Page 38 of Weathering The Storm

I can picture him as if I’m in the room—blankets pooled around his hips, his chest bare… or maybe a sliver of stomach showing where his thermals rose up in his sleep. He’s rolling on his socks and heading to the bathroom. Willing the exhaustion away as he brushes his teeth and pulls a hat on instead of bothering to comb his hair.

My eyes have been fixed on the brightening horizon for the past four hours, but all at once, the room lights up when Nick opens his door and steps into the wheelhouse.

“Morning,” he says, his voice deliciously hoarse. He squints as his eyes adjust to the bright display screens and the light pouring through the windows.

“Morning, Nicky,” I say as he stands beside me, looking out at the water. My favorite sunrise view just one-upped itself.

A bald eagle swoops down, port side. Banking low over the surface of the water. It pulls up at the last second, talons skimming the trough of a wave, and rises back into the buttery sky with nothing. A miss.

“Hopefully we pull in more than him today,” Nick says.

“Nah, that’s just fishing. Sometimes you’ve gotta be persistent. He’s got the right idea.” I point up at the sky, both of us watching the best programming there is. Nature’s.

The eagle tucks its wings and drops back down to the water.

This time, talons break the surface and come back with a flash of silver twisting in their grip. The eagle beats its wings twice, gaining altitude before it arcs directly toward theSuoja. Perching on top of a stack of pots with its kill.

Nick huffs a laugh. “Yep. That’s just fishing.”

The eagle tears into the sand lance, its hook-tipped beak shredding through scales and flesh.

“That’s supposed to be a sign of good luck or something, isn’t it?” I say.

“Some people think so. I think it’s a sign that our bait’s about to go missing.”

“Watch us pull up a hundred keepers per pot, just like the good ole days.”

“I’ll hand-feed him the rest of our cod if that happens.”

The corner of my mouth tugs up. “I think that’s what you’d be, if you were a sea creature. Not an octopus. An eagle.”

“Birds count?”

“Of course they do. They’re part of the marine ecosystem.”

Nick glances at me curiously, fatigue fading from his eyes. “And why would I be an eagle?”

“Well for one, they’re highly protective of their families, just like you are with your crew. They’re graceful, smart. Analytical and precise in the way they hunt.” I gesture out at the water, biting down on my lip before I decide to let the last part fly. “And I don’t think you’re solitary by nature. Maybe eagles aren’t the most social, but they do have their pair.”

“Their pair,” he repeats faintly.

“Mm-hm.”

He moves in a little closer, his pinky tangling with mine. About to steal a touch, a kiss—maybe, hopefully—before someone starts up the crew mess stairs.

Nick steps away just in time, clearing his throat as Perry joins us. “Any updates?”

“Yeah.” I switch my work-brain back on, pulling up the weather radar on the display and rattling off the updates I was going to give him before we got sidetracked. “Been monitoring the weather channel. There’s a system moving in. First advisory came through a couple hours ago—Northwest winds building to thirty-five to forty-five knots by this evening. Fourteen to eighteen-foot seas. I’ve already adjusted our heading to keep us off the leading edge, but if we push north to check the next string, we’ll run straight into it by nightfall.”

Nick leans over the display, nodding. “How far to St. Paul?”

“Four, maybe four and a half hours at current speed. We’d make it well ahead of the weather.”

“All right, then. We’ll pull the last string here, then run over to the harbor. Anchor up and ride it out. I’d rather not fish in that shit.” He straightens. “Got anything for me, Perry?”

“Yes, sir. Was just going to let you know everybody’s up and ready to haul,” he says. “Sounds like we need to get moving on it.”

Right. Time to get moving, because we’re always moving out here. Away from each other, more often than not.