Chapter 26
Kellan
“Feeling better now?”
Ryan stood over me, my face still hanging over the stern – or was it the bow?? – as I leaned back on my knees and dragged a trembling arm across my lips. “Much,” I muttered, somehow finding the strength to climb up into one of the two padded fishing chairs at the back of the boat.
“Good,” he said, reaching into a nearby cooler and rattling his hands around in a sea of ice before merging with two cold beers.
“Where did those come from?” I asked before he tossed one at me, narrowly missing my chin before I grabbed it out of midair at the last second.
He shrugged. “When Miss Carla asked me to meet her at the boat, I figured we might be taking her out for a spin. I took the liberty of stocking your coolers before we set sail.”
I looked at the beer, surprisingly tempting after my recent – but far from first – trip over the side of the boat to relieve a sudden case of seasickness.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked weakly.
He cracked open his can and waved it at me, foam splattering across my knee as he sank into the second fishing chair by my side. “Best remedy there is,” he promised. After all the tricks he’d played on me since just after leaving the marina—the fresh bait squid in my fishing cap, raw shrimp in my fishing boats and toothpaste instead of sunscreen—I found it slightly hard to trust him.
He seemed to sense my hesitance. “If you don’t believe me, Kellan, believe your taste buds. They won’t steer you wrong.”
I shrugged, figuring I had nothing left to lose. If he was teasing me, I’d just end up puking again anyway and if he wasn’t, at least I’d find a little relief on this nightmare pleasure cruise from hell. Surprisingly, the beer did help. Whether it was the carbonation, the temperature or the alcohol content, my pounding headache and rolling stomach gradually gave way to something a little closer to comfort.
I noted the boyish look on Ryan’s face. “Are you even old enough to drink this?”
He chuckled, nodding. “I might’ve dropped out of high school to help old Roy captain his ship, but that doesn’t mean I did it yesterday.”
I nodded and took another sip of my beer. “How long have you been working with Roy?”
“Going on eight years now I reckon,” he said with a grin. Despite claiming to be a native Floridian like Carla, Ryan had the slow southern drawl of a native Georgian instead.
“So you’ve known Carla awhile?” I asked.
The blush on his face when I mentioned her name made it clear the young shipmate had a crush on his boss’ daughter. I could hardly blame him. If I’d fallen for Carla’s womanly charms in my mid-twenties, I could only imagine what fantasies a kid like Ryan might have about her plush, ripe womanly body.
“Long enough to know how much she cares about her stepfather,” he said.
I nodded. “He must be a great guy.”
For once, Ryan’s face grew serious. “The best, he insisted. “A real standup guy. You must be okay, too, if you’re willing to captain the ship for the first time just to help pay some of his bills.”
I chuckled. “That why you’ve been filling all my articles of clothing with raw fish and shrimp?” I teased, watching his blush grow a little redder. “Because I’m such a standup guy?”
“Just a little tradition we have out on the open sea,” he explained, reaching for two more beers. He tossed the second beer a little more softly this time, and I caught it more easily. We sat in silence for a few moments, my stomach settled enough—or empty enough—so I could finally begin to appreciate, even enjoy, the gently rolling sea that made the ship bob up-and-down.
We were well beyond the shoreline know, the marina and, in fact, the coastline of Siesta Key itself was a long distant memory. Now all you could see was the unbroken blue water, almost indistinguishable from the cloudless, crystal blue sky.
“Is Roy going to be okay?” Ryan asked in a voice that showed his tender age.
I wasn’t sure what to tell him, other than the truth. “He’s not out of the woods yet, and even if he does survive it sounds like the road to recovery could take a while.”
Ryan shook his head, his can of beer momentarily forgotten. “He and Rose have had such a hard time of it lately, I can’t believe God saw fit to throw any more hardship their way.”
“What do you mean?”
His eyes met mine, his looking wide and vulnerable. “Carla hasn’t told you yet?”
I shook my head. “All I’ve heard is grumblings, and a lot of talk about bills.”
Ryan nodded, biting his lower lip as he peered out across the open sea, as if looking for answers. “Roy’s health has been failing for some time,” he finally said. “It’s taken a toll on the business and there’s been talk of the bank repossessing this here boat. But you won’t let that happen, right?”
His question was so sudden and his tone so vulnerable, I felt an immediate lump in my throat. “Of course not,” I lied, having no idea how a male model from South Beach who’d never been on anything bigger than a jet ski—and even then sitting behind a gloriously drunk supermodel at the wheel—could save an old salt’s charter fishing business.
All the same, Ryan seemed to take me at my word, sinking back into his padded fishing chair as if relieved. It made me wonder how much Carla knew about Roy’s situation, and if her mother was looking to her for salvation as much as Ryan seemed to be looking to me.