Page 3 of Weathering The Storm

I step down onto the platform with a huff, thankful for all the layers of outerwear hiding the fact that my heart’s trying to beat out of my chest.

Itwouldbe a joke to him. Not unlike any of the others the guys make out here.

“Cold? I’ve got someplace warm you can put your hands.”

“Impossible to sleep with all this rocking. Wanna cuddle?”

“It’s not cheating at sea. It’s just helpin’ out a friend.”

“Any port in a storm, right?”

That’s all the thought of a man being with another man is out here. All it’s ever been. A joke.

The guys don’t mean a thing by it, and they never have. Not the ones I used to work with when I was on deck, and not the ones who work for me now.

But I’ve never been able to join in the banter for the same reason I’ve never been able to condemn it.

For me, it isn’t a joke.

I got my sea legs about the time I learned to walk, and I’ve been a fisherman ever since I was big enough to be trusted with a bait box.

Long before I understood attraction, I knew there was something fascinating about the younger guys who worked for my dad. The effortless strength they flaunted on a daily basis, operating heavy machinery. The big hands that flexed as they showed me how to repair engines. The baritone voices that laughed and sang off-key and asked me if I had a crush on any girls at school.

Eventually, it clicked that other guys didn’t notice those things.Straightguys didn’t notice those things.

Just like Seth’s never noticed how it kills me whenever he hugs me hello or goodbye. Whenever he gazes at me a second too long or makes silly little jokes about wanting to hold my hand.

“Mornin’, Captain.” Jorgensen lifts his chin in greeting as he finishes lashing down a stack of crab pots.

“Morning.” I clap his forearm, double-checking his work and disguising it as a glance of approval. Konrad Jorgensen is a hard worker, a fast learner, and a great kid. But at twenty-one, he’s still just that. A kid. “Have a good break?”

“Oh hell yeah. Rented out this place in The Bahamas for a month—I’ll have to show you pictures of everything I caught. Bonefish, grouper, mahi, you name it.”

I’m starting to actually get interested before he goes on.

“And then I hit it off with this chick who was in Nassau for her friend’s bachelorette party and holyshit. She did this thing, with her tongue—” Jorgensen demonstrates. Graphically. “—I’ll never be the same. I’m a changed man. I think I’m inlove.”

Seth snorts. “How many times have you called her since you got back?”

“I lost count of how many beaches we fucked on,” Jorgensen prattles, ignoring the question. “I swear, I’m still finding sand.”

“Maybe that wouldn’t be a problem if you ever took arealshower,” my senior deckhand, Zach Perry, calls out. He finishes topping off the fuel and comes over to pull me into a one-armed hug.

“Teondra didn’t mind my musk.”

“How much were the girls drinking at this bachelorette party again?”

Jorgensen’s proud smirk slides right off his baby-faced cheeks.

As their boss, I do my best to stay out of crew antics. But every once in a while, it’s a struggle not to crack a smile.

Seth tilts his head, redirecting his amusement at Zach. “Alright, Perry. We got way more detail about Jorg’s sandy crevices than anybody asked for. Now I wanna know whatthatis.”

I bend forward, following Seth’s line of sight to the most impressive hickey I’ve ever seen on a grown man, peeking over the collar of Perry’s jacket.

Perry gives an awfully self-satisfied shrug. “Hey, I’m a married man. I don’t kiss and tell…”

Right, and wrong. He does have a wife, whom he talks about constantly. They do quite a bit of kissing though, and he talks about thatconstantly, too. Which is how I know he’s not done talking.