Getting Rough (13 page)

“Da took Shaw out to pull in the traps, didn’t he?”

Ma was already turned again and nearly at the kitchen, so I quick-stepped to catch up.

“He needed the help, Cass.”

Panic set in. I knew how choppy the waters got when a system was moving in, and they were even worse as far out to sea as legacies fish. “But Casey can help!”

“Casey
is
helping.” She didn’t even glance back at me when she said her next words. “Are you as worried about him?”

“What? I don’t need to worry about Casey, Ma. He’s used to this. Shaw isn’t. I don’t know if he’s even ever been out on a boat, let alone in storm waters. He could get killed!”

Ma waved me off. “Stop worrying. You know your father and Casey will take care of him.”

My father? Yes. Casey? Well, I couldn’t be so sure of that. He was as protective as they came, and with all the bad things I’d told him about Shaw and our standoffs back in San Diego…

Shaw may never be heard of or seen again.

“Good morning!” came the too cheerful voice of the Whalen House’s other guest as we came into the kitchen.

Mia Morgan was sitting at the island in the middle of the room with her tiny fingers wrapped around a piping-hot cup of coffee like she was about to get cozy in front of a fire. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders as she adjusted the crocheted blanket she wore like a shawl.

There was a dreamy look in her eyes as she said, “So our men are out braving the elements to get everything prepared for the long night ahead, leaving the three of us at home to wait for them and do what we can here. Where should we start?”

I cocked a brow. “‘
Our
men’?”

That disillusioned smile dropped from her girl-next-door face as her cheeks flamed pink from embarrassment. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just meant that…”

She didn’t finish, though she didn’t have to. I knew what she meant. She was trying to be cute, which might work on everyone else, but she didn’t know me like that yet. What I did know was that “our” men were not ours. They were
my
father,
my
best friend, and
my
… Well, whatever Shaw was, he was mine. So sayeth my vagina. And each one of them was a part of my story. A story that was getting rough, both figuratively and literally.
My
men were out there on a very fickle ocean in dangerous conditions, and I just wanted them all to get back home safe before all hell broke loose.

Miss Mia Morgan needed a reality check. This was no romance novel. The Whalen House was not a cabin in Vermont. There was no fire to cozy up to, we were not settling in for a romantic snowstorm, and she would not be snuggling naked with Casey under a blanket for body warmth.

It wasn’t until Ma stabbed a boney finger into my ribs that I realized I’d been staring Mia down like I was daring her to utter another word. Not that Mia was even making eye contact at that point. Her head was bowed in submission and she was studying that cup of coffee like there were sea monkeys putting on a water ballet show inside of it.

I cleared my throat and relaxed the muscles that had coiled tight in preparation for a pounce. What had gotten into me? “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” I lied, like a seasoned pro, I might add. Guess Shaw had been rubbing off on me. “I’m just worried about them.”

Ma gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “They’ll be fine, Cass. We, on the other hand, need to get to work.”

In Detroit, the only people awake at four o’clock in the morning were thieves, murderers, rapists, prostitutes, crack heads, and the boys in blue tasked with the responsibility of keeping them all in check. Scary-ass creeps that thrived during the hours of darkness right before the dawn. In Stonington, only the fishermen and dockworkers were out. And they were no less scary.

Casey was waiting on the pier when Duff and I had arrived. The prick made it a point to tell us he’d been waiting for a while before Duff explained the clothing faux pas we’d had that morning, what with the two of us having to work together to make his oversized rubber pants and beat-up jeans and shirt fit my much smaller frame. It wasn’t like I’d packed for the occasion. Not that it was any of Casey’s business, but apparently he’d already gotten his own boat secured for the storm and had volunteered to tag along on team Duff to help him do the same. It might have been nice to know that tidbit of information beforehand, though I didn’t suppose it would have changed Duff’s mind about dragging me along. I was doing it for Cassidy, and because there was a real sense of urgency about it all. I’d never been anywhere near a tropical storm. I didn’t even know the damn things came this far up north. But I was willing to help in any way I could. If nothing else, it would certainly be one adventure I wouldn’t soon forget.

It was dark, cold, wet, the water was getting choppier by the second, and I almost slipped about half a dozen times while trying to get down the ladder and onto the boat from the pier. The last thing I needed was to fall and bust my head open, but to do so in front of Cassidy’s father and ex-boyfriend would have been more insulting than the injury itself.

Don’t get me wrong; I was tough, but I was street tough, whereas these two were rugged-seamen tough. I’d fought thugs. They’d fought Mother Nature. So technically, they were the bitches, because who fights a chick?

Once we’d loaded all of our gear – and I couldn’t tell you what any of it was – Duff manned the helm and the engine roared to life. Despite the deep rumble, the buzz of smaller engines whipping past us was the thing that most caught my attention.

“Why are the other fishermen in smaller boats?” I instantly regretted asking the question when Casey looked at me like I was stupid. My jaw ticked a little bit because I absolutely detested people thinking I was ignorant.

“You mean the skiffs?”

Whatever. How was I supposed to know the technical word?

“Their boats are the ones you see anchored out in the bay. They ride skiffs back and forth because they can’t tie off to the pier.”

“Why not?”

Again with the look. “Because that privilege is reserved for legacies.”

“And legacies are what?” At some point, my questions stopped being less about curiosity and more about wanting to annoy Lobster Casey.

It worked.

Lobster boy huffed. “Legacies are the families that have been fishing the longest. The slip where they dock is reserved for only them. Duff is a legacy. My father is a legacy. And when he retires, I’ll be a legacy.”

“So your boat is anchored in the bay, too?” This was a question I’d wish I hadn’t asked.

He pointed across the way to a shiny white boat with blue accents. “Yep. She’s right there.” The name
Shooting Star
was scrawled in elegant script across the aft end. My jaw ticked a little more when I recalled an identical shooting star etched onto Cassidy’s hip with this numbnuts’s name beneath it. I guess this was their version of matching tattoos.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Casey asked, and all I could do was nod because yeah, Cassidy was very beautiful, indeed.

Duff yelled down from the helm, “Time to get under way, boys. The weather’s moving in faster than I thought. Let’s not get caught in it.”

Casey hopped down from his perch and pulled in the mooring at the bow. “You ready for this?” He pointed toward the stern, and I went over to pull in that line as well.

No. Not really. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. So with a shrug I simply replied, “Sure. How bad can it be?” The line was simple enough, anyway.

I took no comfort in the foretelling chuckle he and Duff shared at my expense.

“I guess you’re about to find out.” The boat took off with a jerk and I nearly lost my balance again while Casey’s Captain Morgan stance on the bow hadn’t been displaced in the least.

What had I gotten myself into?

What was once a blue ocean had turned black as night with wave caps of white that dotted the expanse without any rhyme or reason. Buoys tossed back and forth, bending so far over onto their sides at times that I didn’t think they’d come back up. The clouds that had been slowly creeping in were now upon us, blocking out the sun and throwing us into darkness. I had to admit, I was intimidated by the sheer, raw power of Mother Nature.

Five miles or so off the tip of Isle au Haut, Duff was fighting against the force of an unreasonable current. Even I could see the skill it took to maneuver that boat, and he had it in spades. He would forever have my respect.

Casey had said I’d find out how bad it could be, and man, did I ever.

I’d worked hard for all my life, struggled every single minute of every single day for my job, but all of that had been a mental struggle. This? This was pure physical labor. Seven hundred steel traps had to be hauled on board Duff’s vessel. Seven hundred waterlogged, weighted traps that required a great deal of arm strength and the shoulder and back muscles of an Olympic weight-lifting champion. No amount of topical pain relief was going to cure the ache screaming through said muscles, but I did a damn good job of hiding it. I think.

We were being pummeled by heavy winds and rain. Cold rain that stung like a son of a bitch and was likely leaving welts on my skin. Plus the boat was getting tossed around like a rubber ducky in a rambunctious toddler’s bath, so I could add a churning stomach on top of it. Damn if Casey didn’t notice it.

“Looking a little green around the gills there, city boy. Maybe you should sit the next one out,” he said as Duff used those mad skills to move us to the next spot. The last spot, thank God.

I straightened my shoulders and plastered on a mask. I’d been used to donning it in every other situation. I just had to reach deep into my bag of tricks for this particular one. As afraid for my life as I was, no way was I going to let Lobster Casey think I couldn’t handle anything he could. He’d yet to break a sweat, hadn’t shown the slightest hint of strain, and rode the rocking boat like a seasoned cowboy on a bucking bronco. The only victory I could take away was that at least he was drenched also. He wore it better, though.

I hated him.

Swallowing down the urge to upchuck all over the place, I gave him the same smile I gave to every prospective client. The one that assured him of my confidence and tendency to win. He would not beat me. No one would ever beat me. Except for the fact that Cassidy already had, technically, but I’d come out the victor in the end of that situation as well.

“Shaw Matthews does not sit one out,” I said, quoting him.

He grinned at me and then shook his head. “Cassidy was right about you. You
are
an egomaniac.”

“She told you that?”

“She tells me everything.” The expression on his face begged me to read between the lines, but I doubted she’d told him I’d had my cock inside her on multiple occasions. I wondered if he’d be so smug if he’d known that.

“Though even if she hadn’t, I’d have figured it out the second you referred to yourself in the third person anyway.”

The boat pulled alongside the next trawl, so Casey and I went over to start the haul. The sooner we got the traps in, the sooner we could make it back to land, and I was very partial to that idea.

I likely looked like a drunk crossing the street as I made my way across the deck, but I’d given up on trying to walk a straight line and considered it a personal accomplishment if I got to the other side without falling on my ass. “I see nothing wrong with having a high opinion of myself. I happen to think I’m a pretty great guy.”

“You’re the only one.” He hooked the line and brought it closer, grabbing and hooking it onto the wench once it was within reach.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Casey grabbed the first cage and then stopped to look at me. “Why are you even here?”

I shrugged. “Same reason you are. I’m helping Duff.”

“No, not here, here,” he said, referencing the boat. “Here in Stonington. And you haven’t earned the right to call that man by his first name, so don’t. Show some respect.”

Wow, that one kind of threw me for a loop. I looked toward
Mr. Whalen
to see his reaction and apologize, only to find him in his own world with captaining the boat. But there was something else Casey had asked me, a question that I realized the answer to only at that moment.

“I’m here because I couldn’t let her run away.” The words shocked me just as much as they’d apparently shocked Casey.

“If Cass was running away from anything, it was you. But don’t give yourself that much credit. Truth is, she was running to something.”

“You think you know her that well, huh?”

He arched a brow. “You think you know her at all? Cass and I are childhood sweethearts, best friends. I know her better than anyone ever has or ever will.”

“Is that right? Well did you happen to notice how it’s affecting her that you’re spending so much time with Mia? Because I did.”

Casey yanked the next trap on board and straightened, his face hard and the muscles in his body even harder. Classic defensive mode. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m the man paying attention. You should try it sometime. It comes with its own rewards.” Maybe I’d said too much, but I didn’t care. I just kept seeing the desperation in Cassidy’s eyes the evening before, feeling the way she’d clung to me. And all of that was after I’d watched her heart break from across the yard as she watched this man with another woman; this man that she’d trusted so much.

“Cassidy hates you, and I’m done talking to you about her. Get back to work.”

Casey grabbed the next cage and slid it toward me. Ignoring the searing pain in my muscles, I snatched it up like it was nothing and turned to stack it with the others.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe she does hate me. But you know what they say… There’s a fine line between hate and love. Only in this case, I suppose we’d have to trade out love for lust.”

I turned back around to give him my famous smug grin, only I was met with a sucker punch to the face. There was no way to prepare for a blow I never saw coming, but should’ve expected. It had all the impact of a wrecking ball to a brick building, only much faster. An instant throb pulsed through my jaw that I wasn’t entirely sure hadn’t been dislocated. What was with these people and their violent tendencies? In Detroit, I expected that sort of thing. But in a quiet little fishing community, not so much.

Duff yelled something from the helm that I couldn’t quite make out for the ringing in my ear, but whatever it was it didn’t matter. I saw red then, anger gushing through my veins, which probably didn’t help the throbbing in my jaw. Finding my balance, I swung at Casey. He ducked, but I followed through with an uppercut to his chin that knocked him backward.

The boat tossed to the side, making me have to think quick to stay on my feet. If there had been anything I’d learned on the streets of Detroit, it was to never let your opponent get you on your back. But everything was working against me: the weather, the ocean, the wet deck, and Casey’s agenda. He charged forward and tackled me, sending the both of us crashing against the lobster traps that had once been stacked neatly. The unforgiving corners of the steel cages dug into my back, adding insult to injury.

Having had enough of that bullshit, I fisted Casey by his stupid rubber jacket and used all my strength to toss him off me. It bought me enough time to get to my feet, but in my effort to do so, one of the cages got me good on the head. Not to mention that all that time had also given Casey the chance to regroup and set up for another charge. I braced for the impact, knowing that this one would knock the breath from my lungs, but I couldn’t predict what happened next.

One second I was planting my feet, and the next I was swallowing seawater. I’d been knocked overboard and the ocean was claiming me for herself. Instinct got my legs and arms into gear and I propelled myself upward, gasping for a breath of air the second I broke the surface. I’d only barely gotten it when I saw a wall of water barreling down on me. It crashed with a force that felt like someone had grabbed my head and held me underwater. Again I fought, not really sure which direction was up by this time, but determined to find it. I kicked and clawed until finally I burst out of the water with another sharp inhale.

I shouldn’t have bothered. It was a cruel tease. Having a moment to tread water, I twisted and turned myself around, searching for Duff’s boat. It was still there, but I’d somehow been pulled very far away.

“Over here!” I yelled. At least I thought I’d yelled. Thanks to the gallons of salt water I’d swallowed, my voice was croaky and my throat raw.

And then another wave took me under. This one was bigger than the last, stronger and more determined in its quest to send me to the bottom of the ocean. Pulling and pushing, kicking and twisting, I tried so hard to find my next breath again. Everything was dark. I couldn’t find the light of the surface, and I wanted nothing more than to take a breath. But I couldn’t. Because if I did, it would be over. Of one thing I was sure: Mother Nature was not going to let me go.

At some point, I just became too tired to move my arms anymore. I wasn’t even sure if they’d been working for or against me in the first place. My legs were the next to go. Everything was fading in and out and I was struck with the realization that this was the way Shaw Matthews was going to die. I’d survived Seven Mile and a life in which the odds had been stacked against me only to succumb to a force that could not be stopped.

I
could
be beaten. And I was.

Releasing the breath I’d been holding, I gave up and just let go. It was odd how peaceful the ocean felt beneath the tumultuous surface. It would be a fine resting place for my remains. And I could’ve sworn it cradled me as my body sank.

I should have let him drown. I really should have. I thought about it, even thought about the explanation I’d give Cassidy and the authorities.

“Oopsie! He fell overboard and there was simply no way to get to him. Tragic loss,” I would’ve said, while hanging my head and pretending to feel bad about my inability to rescue him.

But I was the hero, dammit. Always had been. At least that was the way Cassidy had seen me. And the one thing I never had been and never would be able to stand was knowing I’d disappointed her.

Sometimes it really sucked to have to be the bigger man.

Putting my own life at risk, I jumped into the frigid abyss and swam to the last spot where I’d seen Shaw. It wasn’t easy either. The elements worked against me, but I was a seasoned sailor and, therefore, one hell of a swimmer. Not to mention strong. Diving deep, I caught a glimpse of the bright yellow raincoat that had been way too big for him in the first place. With any luck, it would still be on his body because no, I couldn’t see shit else.

By the time I got to him, he wasn’t moving. Pale skin and blue lips, he looked for all the world like a lifeless corpse floating in a laboratory tank. I really didn’t know if there would be any bringing him back, but if nothing else, I could at least make sure he wasn’t lost at sea.

Grabbing his outstretched hand, I made my way toward the surface with his body in tow. Jesus, my lungs burned with the need to take a breath. The light from Duff’s boat penetrated the darkness like the light at the end of the tunnel. Fat lot of good it would do for us both to die here. And damn, all I could think about was how devastated Cassidy would be to lose us both at the same time.

Summoning all my strength, and it took a lot with Shaw’s deadweight, I made like a porpoise and jumped out of the water with a huge gasp for air. The waves had gotten even bigger, something I had to be wary of while hooking an arm under Shaw’s chin to keep his head out of the water. Not that it mattered by then. As far as I could tell, the guy wasn’t breathing.

Duff was already hanging half off the side, prepared to lift him on board, and that sucked like a motherfucker because what if he got tossed into a watery grave like Shaw and I had? The old man was a sea dog, though, so he was good to go.

“Is he alive?” Duff called over the howling wind and rain.

“I don’t think so,” I told him.

Once I reached the boat, I grabbed the rope ladder Duff had thrown over and yanked Shaw within his reach. I helped as much as I could, but that wasn’t saying a lot considering all the energy I’d expelled just getting him to that point. When Duff nearly took a tumble, I got a sudden jolt of adrenaline and lifted Shaw up, shoving him over the port side.

By the time I got myself out of the water, Duff was already getting down with the resuscitation. “Goddammit! He doesn’t have a pulse!” he yelled.

I let him have his way with the mouth-to-mouth because no way was I kissing the asshole, but I did rip open that jacket to take over the chest compressions. Thirty quick pumps later and Duff checked for a pulse again. Nothing.

“Keep going!” he said, abandoning his post and heading toward the helm.

Shit. I kept working on the compressions. “What are you doing? He’s still not breathing,” I said.

“I’m getting us the hell out of here and back home. Now save his goddamn life!”

The motor kicked into high gear, feeling more like a surfboard riding a wave as Duff got us under way. I did my best to keep Shaw in place while still trying to bring the son of a bitch back around. Swallowing down my pride, I pinched his nose shut and put my mouth over his, pushing air into his stubborn lungs. Fuck it. Only the two of us would ever know my lips had touched his. Even if Shaw pulled through, he’d not remember it, and I’d take it to my grave.

Leaning down, I put my ear to his mouth to listen for a breath, but I couldn’t hear jack shit over the wind, the sloshing waves, and the engine. I searched for a pulse, but my fucking hands were frozen, my whole body was frozen and probably on the verge of hypothermia, so I couldn’t feel a thing.