Page 93 of Tide Over

“It is,” I say, a wave of frustration rolling over me as I finally let myself realize what this all means. “It’s going to be six months before I have any sort of use of my hand again, and even then, it will never be the same. It’s the end of lobster season, my crewis left hanging, and I won’t make it back for tuna season either.” I shake my head as reality settles over me. “I may never fish again.” My eyes drop to the floor as the weight of it all crashes down on me.

Liam slides his hand into mine and squeezes, drawing my gaze back to him as I blink back tears.

“It’s not over,” he says softly. “You’ll take some time off to heal and then get back into it when you’re ready.” He gently rubs his thumb over the back of my hand. “I’ll help you.”

I stare into his eyes for a moment longer as his words hang in the air, and I want to believe him. But it’s hard to see how this is all going to be ok.

“Everything can wait,” he says. “Right now, you need to take care of yourself.”

My eyes drop to my arm wrapped in heavy bandages, and a dull ache creeps in as the meds begin to wear off. My vision blurs with fresh tears, but before they fall, Liam pulls me into him again and threads his fingers gently through my hair.

“I wish I was there for you,” he whispers.

“You are,” I murmur, finding comfort in his touch.

He shakes his head. “I should have been there…” he says again, his voice breaking with guilt.

I’m quiet for a moment as I think back to when I woke up after surgery, searching for him even though I knew he wouldn’t be there. But I know why he wasn’t. And I understand.

“I froze,” he continues, “and I couldn’t make myself go… I’m so sorry.” He holds onto me a bit tighter, like he’s afraid to let go.

I look into his tear-filled blue eyes, and my heart sinks, hating that he’s carrying this weight. “I get it,” I say. “It’s ok. We’re here now.”

He nods as a tear falls. “I thought I was going to lose you.” Then he takes a deep breath in and presses his lips to the side of my head. “But… we’re here now,” he says, repeating my wordslike he’s trying to believe they’re really true. “And you’re going to be ok.”

I drop my head to his chest again, letting my eyes travel out the window to the ocean. “I hope so,” I say quietly.

THIRTY-FIVE

Theo’s chestrises and falls with soft breaths as his bandaged and splinted arm rests on a pillow beside him. I clutch my bag tight as I watch him, not wanting to wake him after a restless night, but needing to say bye before I leave for work. My chest tightens as my eyes roam over his arm, hating that things have to be like this.

I quietly lean over and kiss his forehead, just like he’s done to me every morning before he leaves for work. His eyes flutter open, and I set my bag down as I sink onto the edge of the bed.

“I have to go,” I say, looking down at him in the stillness of the early morning, the first signs of light just starting to peek through the windows. But the ache in my heart grows the longer I stare down at him, urging me to stay and climb back into bed with him. “I don’t want to.”

His uninjured hand slides onto my thigh. “I know… I don’t want you to either.” He pauses for a moment and releases a breath. “But you have to.”

A deep, resigned sigh escapes me as I nod. Last night, I almost called off my rotation to stay home with Theo, because the thought of leaving him for three weeks feels like a knife in my heart, twisting deeper with every passing second that bringsme closer to leaving. But he told me I have to go, and I know he’s right. If I bail on a rotation last minute, especially when it’s only my second with this company, my career in oil and gas will be over. No one would ever hire me again if they can’t rely on me.

It just fucking hurts to leave him like this.

He looks into my eyes and squeezes my leg. “I’ll be ok.”

I lean down to kiss him, lingering against his lips for a moment longer to take in every bit of him that I can, memorizing this moment so I can bring it with me. And when I pull back and meet his eyes again, the words are on the tip of my tongue.

I love you.

But I keep them in for now. Because even though the love I feel for him is overwhelming and those words are desperate to come out, I can’t say them when he’s hurting the way he is and I’m about to leave for three weeks. I want to be able to share that love with joy and happiness. Not sadness and pain.

My hand cups the side of his face as I run my thumb over his freckles, and stare into his warm brown eyes.

“Mo chridhe.”

Sparks fly around me as I work, hanging by ropes underneath the platform of the rig. Waves crash loudly against the legs, nearly drowning out the sound of my welder. But I remain focused on the job before me as I reinforce the joint which is starting to show some signs of corrosion, worn down by the severe forces and relentless weather out here in the Gulf of Mexico. One bad weld can lead to devastating consequences, so I block out everything around me and keep my attention firmly on the job.

When I’m finished, I lift my shield and inspect the welds, satisfied with the result. But as I reach for the ascender to haul myself back up to the platform, my gaze falls to the ocean below me. The waves continue to forcefully crash against the rig legs, and I get lost in their hypnotic rhythm. As I watch the deep, dark ocean swirl and churn, I think of how much it could hurt me. The waves could easily pull me under, into its darkness, and never let me go. The same waves I’ve been riding through grief are right here before me, begging me to come join them, and promising to take my pain away forever.

But they don’t control me anymore.

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