Page 30 of Weathering The Storm

He needs a Double 20, Treble 20, and an 18 to keep me from getting another turn.

He goes for the 18 first, to ensure he lands on a Double or Treble, but it’s a narrow miss.

Treble 18. 64 left.

Nick’s brow furrows in concentration.

“Triple 16, Double 8,” Orlov offers up, more invested in the game than I’ve ever seen him.

Those shots are on opposite ends of the board, which makes this trickier, but I have to admit… even I’m rooting for Nick. If I were betting, I’d put my money on him.

He takes a deep breath, and throws. Double 8.

Murmurs break out. Nick’s brows furrow even deeper in concentration as he raises the last dart. Then lets it sail.

Thwack.

Game over.

“Holy shit,” the guys shout.

Beer mugs fly up in the air, sending foamy splatters everywhere as our crew pulls Nick into a celebratory embrace.

He’s smiling like I haven’t seen him smile in forever. Laughing like I haven’t heard him laugh. Batting away Jorgensen as the kid tries to talk everybody into hoisting him up on their shoulders and tossing him around. You’d think they just won a Stanley Cup and Nick’s the team MVP.

And through it all, he catches my eye with something prideful and teasing that makes me want to demand a rematch and lose to him all over again.

Zach comes over and smacks my shoulder way harder than necessary. “Seth’s buying!”

“Yeah, yeah.” I chuckle. “Drinks on me, everybody.”

“I had to make sure you knew. You’ve never done this part before.”

“And I’m never going to again, so don’t get used to it.”

“Never?” Nick joins us. “You sure about that?”

I pull out my wallet to settle the tab with Amalie. “Play me again. Find out.”

Nick’s smile lifts higher on one cheek, his face flushed from liquor and exertion. “You’re on.”

Chapter 8

Seth

Zach passes out as soon as we get back to our room. For once, the sound of his bourbon-fueled chainsaw snoring is music to my ears.

I wait until Orlov shuts off the lights in the crew mess, then I sneak up the stairs.

The door to the captain’s quarters is unlocked when I get there, so I let myself in. Half-hoping Nick is awake so I can have him to myself for a little while, half-hoping he’s asleep because he deserves the rest.

His bedside light is on, casting a yellow glow over his bare chest while he’s propped up in bed. Writing something in his logbook before he sees me come in and throws it on the night table.

“Hey.” He crawls forward, the blanket falling entirely.

Skin, andmoreskin. Beneath the covers, he’s not wearing a stitch of clothing.

“Hey,” I breathe, stepping to the foot of the bed and cupping his neck.