Page 64 of If I Go Down with This Ship

A hand touches my shoulder, and I glance down to find Jack.“A lot of ’istory there.”

“Not helping,” I grumble, shrugging off his hand.

Pip nods to me, features softening.“How ’bout you aid me with supper, hmm?”

I sigh and follow him toward the fire.

As the water begins to boil, Pip tosses the crabs into a basket and covers it to let them steam.He offers a small piece to Sir, and the cat takes it greedily.I’ve never really been one for crab because of Louise’s shellfish allergy, but I’m hungry for just about anything after the day I’ve had.

Murmuring under my breath, I slam my knife down into a mango.My fingers are sticky as I peel and slice the fruit.I toss a piece of mango into my mouth, but despite its deliciouspop of zesty flavor, my teeth are grinding.It seems no matter what I do, I can’t stomp down on the fury building in my chest.

My hands freeze on the next mango, my attention going to the trail at the other end of the beach.They’re still gone, somewhere on the other side of those trees, and I hate the jealousy that creeps into my thoughts.

“Ye don’t have anythin’ to be worried ’bout, Laszlo.”I blush, turning to meet Pip’s soft expression.“Neither meself nor the crew has seen Cap’ain look at anyone the way he looks at ye.”

I clear my throat, trying to focus on the mango.“I don’t know what you mean.”

Pip laughs heartily.“It’s nothing to be shameful of, ye know.Everything at sea is free, even love.”My face must be beet red because when I glance up and meet Pip’s gaze, he grins.“Cap’ain needs someone to keep him in line, ye know.We were all worried over him after the raid.”

“We really don’t need to talk about this, Pip.”But I can’t help but think,Love, is that what this is?Even though we’ve only known each other for such a brief amount of time?

“Nothin’ embarrassing ’bout love, Laszlo.”

“Pip, please, for all that is sacred and holy.”

The cook nudges my elbow with a chuckle, but my hand is poised over the mango, still holding the knife.We watch in horror as it slices straight across the webbing between my thumb and index finger of my left hand.

I think, for a moment, that I’ve imagined it, but then the blood begins to dribble, and now it’s flowing, staining the mango beneath.

“Oh, fuck.”I drop the knife and lift my hand up and over my head.

“Oh, Laszlo.”Pip crosses to me as I spin in a circle, cursing quietly under my breath.

“Sweetmotheroffuckinggodandallthatisholyjesusfuck.” I grip my wrist in my other hand, hopping up and down as I curse.

“That’s quite a colorful mouth ye’ve got there,” Pip says gently as he reaches for my hand.I shake my head and make a string of odd sounds as he wraps his hands around my wrist.Blood flows steadily, and I think I’m going to be sick.I’ve always been a bit faint when it comes to blood, but the sight of blood pumping from my wound is—

“Laszlo, you need to calm down.”Mick grasps me by my shoulders as Pip takes my hands in his and presses a scrap of cloth to the wound.

Nope.Nuh-uh.I gag as Pip angles my hand toward him and I see the long gash along it, a rather wide opening in the webbing.“I’m going to be sick,” I choke out.

“Please don’t,” Mick says, stepping farther back as I dry heave.“Why is he bleeding so much?”Mick asks Pip.

Yes, I would also like to know.I stumble in the sand, gagging again, but Mick tightens his hold on my shoulders to keep me steady.

Someone hands Pip a needle and thread, and my mouth opens, my tongue heavy.Acid works its way up my throat as Pip threads the needle, turning to look at me.“Laszlo, can ye handle this?”

I shake my head.“No, no needles.”I am the worst pirate ever.I can’t handle blood, I can’t handle needles, and I’m jealous of something that could very well benothingbetween two captains off somewhereveryprivate while both crews are watching this scene unravel from our makeshift camp.

Mick gently pushes me down, and my knees collapse beneathme as Pip readies the needle.Someone hands him a bottle, and my vision is suddenly tunneling, black creeping in along the edges.Pip tilts the bottle over my hand, and it stings.I hiss at the bite of the alcohol, and my heart pounds as fear shoots through me.

But I hear laughter as two people tumble through the trees.Craning my head, I catch sight of Silas stumbling onto our beach from the trail.

“Silas,” I croak.

Pip digs the needle in, and I can’t stop the shrill scream that leaves my lips.It doesn’t even hurt more than the wound, but something about the needle, about watching it thread through my skin, makes it impossible to stop.

“Laszlo?”Even through the pain, I recognize his voice.