Page 75 of Weathering The Storm

“Nick!”

I wake up gasping. Clinging to Seth while he strokes my hair, anchoring me to a place that’s safe and warm. Tucked against his bare chest.

“That’s it, Nicky.” His voice is soft. Rough with sleep. Real. Alive. “I’m right here.”

I don’t realize how tightly I’m holding on to him until my grip loosens, and it feels like something mechanical is working inside my knuckles. Prying them open.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. My throat hurts.

I hope I didn’t wake him.

“Please don’t be sorry.” He rubs my back. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

I’ve lost count of how many times he’s said that to me this week. How many times I’ve had the same nightmare. How many times I’ve woken up shaking and sweating and clinging to him like the forces of nature are threatening to shatter the window and tear him away from me.

If he’s exhausted with me though, he doesn’t let it show. Callused hands draw soothing patterns over my skin, and when I touch him back, he leans in every time. Knowing I need reassurance that this is real. He’s alive, and he’s safe in my arms.

“I fucking hate seeing you hurt like this, baby.” His lips brush my forehead. “What can I do to make it better?”

“You are,” I tell him. It’s the truth. The only thing thatdoesmake it better is him. The home away from home he’s provided me. The distraction of helping out at the lodge and the support from his family who have welcomed me like a second son.

During the day, sometimes his smile alone is enough to make me forget. And at night, knowing he’s here right beside me is my only comfort whenever I can’t sleep.

He falls silent for a moment. “Would it help to talk to someone?”

“I don’t know.” The thought of talking to anyone except Seth is daunting, but I remember him saying he went to therapy. He’s the only frame of reference I have. “Did it help you?”

“Yeah.” Fatigued as he sounds, he continues. “It was nice to have validation from someone who didn’t know me. Someone who could challenge the dark thoughts. I still think of the advice she gave me sometimes. Still use it, even though I haven’t been in years. I can go with you, though. If it would help.”

I think about Seth, so self-assured and endlessly joyful now that it’s difficult to imagine him young and struggling with how to fit in. I hold him a little tighter. “Would it help you? You’ve been through more than me.”

“No I haven’t,” he argues gently. “Hypothermia sucks, yeah, but it left me with a lot of blanks. So much of what happened after we abandoned ship, I don’t even remember. But you remember everything. You had to make the hardest fucking decision of your career, Nicky, and you made it after hours and hours of fighting that damn storm. Doing everything in your power. I can’t imagine what it was like to carry all our lives in your hands. Don’t think for a second that emotional damage can’t hurt worse or last longer than physical. A lot of times, it does.”

My mind is still swirling with questions and objections, but I refuse to keep him up when I can hear how tired he is. I kiss his temple. “I’ll sleep on it.”

He nods. “I love you.”

I say it back, but seconds later, he’s slipped back into unconsciousness and I’m still wide awake. Alternating between shutting my eyes and staring up at the ceiling. Reliving that night in flashes of black water and shivers down my spine until I resolve to ask if I can borrow the office computer tomorrow morning.

I can’t live like this. If not for my own sake, then for his.

Seth has brought nothing but happiness into my life. I want to bring happiness into his.

December 5

I had my first therapy appointment today with Dr. Allen. He’s a trauma specialist.

It feels weird to call it trauma, even though I’ve spent all this time thinking of the wreck as a traumatic thingthat happened to my crew. Trauma I put them through, and therefore, how can I claim it as my own?

He asked me how I felt about journaling, and immediately, I thought back to my logbook. Seemed easy enough to write things down. I’ve been doing it my entire life.

I asked him what I should journal about.

“Anything that comes to mind,” he said. “There are no rules. Write about your day, about what you’re thinking. What you’re feeling.”

That part is pretty much the opposite of keeping a log. With a log, there’s structure. My thoughts, my feelings, have no structure at all. Even my life lacks the sort of routine I’m used to. Though, I’ve found a new one.

I’ve been staying at the Otter Trail Lodge for about three weeks now. Seth has mentioned that he’d go with me if I wanted to head backto my own place, but I can tell how much his family loves having him home. They’re shaken by the thought of almost losing him too.