Page 25 of Found at Sea
9
Fletcher
The following day, as most of the crew left the ship to find pleasures elsewhere, I stayed on the main deck with Horace. He was grumpy in his old age. Not that he wasthatold, but the oldest one on board at least. His long light brown hair held streaks of gray, and areas of his beard were speckled as well.
“Why aren’t ya whoring around like the rest of ‘em?” Horace asked, pinning me with an inquisitive stare.
“Why aren’t you?” I said instead.
“Aye, yer a smart one,” he responded before cracking the first smile I’d ever seen him have. It wasn’t a complete smile, but it was the only time I’d seen his face have any other expression besides anger or indifference. “For me? Not interested in all that folly. Once upon a time, aye, but now I enjoy time to myself.” He tapped his temple as he arched a brow. “It’s good for thinkin’ ya know.”
I nodded before shifting my gaze to the sea.
The sun glistening off the water was mesmerizing, and I’d never tire of seeing it each day. It reminded me of a legend I’d heard before of a sea nymph who fell in love with the sun. She’d loved the warmth and magnificence of it and would sit near a coral reef and stare upward at the rays cutting through the water.
She dreamed that a man lived in the sun and shone the light down just for her.
The tale ended tragically, unfortunately, as the nymph soon realized she’d fallen in love with a thing she could not have. She could see the sun’s light, and even feel its warmth on her skin when she dared to travel to the surface, but no matter how much she yearned for it to be hers, it would always be out of reach.
Ever since I’d heard the story, I found it easy to relate to the nymph. It seemed all of my desires had been out of reach too. I’d sit on my perch atop my favorite hill, beneath the shade of my favorite tree, and just dream of adventure, never actually living it.
Well, until Captain Flynn.
I smiled despite the conflicting emotions going through me.
Within my time aboard theCrimson Night, Captain Flynn had ignored me, said mean things when hehadspoken to me, and then he’d dragged me through town like a child and put me in my room, also like a child. I should be irritated at him—which I was—and I shouldn’t want anything to do with him…which I didn’t.
Right?
But then I remembered my craving for him.
“I missed that tongue of yours,” he’d said to me the previous night as he’d tilted my face up to his. “That fire that lives inside you and comes billowing out when you’re challenged.”
Perhaps I was mistaken, but he seemed to feel it too; the same draw I felt in his presence.
“Fletch?”
I spun around and saw Alek. His crinkled brow and remorseful eyes told me what he was going to say before he said it. After placing my cards on the wooden crate Horace and I’d been using as a table, I approached him.
“I’m sorry for what happened yesterday,” Alek said. “It was foolish of me to think you’d enjoy that, and I’m even sorrier for leaving you. It was not the best judgement call, but I promise it won’t happen again.” When I didn’t respond after several heartbeats, he added, “Forgive me?”
I couldn’t stay mad at him. He hadn’t intentionally upset me, I knew that, and his apology was genuine.
“I forgive you,” I said, feeling awkward as we stood a foot apart. “Next time you wish to visit that kinda place, just let me know and I’ll come back to the ship. Maybe there’s something wrong with me, but I’m not like most men.”
“No, you aren’t,” he agreed with a small smile.
I mirrored his expression.
Seeing a dark figure from the corner of my eye, I turned to see Captain Flynn near the helm. He watched me and Alek with a stern set of his jaw before looking into the distance.
I was about to comment about it to Alek when I sawhisexpression. He looked at the captain with worry etched into his face.
“Al?”
Alek focused on me, and the shadows in his eyes dissipated as a cool calmness came over him. “It’s hot. Want to go for a swim?”
Ever since meeting Alek, I’d learned much about him. The biggest thing I knew, though, was how he was a master of deception, or rather, distraction. When asked something he didn’t want to answer or when faced with a truth he didn’t want to face, he’d carefully skirt around the topic. He was so great at it that I often times didn’t register he’d done it until an hour or so later.
