Page 61 of Weathering The Storm

I’ve never truly known fear before this night. Not a fear of death. Strangely, that’s been the easiest thing to accept. Not fear from the storm. Weather, I know how to prepare for. I know protocol.

Abandoning theSuojawas an easy decision, as much as it broke my heart. I had to give my crew the best chance of survival, and that was to get off of the boat. End of story.

But right now, the only thing Iamis scared. It makes up my entire being.

“Don’t leave me, Rit,” I beg, gathering him in my arms and rubbing him, trying to generate some heat with friction. I hold him against my chest, whispering in his ear. “Youcan’tfucking leave me. Okay?”

He doesn’t respond. His body’s only focus is on keeping him alive.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Instead of measuring time in swells, it now passes in breaths. As long as he’s still breathing, I haven’t lost anything at all.

“I love you,” I whisper. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Please.

I don’t know if I’m begging aloud or in my head. If I’m begging Seth to hold on or begging the storm to stop.

But I keep begging. I beg with each exhale that his lungs will inflate again. I beg with each heartbeat that the next one comes soon. I beg with every swell beneath the life raft, every splash of water from the sea and the sky, that the storm calms.

I beg until I hear the distant drum of helicopter blades, chopping through the outer bands of the storm. And even then, I don’tallow myself to believe it’s anything other than a figment of my imagination until I unzip the canopy and look up.

The sky has begun to lighten. Whether from the storm receding, or dawn impending, I’m not sure. I’d have a better shot throwing a dart and hitting the bullseye drunk and blindfolded than I would of guessing what time it is.

I shake Seth’s shoulders, trying to prop him up with me. “We’re getting out of here. Do you hear me?”

He doesn’t answer. Is he nodding, or is he nuzzling against me?

Hurry. God, please hurry.

The Coast Guard lower a radio.

I get up on my knees, swinging my arms until I make contact and pulling it down to speak into the mic.

“Coast Guard, Coast Guard, Captain Lundvall.”

“Lundvall speaking,” I say immediately.

“Any losses or injuries?”

“No losses.”Yet. Please fucking hurry.“One crew member with a broken leg. Another hypothermic.”

“Copy. Hang tight, we’re coming to get you out.”

It feels like it takes just as long for the rescue swimmer to reach us as it did for the helicopter to be dispatched. By the time the rescuer arrives, I’ve already been holding up Seth’s listlessweight for minutes. Waiting for the first chance to thrust him toward the promise of warmth and emergency care.

The worst part isn’t letting go of Seth, or watching the man try to talk his mostly-unconscious form through getting into the cage.

It’s the waiting afterward. Not knowing if he’s okay up there, if help arrived in time.

Perry goes up next, with extra precautions taken not to aggravate his leg. Then Jorgensen. Then Orlov.

I feel lighter when I’m the last man left in the raft. It’s been such a blur, I’ve already forgotten the panicked way I told the rescue swimmer to leave me behind. Justleave meif it’ll make a difference for Seth.

As long as I know I’m coming back to him, I can stay out here until they make sure he’s safe. But of course, my pleas were ignored.

“Rit will be okay, Captain,” Orlov told me before he went up. “He is strong.”

And that’s the last truth I cling to while I wait. While I scramble into the cage and get hoisted into the air, swinging back and forth in the wind.