“That’s fair,” Brendan rumbled.
“Totally fair. I’m about to make it up to you.” Piper threw back her shoulders with a sense of purpose. “Brendan, watch the bar. We have work to do.”
* * *
Fox checked the final item off his clipboard and hung it back on the nail, letting out the breath he’d been holding for the last five days. He took the hat off his head and dropped into the captain’s chair, staring out at the harbor. Letting the tension seep out.
Below, on the deck of the Della Ray, he watched the last of the haul get loaded by Deke, Sanders, and the rest of the crew. Normally he would be down there helping them, but he’d been on the phone with the market, preparing them for the arrival of fresh swordfish. He’d been inspecting the boat from top to bottom, making sure everything in the engine room was running properly, the equipment sound, the numbers recorded.
He’d done it.
A successful five-day trip.
He’d given orders and they’d been followed. It helped that he’d been insulated by the wheelhouse, instead of down on the deck where most of the ball breaking took place. Moreover, when the men retired to their bunks at night, exhausted, Fox had stayed up late mapping their course for the following morning, refusing to disappoint Brendan.
Or Hannah.
There hadn’t been much of a chance to determine how the men felt about him taking over—and maybe that was for the best. Maybe if he kept his head down and completed a few more jobs without incident, he could ease back into the group slowly, having built the beginnings of a new reputation. Hard to believe such a thing was possible after years of the lifestyle he’d been living. Then again, he never thought he’d give up sex for half a year in exchange for witty text messages and record collecting. But here he was.
Dying. Fucking dying to get home to his girl.
He missed her so much, he was full of cracks.
She’d fill all of them in. And he was starting to think . . .
Yeah. That he could eventually do the same for her.
“Hey, man,” Deke said, slapping the side of the wheelhouse and ducking his head in. “All set. I’m leaving for the market.”
“Great,” Fox said, fitting his hat back on. “Call me when you have a number.” At the market, an attendant would test the fish for a grade of quality and decide on the price paid for each one. The process was important, because it determined the amount of everyone’s paycheck. “I’ll pass it on to Brendan, and he can contact them for payment.”
“Sounds good.” Deke nodded at him, followed by a playful look of disgust. “Look at you in the captain’s chair. All large and in charge and making extra bank. Like you needed any help getting laid, huh?”
Sanders swung into the wheelhouse beside Deke, elbowing his friend. “Right? Why don’t we just roll out a red carpet to the end of the dock? Make it even easier for the ladies to find you.”
Fox was frozen to the seat.
Jesus. Really?
He hadn’t expected their attitudes toward him to change overnight, but there wasn’t even a hint of respect in how they spoke to him. Not even the slightest change in their demeanors or judgment of him. If they spoke to Brendan like that, they would have been fired before they finished a sentence.
Fox felt like he’d been hollowed out by a shovel, but he summoned a half smile, knowing better than to let his annoyance show. Or the ribbing would probably only get worse. “Seriously, I’m flattered by how obsessed you are with my sex life. Spend a little more time thinking of yours and we wouldn’t have this problem.” He pushed to his feet and faced them, his next words coming out involuntarily. They just sailed right past his better judgment, because his mind was occupied with thoughts of one person. “Anyway, I’m not going to Seattle. Or anywhere else. I’m going to see Hannah.”
Their twin expressions of disbelief made his gut bubble with dread.
“Hannah,” Sanders repeated slowly. “The little sister? Are you serious?”
Sensing he’d made a huge mistake bringing her up like this—it was way too soon, when he’d clearly earned none of the esteem that a man should have in order to be Hannah’s boyfriend—Fox brushed past them out of the wheelhouse, seeing nothing in his path. But they followed. “Heard a rumor about you two at Blow the Man Down, but even I didn’t think you were that much of a dog,” Sanders said, some of his amusement fading. “Come on, man. She’s a sweetheart. What are you thinking?”
“Yeah,” Deke chimed in, crossing his arms. “You couldn’t pick one of the thousand other women at your beck and call?”
“That ain’t right, Fox.” Sanders’s expression was transforming to disgust. “You’re supposed to wife a girl like that—you don’t chew her up and spit her out.”