Page 5 of Weathering The Storm

“We’re loaded up on ice? Bait?” I check, though I already know the answer.

“Yes, sir.” Seth effortlessly switches back into work-mode. “Provisions are stowed away. I checked the gear and tested the hydraulics and bilge pumps while you were settling paperwork. We should be ready to rumble.”

“That’s why I keep you around. Even though you call me Nicky.”

“Not for the eye candy?” he jokes.

Fuck.

My throat tightens, filling with acid. I can’t manufacture a single dig about his appearance to save my ass, so all that comes out is: “Hmph.”

Seth conducts the final walkthrough with me, standing by patiently for questions or further instruction. Although I already know everything will be taken care of. Not only to adequate completion, but up to my standards.

From day one, I’ve known Seth hasit.Deeply ingrained passion for this industry. The needto take pride in everything he does.

Guess that’s what got me most. More than the charming smiles and the twinkling eyes and the cut of his body. My whole life, I think I’ll wonder what it would be like to be thepersonSeth takes pride in. The person he applies this level of care and attention to.

I finish off in the wheelhouse, firing up the engine to get it warmed. The first thrums of energy rumble beneath our feet, a familiar growl spitting diesel fumes into the brisk air.

No matter how many times I’ve done this, it sends a rush through my system whenever we prepare to pull out of the slip.

“All systems look good, thanks,” I tell Seth, picking up the mic to check in with the Coast Guard. “Go ahead and get the crew ready for cast off. Let’s clear out before the traffic jam starts.”

“Aye aye.” Seth salutes jokingly. “Let’s slay some kings!”

With everything in order, the dock lines are taken in. The fenders are pulled aboard and stowed away. Seth jogs betweenthe bow and stern to update me on clearance over the radio as I pull out of the narrow docking slip.

We idle toward the marina’s exit, the winking lights of civilization shrinking behind theSuoja’schurning wake. Ahead, the world opens into a vast expanse. A void of black that will soon brighten to a million different shades of blue, green, and gray.

And down below, movement catches my eye. Seth’s clownfish-orange cap marks his position on deck as he finds work for himself.

As much as I appreciate the additional cabin space and ease of overseeing operations, sometimes I wish I was working with a house forward vessel instead of a house aft one. Maybe then I’d be less likely to give into temptation… or maybe I’d feel like even more of a stalker, checking the fucking cameras every couple of seconds.

I can’t afford to stare for long, but I steal a second or two, watching him check storage lockers. His broad shoulders pull at all his layers of outerwear as he rearranges cleaning supplies. His muscular ass and thighs fill out overalls that were otherwise mercifully loose-fitting before he started bending and crouching.

He stands and, as if he can sense my lecherous eyes all over him, looks up at the bridge. Raising three fingers in a wave and shooting me a smile that bores through my sternum and burrows into my chest.

I wave back, hoping I come across ten-percent as casual as he does before I find a point on the dark horizon and lock my eyes onto it.

A boundless view of water to remind me of the thirst I can’t quench.

Chapter 2

Seth

It’s been a nonstop carnival ride ever since we entered Bristol Bay to scope out our usual fishing grounds. Eight-to-ten-foot swells break against theSuoja’s bow, seven seconds between them.

Welcome to king crab season,says the ocean,good luck, fuckers.

I’m woken from a two-hour nap by a particularly nasty wave knocking me into the wall. The first thing I do is check my skull for a knot. The second thing I do is laugh and pull on my bibs. Aside from the new bruises, I’m feeling pretty refreshed.

Nothing’s better than a nice hard sleep on rough seas. Especially when the cyclicwhooshof water building, rising, crashing, grows loud enough to drown out the sound of the engine, and all you’re left with is a pleasant vibration against sore muscles. I was sort of hoping the weather would simmer down by the time I needed to be on deck to bait and secure the pots for our first drop, but calm wasn’t in the cards.

That’s fishing. Some days the ocean’s greasy flat, the sun’s shining, and you’re rolling in cash. Some days you’re coming up empty, growing icicles from your beard, and trying not to get tossed the fuck overboard.

Some people endure the bad days for the high of a good day, but maybe I’m a bit of a masochist. There’s something cathartic about getting slapped around by Mother Nature.

I pull on the rest of my gear. Hat, gloves, jacket, boots. My body adjusts to the movement of the ship as I make my way down the narrow hall and up the staircase to the galley. But as soon as I hear the clatter of someone digging through the pantry, my balance is lost. I stumble up the last three steps, peeking through the doorway.