to mind, seeing him shirtless and tousled, leaning against the outside door to the bridge.
My hands are the reason his hair is messy and snarled. My stubble, my teeth, are the reason his lips are reddened around the edges. My kiss is the reason he’s panting as he looks back at me. The reason he’s smiling.
Gorgeous is the only word I have.
“Kiss me again,” he says, head tilting back, throat elongated. “Just keep kissing me.”
My lips barely meet his before I’m groaning at the feeling of skin against skin. His hot, solid chest. His hardening cock. I kiss him once because he asked me to. Again, because he said it twice. Another two times for me, because I want to.
And then I’m kissing him because I can’t believe I’m allowed to. Full and open on his lips. Down his neck, across his chest. Stopping to suck each peaked nipple until he makes a low, raspy groan that spears straight through me.
I drop to my knees.
“Please.” My thumbs hook into his sweatpants. “Can I?”
I can’t even finish my fucking sentence without my fingers curling, desperate to get him all the way naked. Desperate to get him under my tongue.
Seth chuckles deeply, his bandaged hand coming up to my hair and twining in the strands as he forces me to look at him. “You never have to ask. I am always down for you, Captain.”
It’s been so long since I’ve touched anyone, been touched by anyone, that I feel a flash of insecurity as I take off the rest of his clothes. But it’s nothing compared to the desire that follows.
His calves and thighs are strong. Seaworthy strong, coated in the same dark hair as his chest. And his cock juts out, a thick, straight rod that jumps at the sensation of my warm exhale.
I lean in close, heart palpitating as I bury my face against his inner thigh. Breathing in the woodsy, mineral-rich musk of his skin and laying my mouth all over him, aimlessly. Kissing his legs, his hips. Licking a stripe up the seam of his sac before softly sucking on each of his balls.
“Oh fuck,” he moans when I finally wrap my lips around his flared tip, flicking with my tongue. “Fuck, Nicky. Yeah.”
He’s so fucking vocal. Feverishly groaning and panting with every inch I sink down. And he keeps saying that stupid nickname like he knows it’s secretly my favorite thing in the entire world.