“The Jones Four, they called us. And we were always up to no good. Our mother was a poor woman.” Hunter chuckles, and Saylor chimes right in.
“I don’t want to know how many phone calls she got about the stuff we did.”
“You always talk in the past tense. What happened?” I ask Hunter, turning to him.
“Slo, what are you doing?” Saylor asks from behind me, stepping to my side.
“It’s a long and sad story,” Hunter mutters. “I don’t know if the middle of the night is the best time to tell it.”
“Let him be, Slo. Nothing good comes from bringing the past to the present. I already told you what happened. He isn’t coping very well,” Saylor cautions.
But I can’t let it go.
Maybe something that Hunter needs to get off his chest is the reason Saylor is stuck here.
Maybe he needs to hear Hunter’s side of the story.
I may have decided to keep Saylor, but I will not stop trying to find peace for him while I do. I hurt him, but like he said, we have each other, and I will fight for him.
He deserves it.
I walk over to the couch and sit with the picture frame in my lap, gesturing for Hunter to join me. “I have time, and sometimes late nights are the best for sharing sad stories,” I reply.
“Sloan,” Saylor chides me, scowling before turning to Hunter. “You don’t have to do that, brother. She wants me to hear it. But I know it. I lived it.I was there. You don’t have to put yourself through that.”
My heart sinks, and I realize I may not fully understand the extent of what I’m asking from Hunter.
Fuck, I should have kept my mouth shut.
Saylor’s expression seems to echo my thoughts.
Hunter hesitates for a moment before coming over to me. He sits down and leans his forearms on his knees, letting his head fall, taking a few deep breaths before he begins to recount the story. “We were a crew, Saylor, North, Mitchell, and I, and we were the best Jones & Sons had. North, he was the captain, mostly working the wheelhouse. That guy was amazing in figuring out the best spots for the lobsters, and everyone called himMaestrobecause he played that boat like a violin. Saylor was handling the crane, getting the cages up, and Mitchell and I were the ones to get the lobsters out, measure them, and get the small ones and the breeders back in the sea. It was a tight-knit team, a well-oiled machine, and we couldn’t have asked for a better group to share our days at sea with…” Hunter pauses, his eyes distant, lost in the memories of those days.
“What about Nash?” I ask, trying to bring him back to the present.
“Nash was in his last year of high school, and he’d only join us on the boat during holidays,” Hunter replies.
“He was eighteen when it happened,” Saylor mutters from beside the couch.
A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of Hunter’s lips. “I loved working with this crew. It didn’t even feel like work. We had so much fun.”
“We really did,” Saylor whispers, his eyes as wistful as Hunter’s.
“That day,” Hunter continues, his voice taking on a somber tone. “I remember it like it was yesterday, although it’s been seven years already. The forecast was cloudy and windy, but nothing mentioned that the weather would change. The storm came out of nowhere, taking us by surprise, and it was the worst I’ve ever seen. The wind was so harsh it made you feel completely deaf and took your breath away. Water droplets pelted around our heads like little bullets hitting our faces… thunderclaps boomed every few seconds, and waves were crashing on deck.”
I watch as Hunter forms his hands into fists, clenching them so hard his knuckles turn white. “North was doing all he could to keep us from capsizing, but the waves were harsh, and not even he was good enough to keep an enormous wave from washing over the deck. I was hanging onto the railing already, struggling to hold on when I watched Mitchell just get washed away by it.”
My heart sinks, even though I already knew where the story is leading. I glance at Saylor, who is focused on the ground, lips turned down.
Hunter takes a deep breath, and when he continues, his voice trembles slightly. “Then I watched in horror as my little brother, my best friend, jumped after him.”
“You have no idea how fucking sorry I am, Hunter,” Saylor murmurs softly, his voice cracking with emotion. The pain etched in his expression mirrors Hunter’s.
“What happened next?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. It’s a delicate question, and I’m not sure if Hunter wants to share the painful details of that day with me. But I needto know. I need to understand how everything played out after what Saylor had told me.
And Saylor does too.
“North saw what I saw and came out of the wheelhouse to me,” Hunter shares, his voice trembling. “We tried to get in the wire rope of the crane where Saylor was secured, but it seemed like it could rip, and that wasn’t an option. We needed to get Saylor back. He was the one who always said that nobody was left behind, even for the smallest fucking things. He would never have left one of us to fend on their own. So, I couldn’t leave him to it.”
