Page 45 of Crossbones
to know that he is both the wreckage and the wave
—the steel and the surrender
nothing more than a man, aching
under the weight of his own name.
He reaches into the depths to drown his sins,
the sea the only one who doesn’t flinch—
Do you dare?
To bleed without shame
To speak of ruin and not break
Because while some men are made of storms
he’s made of the silence that comes after
Blackwell stares into the depths of his glass as the silence stretches, a faraway look on his face. It makes me hesitant to break his reverie but I’m dying to know what’s running through his mind.
“Oh Caspian, that was marvelous—you are an amazing poet,” I say in an exaggerated voice.
Blackwell looks up, eyebrows raised in amusement.
“Is that supposed to be me?”
“I had to say something to fill that potentially awkward silence.”
He scoffs. “That doesn’t sound like me at all.”
“You’re right, too complimentary.”
“No, I’d never saymarvelous.” He narrows his eyes at me. “And I gave you a compliment earlier.”
I hold up my hands, trying and failing to hide a smile. “God forbid you give more than one a day.”
Blackwell shrugs. “If you’re lucky.”
“I’m surprised you even gave me that one honestly.” I lean towards him slightly and wink. “But I’ll take whatever you give me, Captain.”
Our gaze holds and the silence stretches again, heavy with something strange but not quite unwelcome building beneath my skin. He doesn’t move, except for the way his eyes are studying mine with a touch of something very close to intrigue shining in their depths. Deciding to quit while I’m ahead, I pull back and tap my knuckles on the table before heading towards the door, ready to leave the ambiguity of this man alone for the night. I pull the door open.
“Good night, Caspian.”
Exhilaration rushes through me and I look over my shoulder to see a begrudging scowl on his face. Such simple words but I can’t stop the smile that comes after, or the warmth that accompanies them.
“Good night, Blackwell.”
CASPIAN
A few days later, we’re all crammed into Blackwell’s cabin—Van, Flynt, Harrison and Lan. Blackwell is leaning over the maps strewn across the table.
“We’ll make port in Ironhold to resupply,” Blackwell says.
Fuck.
