Page 9 of Wicked Tides
But she wouldn’t see that. I’d have to fight my way back to my ship like I always did and we’d end up parting ways in anger. But then I’d return and she’d cling to me, quietly begging with those sad eyes of hers for me to stay and be with her. Touch her. Care for her like a husband should.
But I wasn’t a husband. I wasn’t a father. I never had been. I was just a fourteen-year-old boy who felt guilty and lonely enough to take her and her unborn child under my care.
That didn’t change the fact that I was all David had ever known.
He sat to my left, scooping up spoonful after spoonful of leftover stew only to dump it back into his bowl. The silence between us was agonizing. As much as Agnes tried to make us a family, we were both too twisted inside to ever feel something more than fleeting desperation toward each other. I’d only come to realize that much sooner than her.
“He’s getting quite strong, you know,” Agnes said, feigning a smile. “May not look it, but he can lift grain bags by himself now.”
“I don’t doubt it,” I said with a nod.
“He butchers the animals himself now, too. Handles—”
“It’s good you have him around, then,” I cut her off, eyeing her carefully.
I knew where she was going with the conversation. She wanted me to know how useful he was so I would reconsider bringing him with me, but my mind was set.
Finally, Agnes stood and began clearing the table of dishes. The candles were nearly burned to the holder and there was dust on the shelves. She hadn’t been taking care of the place and it showed. I looked around as she removed my empty bowl from the table and sighed at the obvious neglect, leaning back in my chair. When one of the candle wicks finally burnt out in its own wax, I raised a brow.
“There’s money enough to get new candles,” I said.
Agnes emptied what food scraps were left into a bucket for the pigs and set the bowls into a wash bin. I knew she heard me even if she didn’t acknowledge it. The woman was forgetful. She began scrubbing dishes and I glanced at David, who looked distracted by his thoughts. The scrawny young man had a head of red, curly hair like his mother and skin too fair to survive the sun on the open sea. I suspected the look on his face was because his mother had told him about my refusal to bring him onto the Burning Rose, but it couldn’t be helped. I wasn’t going to put him in the same position I had once been in. It was no place for a young man.
Finally, I stood and walked into the kitchen to help Agnes wash the dishes, drying the ones she’d set aside and stacking them on the cutting table.
“There’s no need to help. Your hands will probably get them dirtier,” she chuckled.
I chuckled back and shrugged. Even after a bath, my hands were calloused and my nails seemed permanently stained.
“If I’m around, I won’t have you doing the work yourself,” I said.
“But you’re never around,” David finally spoke up, talking under his breath like a pouting child.
I glanced back at him, but I didn’t respond. I’d been like him before. My father took me on the Mother’s Fang because I begged andit turned me into a broken man far too soon. I wouldn’t bring David into that nightmare. Few men could walk that line and none of them were untouched by some level of madness.
“He’s upset,” Agnes muttered. “Don’t mind him.”
“I’m not upset,” David argued. “I expected him to refuse me. I’m not his son. Not really. So why would he want me around?”
“David,” Agnes turned chidingly. “Vidar loves you.”
He threw his chair back, letting the wood scrape loudly against the floor, and stood.
“If he loved me—if he lovedus—he’d come around, but even when he’s anchored here, he stays in brothels, fucking every woman but you.”
“David!”
“And for some reason, you crawl back to him every time he docks. You’re pathetic.”
I spun around and took two strides toward the scrawny young man, smacking him across the face with the flat of my palm. Agnes gasped but didn’t intervene. David was too old for spanking, but clearly, his mother hadn’t been disciplining him. His head snapped to the side, but instead of cowering, he just clenched his jaw. Maybe he was growing up after all. He certainly took the pain like a man.
“Don’t speak to your mother that way,” I said, grabbing the boy’s chin and forcing him to look at me. “She is your mother and you’ll respect her.”
“What about you?” he snapped back. “Do I have to respect you?”
“I don’t give a damn what you think of me, boy.” I released him and stepped back, straightening my shoulders. “You’re right. I’m not your father. And I’m not around enough for you to see me as one, but she’s your mother and she needs you.”
“She needsyou,” he spit, his eyes reddening.
