Page 26 of Weathering The Storm

I suspect the pressure was mainly for Nick, since he doesn’t always join in on crew nights. Having some semblance of division between friend and boss is sensible, but I don’t think that’s his only reason, or even his main one. I know what it’s like to be an outcast for so long, you’re more comfortable walking that lonely path than taking a chance on paving a new one.

But Nick cultivated this culture on theSuoja.He gave me the first place I’ve ever truly felt like I belong, and it makes me want to do the same for him.

I take the stairs to the bridge two at a time and knock on the door to his room. “Nicky! You ready?”

There’s some shuffling inside before the door opens, and he fills the frame, combing his fingers through his hair and pulling on a wool cap that matches the blue of his cable-knit sweater. “Did they send you to check on me?”

“I sent myself.” I take a step forward, checking the windows to make sure we’re out of view before I lean in to steal a kiss. “But now I’m kind of wishing we’d stay in.”

Nick smiles against my lips, but I can feel him shying away instead of melting into me like he did when we were completely alone.

I pull back before I push too far.At his pace,I remind myself. Zero-to-“live with me” is the speed I’m heading anyway, so it’d probably be better for both of us if I adapted to Nick’s reservation.

“Sorry,” he says.

“No apologizing. Tonight, you’rerelaxing.”

The small, grateful smile he gives me is more than enough to recharge my patience.

We head down the ladder to the working deck, then hop up onto the dock, joining with the others and starting toward Amalie’s—the best pub near the harbor. Also, the only pub near the harbor. So it’s a damn good thing the owner’s awesome and the fries are fresh-cut and perfectly salted.

“Hell yeah,” Jorgensen says. “Now it’s a party!”

Nick looks wary. I get the impulse to reach for his hand, but I shove mine in my jacket pockets instead. “Seems like you partied plenty hard without us.”

“Oh that? Nah. That was pre-gaming.”

Based on the way the kid’s practically skipping down the same dock he fell off, I believe him too. I can out-endure Konrad any day of the week when it comes to roughing it at sea, but I’d send myself to the hospital if I tried to out-drink him.

Fucking twenty-one-year-olds and their hangover immunity.

“What’s the main event? A diving contest?” Zach asks.

Of course, Jorg’s crazy enough to look like he’s actually considering it.

“Do it off someone else’s slip,” Nick says. “I don’t think my liability insurance covers drunken idiocy.”

“And wear life jacket next time,” Pyotr adds. “I am not pulling you out again. You are surprisingly heavy for such a short man.”

“Thanks, Orlie.” Jorgensen wiggles his brows, not swayed in the least by the knock to his height. “I carry it all in my dick.”

Nick doesn’t contribute much to the bullshit and buffoonery as we make the brief walk across the marina parking lot, but I can see him out of the corner of my eye. Relaxing a little bit more. Smiling when he thinks no one is paying attention.

I wonder if tonight feels as different to him as it does to me. We’ve been out together before, sure, but for the first time, I’m not the sole bearer of this secret. It’s ours now.

The heat is cranked inside Amalie’s, compensating for the cold air leaching through the poorly insulated walls of the old building. It’s like stepping inside of a hardware store, everything the same dark, weathered wood, marred by splits and scratches. From the walls and floors, to the five booths and the blocky bar stools surrounding the counter.

The décor might as well have been found washed up on shore. Beat-up life preservers and rusted anchors. Frayed ropes strung from cleats mounted on the ceiling. A few amateur paintings of ships and lighthouses collecting dust on the side walls. And at the back, there’s a graveyard of faded posters littered with holes. A dart board at the center.

It’s never busy, but there are always a few patrons. Acquaintances of ours, mostly other commercial fishers, who we exchange nods with on the way in. It’s not uncommon for guys to wander in alone and end up sharing a table into the wee hours of the morning, but tonight we find a row of chairs at the bar.

Nick sits beside Zach, and I take the chair to his right on the very end. It’s not the most spacious layout. My knee bumps into him, and my thigh brushes up against his when I sit. It’s an accident, but I still get the pang that I’ve fucked something up when Nick reflexively scoots to the opposite edge of his chair.

With a deep breath and a bit of force, he readjusts to sit like a normal person, his brows drawing together. “Sor—”

“Hey. What did I say? No apologizing…” I wait for him to fill in the blank.

“Relaxing.” He exhales, taking his hat off and raking his fingers through his hair. “I’m trying.”