Page 34 of These Rough Waters

One wet arm curls around me and he attempts to draw me close but his strength is shot, so instead he drags himself, dropping his head onto my thighs as his palm flattens against my spine where I kneel and rest on my heels in front of him.

“You’re safe.” He mumbles.

“You’re hurt,” I whisper, not understanding what he’s talking about being safe but knowing he’s in no state to question.

“I’ve got you,” He continues.

“I’m okay, Torin,” I assure even if confusion leaves questions burning on the tip of my tongue, “We need to get you indoors.”

With the help of the people around the docks and Ruthie, we get Torin back to his house before everyone but me and Ruthie leave.

“Stupid, stupid, boy,” Ruthie tuts as she heats water on the stove and prepares a few mugs for the tea she brought over from the lodge.

“What was he doing?” I ask, glancing towards the couch where Torin sleeps.

He’d been conscious when we got him back, enough that he’d grunted and snapped while he disappeared into the bathroom to get changed out of his wet clothes. I’d stood outside, primed to help should I hear him in distress, but he’d managed to change into a pair of low hanging sweats and white tee without fail and came back out, bare footed and grumpier than he was before he entered. But then he flopped onto the couch with more grumbles and closed his eyes. He’d been that way ever since.

“Acting a fool,” Ruthie answers, pouring the tea, “He knows better than anyone to not go out in these types of storms. After everything that happened.” She says quietly, as if speaking to herself.

“What happened?” I ask.

Ruthie looks at me and sighs, shaking her head as she hands me over a mug of steaming tea. I gingerly sip at it, glancing toward Torin on the couch. We’d cleaned up the cut on his head, with the help of a retired doctor, stopped the bleeding and put gauze on it, and it didn’t look deep but according to the guys down by the water, he hit his head pretty hard when he went overboard. He was clutching his arm too though he wouldn’t tell anyone what had happened to that.

Even I knew a storm like this wasn’t safe to go out on the water in, so why did he?

Ruthie keeps herself busy in the kitchen while I pad across the room, cocking my head as I stare down at the confusing man.

He looked younger in sleep, the lines caused by constant frowning smoothed out so he almost looks at peace. But Torin is a serious man, a brutal one with beauty that matches. With his strong cheeks and nose, low set brows and thick beard that surrounds an unfairly plump mouth, he was a man any one would take notice of.

Wet hair falls boyishly over his head, and I find myself reaching forward, a finger whispering on his warm skin as I brush it away from his face, letting the same finger drag slowly back over his forehead. He was captivating.

A sudden squeak leaves my lips when his hand darts up and circles my wrist, tugging enough that the tea in my mug sloshes over the side but then he winces and drops my arm, grunting.

“Where does it hurt?” I whisper.

He breathes heavily, brows knotted as he rides the pain and clutches his arm, near his shoulder.

“Did you do something to your shoulder on the boat?” I ask.

“Dislocated,” He wheezes.

“Torin!” I gasp, urgently placing my tea down to get to my knees at the edge of the couch like I know what I’m doing.

“It’s back in,” He hisses, “Just hurts like a motherfucker.”

His steel eyes meet mine and even through the pain evident on his face, he seems to be scanning mine, his gaze snagging and sticking to the scar in my brow, the memory of how it came to be still potent at the front of my mind.

“Let me see if I can get you some meds,” I go to stand but he stops me, letting his bad arm go in favor of rubbing the tip of his thumb over the scar.

“Tell me.” He says on a whisper.

Vaguely I’m aware of Ruthie watching us, her keen eyes taking in every moment of this interaction, but I can’t seem to draw away, like he’s a web and I’m wrapped up in it. His softening eyes warms something inside of me while also spiking up my heartrate and causing a riot of butterflies to take flight in my stomach.

When several seconds pass and no words have left either of us, Ruthie decides to take pity and loudly announces her presence, “Boy, you’re a fool! What do you think you were doing going out on the water like that!?”

He slowly lets me go, moving his focus to the older woman who hands him a tea and a bottle of pills which he takes first, popping a couple in his mouth and swallowing.

“Jobs still need doing despite the storms.”

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