Page 32 of Baby, It's Cod Outside
He wishes that he could borrow Jackson’s confidence like this every day.
For a moment, as he shuts off the engine and watches the first hint of sunrise slant across the dashboard, he lets himself imagine a version of this that’s real. Mornings where they don’t need a phone call because Jackson’s already there in the kitchen, making coffee and talking to the cat. Where the steadiness isn’t something Ben borrows, but something that stays.
He shakes himself out of it before he gets lost in it, but the image stays warm in his chest anyway.
Ben reaches for the phone, already missing the sound of Jackson’s voice. “I gotta head in, Jacks,” he says reluctantly.
Onscreen, Jackson stills for a beat, just looks at Ben like he’s trying to memorize something. Then he leans forward, oneforearm braced on his knee, the edge of the coffee mug still visible in his hand. “Go get ‘em, tiger. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
Ben smiles, small, real. “Okay. Yeah. Tonight.”
He ends the call before he can talk himself out of it. Outside, the early morning chill bites at his collar. Light filters thin and golden through the low clouds, reflecting off the windows of Whitaker Seafood
For the first time all week, Ben doesn’t dread walking in.
Ben grabs his hardhat from the hook outside his office and heads straight for logistics. Might as well rip off the bandaid.
Tom’s already there, leaning against a steel table, arms crossed, clipboard in hand. He holds the clipboard out as Ben approaches, tight-lipped and sullen. Ben takes it, flipping through. The stack is thicker than usual. Yesterday’s manifests are still attached, signature lines scribbled over in something that barely qualifies as handwriting.
“Tom,” Ben says, holding up one of the sheets. “What is this?”
Tom doesn’t flinch. “The paperwork.”
“I can’t read it.”
Tom’s jaw works, like he’s chewing on how much he wants to push back. “Look, no one actually checks who signs these. Long as the box is filled, it moves.”
Ben frowns, the unease rising fast and sharp. It’s not just the handwriting. It’s the timing. It’s the way Tom won’t quite look at him. “Well,Icheck.”
He signs today’s manifests slowly, deliberately, making sure each letter of his signature is legible. Then he hands the clipboard back. “We do things right. Or we don’t do them.”
“You weren’t on the floor yesterday.” Tom lets out a low scoff. “What was I supposed to do, hold everything up until you decided to grace us with your presence?”
Ben doesn’t take the bait. Just looks at him. “My job covers a lot of ground, Tom. Yours is just this. If I’m not down here, you come to me. That’s not optional. Understood?”
Tom looks up, startled.
“Yes, sir,” he says after a beat. Not mocking. Just surprised.
Ben gives a single nod, then hands the clipboard back. “Good. Glad we’re on the same page.”
He doesn’t slow down until he’s halfway across the floor, tucked beside a vac pack station and safely out of Tom’s line of sight. Only then does he allow himself to exhale. He held his ground, said the hard thing, and didn’t apologize for having a standard.
Maybe it’s sad that it feels like a win, but it does. He exhales again, chuckling to himself.
“Pretend,” Jackson had told him softly in the diner.
He had been. Pretending to be fine. Pretending to have everything under control. Pretending he wasn’t one bad meeting away from locking himself in a storage closet with a clipboard and stress hives. People seemed to believe it, so why not pretend to be confident, too?
Ben’s mouth tugs into a quiet smile. Jackson’s clearly a bad influence on him.
Ben should be working. Heisworking; he’s just also checking his phone every two minutes. He’d texted Jackson earlier, still a little buzzed on adrenaline, giving a play-by-play of hisshowdown with Tom. It felt good to write it all out, better still to imagine Jackson reading it.
Finally, his phone lights up with a new message.
Sorry. Was tied up in an interview. Just spent twenty minutes listening to a woman swear a pod of seals is targeting boats with blue hulls and colluding to steal bait like it’s Ocean’s Eleven. Anyway…
You should feel extremely proud for telling Tom off.
