Skylar
“How are you feeling?” Ryleigh asks me on the phone.
“Like shit,” I murmur.
I can picture her shaking her head—it’s what Rye does. “Why don’t you go to Seattle, Rebs?”
“I can’t. I—”
My phone chimes.
I pull it away from my ear.
To Rebel: It’s been four months since you walked away. Every day, I’ve thought about you. Every day, I miss you even more. Please, talk to me. I forgive you.
“—shit.”
“What?”
“He texted me.”
“What’s it say?” she asks.
“The same thing it says every month since I left Seattle. ‘It’s been four months since you walked away. Every day, I’ve thought about you. Every day, I miss you even more. Please, talk to me. I forgive you.’.”
“You have to talk to him.”
“Why?” I bristle.
“Because he has a right to know.”
“I think my leaving told him exactly how I felt.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you damn well know it,” she accuses.
I sigh.
I flip Ryleigh to speaker phone and open the message from Dirk.
I type a reply, but I don’t hit send. Not yet. I need time. I need to prepare myself for this.
My phone chimes again with a text from Diem.
“Sorry, babe, Diem’s here. I gotta run.”
“This conversation might be better had in person,” she offers.
“Not exactly easy to do.”
“Get on a fucking plane. Jesus, Rebs, are you really that thick? You’re fucking miserable, and Jax deserves better than this, and you know it.” Ryleigh takes a deep breath and blows it out. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation, and I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming next. “Your father may not have been around, but he was there when he could be. He took care of you. Xavier deserves the same opportunity and choice when it comes to his son.”
“We’ve talked about this,” I groan. “Rye, if I go to him, then I feel like I’m giving into him. Giving up everything here because, you know as well as I do, he won’t let me leave Seattle.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m not ready to make the move. I want him to come here because at least then I know he’s coming for me, and with any luck, the intention of staying.”
“I’m the wrong person to talk to about giving up everything,” she grumbles.
I sigh softly. “I know, I’m sorry. It’s not only my life at risk here. What happens if I never come back? What happens to Rebel Industries? Its employees.”
“Skylar,” she snaps.
“I know,” I mumble. “I know.”
“It’s not his fault.”
“I know,” I repeat. “I hope he can forgive me.”
“Does it matter?”
“Not really. It doesn’t change anything.”
“Then what have you got to lose?”
We hang up, and I toss my phone into my purse. I grab my iPad off the charger and add it to my bag before heading for my door and the elevator. There’s a different kind of bounce in my step when I reach the bottom floor with a plan working in my mind.
Chapter 46
Dirk
One Month Later
* * *
Somewhere in the Bering Sea
To Rebel: It’s been five months since you walked away, again. Every day, I’ve thought about you. Every day, I miss you even more. Please, I can’t take this anymore.
My heart freezes in my chest when my phone chimes 10 minutes after sending Rebel’s message. I almost don’t look at it. It’s probably Randy wanting to know where we stand. It’s a frequently received text. Not for me, but for all the boats in our small fleet.
Normally, by now, we’d be done with the season or close to it. Then we’d dock in Dutch for the upcoming snow crab season, but we’ve encountered several issues this season, and BB two really needs to go into dry dock for some major repairs. We can’t get them done in Dutch before the season starts in eight weeks, so we’re taking the beast home to Seattle. With any luck, we’ll be leaving in a week, maybe a little more, if I can get the last of this quota caught.
I’ve been grinding my guys for the last 27 hours, and I’m damn near asleep at the wheel, but we have 3 more pots in this string and one more string of 15 to go. We’ve been pulling up pots, loading them heavy with bait and setting them back to soak while we offload.
If the numbers keep like this, we will be leaving more pots to soak in the next string than we will bring on board before heading in to offload.
One last trip out to finish our quota.
I rub my eyes and light up a smoke.
My phone chimes again.
The nagging feeling grows in the back of my mind.
I can’t hold out anymore.
I pick my phone off the cabinet and press the home button.
My heart freezes, and my mouth falls slack in shock.
From Rebel: We need to talk
“Yes, we fucking do.” I narrow my eyes at my phone. I debate on calling her, but I don’t want to overstep my boundaries too fast and drive her away again.
I’ve been waiting for five months to see her name come across my phone. Five fucking months to get her to reply to me. I don’t know what I said differently that got her attention, but I don’t care. I have it, and I need answers.
Rebel
My phone chimes.
From Dirk: When?
To Dirk: When the season is over.
To Randy: Promise me, this stays between us?
From Randy: Of course.
To Randy: How much longer before he’s home?
I need to know how much time I have to prepare.
His reply comes quickly.
From Randy: They’re driving her back. Wrapping the season after one more trip out. So anywhere from 15 to 28 days depending on fishing
To Randy: Thank you
“So am I,” I mumble.
To Randy: I’m trying.
From Randy: He needed to hear this, so I’m going to tell you too…Don’t you think 22 years is long enough?
To Randy: Yes, it is
I stow my phone as the doorman opens the door for me. “Thanks, Evan,” I smile. Diem opens my car door and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I can’t help darting my eyes around as I climb into the car. I grab the back of my neck, rubbing it. I chalk it up to the prospect of talking to Dirk.
Diem climbs in. “I need you to do me a favor,” I tell him
“Anything, you know that.” His eyes crinkle with a smile.
“It’s time.”
“You got it.”
Dirk
My breathing stops when I see the bubbles pop up showing me she’s texting.
I breathe again when her reply comes over.
From Rebel: When the season is over.
Chapter 47
Dirk
Three Weeks Later
* * *
I have never, ever in my life wanted to get home so badly.
The season is over, technically speaking, but I refuse to text her because as much as I want to talk to her, I need to be able to do it from home. Or rather, in person.
In New York.
I purchased a ticket two days ago. I waited until we took off from Dutch to bring BB Two back to Seattle for repairs. There’s a part of me silently hoping the repairs are more involved than what Dribbler, Jessie, and myself have been able to decipher. For the first time in my life, I don’t want to go fishing. Not if it means I can rectify things with Rebel and figure out a way to make this shit work between us. Whether we’re together or not, I need Jax in my life, and we’ve got to figure out a way to make this work.
After my talk with Randy and against his better judgement, we took off for Alaska. I knew his offer was genuine, but I also knew leaving the boat docked was not a good move. At least, not for Dribbler, Jessie,
and the guys. We were one of the last boats to leave Seattle as it was, and we were three days late arriving on the fishing grounds. I knew my guys would be able to find work on other boats, but I worried about losing them permanently to another crew. Dribbler and Jessie are pretty safe bets on a return, but Tommy and the other two, not so much.
I could have let Dribbler take her for the season, but it was my responsibility. Now, Dribbler and I have talked a lot this season, and I really think he’s ready to step up and take over the boat should I decide to step down. Of course, Randy is the one to make the call, but I think he would take my recommendation.
I haven’t felt like Randy was ready to deal with my leaving the boat after Kathleen passed away. In fact, the most talking we did was before I took off and he scolded me for being a moron when it comes to Rebel.
The truth is, I’m still hurt and pissed off at her.
An even bigger truth—when I see her, I know I won’t give a shit about the last six months of pain and heartache.
It’s how we are.
How we’ve always been, but fuck, I need to change this pattern and change it fast.
Even if it means selling the houseboat and moving to New York.
Even if it means moving to New York and her and I not being together.
As much as I need her, I need my son more.
He’s about to turn two, and dammit, that’s too long.
My phone chimes, and I jump.
It makes me realize the music stopped playing, and it’s way too quiet up here.
It’s nearly 8:00 according to the clock.
I grab my phone.
From Randy: How’s it going?
To Randy: Great, we’re making great time. If the weather holds, we should be docking around two tomorrow afternoon.
From Randy: Awesome. I will let the yard guys know. They’re waiting for her.
To Randy: Fabulous, you want me to take her straight there?
From Randy: Nope, come home. They’ll drive her over to the dock, Nick wants to test her out.
Too Randy: Got it. Keep you posted
I yawn for about the hundredth time and check the clock. It’s time for Dribbler to get up. I double check our course and tap her down a notch before heading downstairs to wake him.
Thirty minutes later, he comes up to the wheelhouse, coffee in hand. “I heated up some leftovers.” I’m standing at the back counter cleaning up the logbook.
“Thanks.”
He climbs into the captain’s chair and lights up. “What time you want me to wake you?”
“When you’re tired. We’re about 18 hours out. You should start to see the lighthouse within the hour.”
“Thank god,” he chuckles.
“Too right,” I agree.
“When you leaving?” he asks me casually.
“Day after tomorrow, in the evening.”
“You’re really going to New York?” I nod absently as I finish up. “What took you so long?”
“Shut it,” I grumble.
“No, I’m honestly curious. She was in Dutch, what, two and half years ago?”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Then in Seattle in what, June?”
“Yes,” I say with hesitation.
“And yet here you are.”
I straighten from the cabinet and glare at him. “What’s it to you?”
He puts his hands up in mock defense of himself. “Nothing, I think you’re fooling yourself.”
I lean against the counter. “How so?”
“She wouldn’t have left, twice, if she felt for you anywhere near as much as you for her.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You don’t know her.”
“Neither do you, apparently.”
“I’m not having this conversation with you,” I snap.
He turns in the chair, looking out ahead of him and checking the equipment. “I’m tired of seeing you like this,” he says absently.
I sigh. “Me too.”
He drops the subject, and we discuss a few things with the boat. He lets me know he sent Jessie down to the engine room to swap fuel tanks which will set him up while I sleep for a while. I’ve been at the helm for about 24 hours, and I really need some shut eye. “Wake me when we hit Puget or when you’re tired, if I’m not already up by then.”
“That’s nine hours.”
“And I’m fucking tired,” I grumble.
“Yeah, yeah, get some sleep.”
“You got anywhere better to be?” I ask.
“Yeah, home.” He gives me a pointed look.
“You’re in charge.”
I shake my head and walk down the four steps to my door as Jessie comes up the steps. “All good?” I ask.
“Yup, good to rock.”
“Keep him awake, will ya?”
Jessie laughs, “You got it, boss.”
I step into my room and slide the door closed. I shed my clothes as I head for the bathroom and a shower before crawling into my rack.
The next day…around one-thirty in the afternoon.
To Randy: About an hour away from the dock.
From Randy: Great, see you soon
“Guys,” I holler down the stairs.
“Yeah, we’re on it,” Dribbler hollers up.
I have never been so happy to see my house and the Roving Rogue.
I pull back on the throttle, dropping us to a crawl as I prepare to turn her into the dock. Tommy, Jessie, and Dribbler step out onto the deck. Dribbler heading for the bow, and Jessie climbing the stern ladder. Tommy taking the middle.
“Alright, boss,” Jessie says into the stern’s loudhailer, and I turn her to port, backing her down even further as she slowly makes the wide turn toward the dock.
Dribbler throws a thumbs up, letting me know I’m lined up, and I look toward the dock…
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
My anger boils, seethes, and my vision turns red.
“Watch it,” Dribbler hollers.
“Fuck!” I turn my attention back to what I’m doing.
I throw her into reverse and feel her turn over, pulling back and slowing us down further. The momentum carrying us up to the dock and the retaining wall.
I slam my window down. “Are you fucking kidding, Skylar?”
She flinches.
I return my attention back to pulling the boat into the dock. Tommy hits the dock and races toward the bow to grab Dribbler’s line. Movement behind me catches my attention and Randy is there grabbing Jessie’s line. Tommy runs up the dock stairs as I idle her down.
“Don’t. Fucking. Move,” I shout out the window to Rebel.
The rest of the tie down happens as Tommy takes the second bow rope and ties it off on the retaining wall, and Dribbler drops the anchor. We only have one rear tie off, so the anchor is added security for the boat in case something snaps off.
I grab the hailer mic and press the button. “We tied off?”
“Yup,” Jessie says as he comes into the wheelhouse.
“Yeah, we’re good,” Dribbler hollers from the bow.
“Shut her down, Jess.”
“You got it.”
Jessie disappears, and I’m working on shutting down the wheelhouse when the back door opening makes me jump.
“How long has she been here?” I ask Randy without looking at who it is. I can still see her down on the dock.
“About a week.”
“You couldn’t tell me? Warn me about her being here? Or her being fucking pregnant?” I glare at him.
“She asked me not to.”
“And you listened to her?”
“She said she wanted to tell you herself.”
I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
“Something about a promise she made to you,” he laments.
“She still fucking broke her word.”
“She’s here, isn’t she?” he counters.
“Yeah, she’s here,” I exhale.
“You should talk t
o her.”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea right now.”
“Jax is here.”
Fuck. “Where is he?”
“Again, I’ll let her explain.”
My hands ball into fists, and I desperately want to punch something. “Then why exactly are you up here?”
“To shut down. Go, we got this.”
“I’m not sure I can talk to her right now,” I grumble.
“You want my opinion?” he asks with a slight chuckle.
I shake my head. “No, I definitely don’t need that.”
“Well, I’m going to give it to you anyway.” I narrow my eyes at him, and he smirks. “She’s here, of her own accord. She’s been here for over a week, Xavier. If you stop being pissed off for a moment and let the thought sink into your thick fucking skull, you might calm down a bit before you go talk to her.” He leans against the back cabinet and crosses his arms over his chest, waiting for me to get his point.
After a very long, very tense moment, I shrug.
He throws his hands up, frustrated. “Get off my boat.”
“Excuse me?” I narrow my eyes.
“I’m not going to spell it out for you, Dirk. She’s here. She pregnant, again.” His eyes widen pointedly. “And you want to stand here arguing with me. Get off my boat and talk to her. Or don’t, but I get the impression she isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”
“What the hell makes you say that?”
“Talk. To. Her.”
I throw my hands up in frustration. “Fine,” I snap and head for the stairs and my room. I’d packed when I woke up. I need to do laundry and repack for New York, or at least I thought that’s what I would be doing today.
I throw my bags over my shoulder and double check I have everything before heading down the stairs to the galley. The guys are nowhere to be found, but the door to the engine room is open and I feel the engines shudder as they shut down one last time.
Always Love Me: A Standalone Second Chance Romance Page 34