Page 63 of Weathering The Storm

“We’re all okay here,” I say. It might be the first time I fully believe it, knowing everything this storm took from our community. “Minor injuries, all things considered.”

And then my father lets out a ragged sigh, and says the last thing I ever could’ve expected. “I always knew you’d be a fine captain.”

I stagger back into the chair, crumpling forward and hugging that phone receiver to my head. I feel like a child again, dependent upon his approval. Only this time I know damn well I don’t deserve it.

I realize he can’t see me shaking my head and try to think of something to say. “I’m sorry.”

It’s all I’ve got.

I’m sorry for the things that weren’t my fault. The lives that were lost, the devastation, the heartache my parents went through waiting to find out if I was dead or alive.

But most of all, I’m sorry for every choice I made that led us to be where we were that day.

“Why? About theSuoja? I need you to listen to me right now, son. I don’t give a shit about the boat. Iknowyou made the right decision out there. You made the decision that saved five lives and brought everyone home safe. I understand it’s hard to see it that way right now. It’s going to be hard for a while. But I hope you can be proud of what you did someday. BecauseIhave never been more proud of you.”

My hand, still clutching the phone, trembles.

“It’s not your fault,” he says firmly. “Remember what I told you when you started driving the boat?”

I close my eyes, thinking back to the first time I closed my hands around the wheel—forreal—standing side by side with him.

“Being in command isn’t the same thing as being in control. Out here, the control doesn’t belong to you. The command—that’s in how you adapt. The choices you make with the conditions you’re given, no matter how rough they are.”

“Out of my control,” I murmur.

Somehow, I’ll have to learn to accept that.

“I would’ve done the same thing. Okay?” he says. “Where are you now? We’ll catch the next flight into Anchorage.”

I open my eyes, blinking back at Seth’s sleeping form, and I find more things to be sorry for. All the things I’ve never told the two people who have always been there for me.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m at the hospital right now. Not sure when I’ll be back.”

“The hospital?” Mom cuts in. “I thought you said you weren’t hurt.”

“I’m, uh…” I don’t know why I’m still staring at Seth like he’ll have the answers I need while unconscious. Like he’ll tell me what I should say and how I should say it. “I’m with Seth. He’s being treated for hypothermia.”

“Seth, your first mate, Seth?”

I gather from Mom’s tone that she wouldn’t ask any further questions upon confirmation. They know me and Seth have been working together for years now. They know I consider him a friend, that I speak highly of him. They probably assume I’m doing the right thing, the way they raised me to, and making sure he gets home safe.

“Yeah,” I say.

Unconsciously, Seth shifts onto his side. He’s held back by the IV, but it still reminds me of the way he’d roll over to get more comfortable when I slept with him. Wedging his calf between both of mine and making a contented little hum in my ear.

I think about going home with him—if he still wants anything to do with me—and falling asleep next to him for real this time. For more than just a few hours. A whole night of him curled up against me and around me, until we wake for no other reason than finally feeling well-rested.

I think about the way Orlov and Jorgensen and Perry reacted when they found out, and how nothing big changed between us. How the small things that changed, changed for the better.

“Sometimes it can be... good. Trusting people. The right people.”

“Actually,” I say, “he’s sort of… more than that.”

A pause falls over the line.

“When did this happen?” Dad asks.

I try not to read anything into his tone. Focus only on his question and the facts that answer it.