Page 27 of Catch of a Lifetime
I’d seen Dave eat before. Perhaps unsurprisingly considering he was a merman who lived in the wild, it was a feral sight.
One with a blast zone.
I wasn’t the world’s greatest fisherman—that was Jerry, according to Jerry—and it was a while since I’d given up pretending to do it professionally, but I could catch things when the occasion called for it.
The last few weeks before Dave was due back, I usually spiffed up my boat, theRosy Dawn, and took her out. Whatever I caught, I dropped off with Patrick Barnes, who took care of it for me.
The only reason I asked Patrick to do it rather than Jerry was because Patrick was sensible enough to take payment for his labour and Jerry refused.
By the time Dave arrived, I had the fridge and the freezer fully stocked. He didn’t often eat with me. I liked to be able to offer it, anyway. Thanks to Patrick, what I offered was big solid chunks of fish which had been neatly descaled and expertly filleted. That way, even if it did go everywhere, ‘it’ did not involve things like spines and livers flying around my kitchen.
Leaning down, I popped a quick kiss on his mouth, lips curving against his when his stomach howled. He caught the back of my head and deepened the kiss briefly before letting me go and pushing me gently at the door.
8
It took a long time for Dave to heal.
Every shift brought an improvement. It also took a toll.
For the first week of his return, he spent most of his time sleeping. He woke only to eat, drink, shift, and—when he had legs and we could manage with just me supporting him—let me take him to the bathroom. He’d barged in on me when I was on the toilet often enough, and been yelled at until he left, that he knew what it was for. We had no problems there.
Presenting him with an empty plastic water bottle with the top cut off so he could fit, and explaining what I wanted him to do with itbeforewe’d graduated to using the toilet, however, had caused a lot of confusion.
Unsurprisingly, when he worked out why I kept sticking his dick in a bottle and standing there, red-faced and nodding with as much encouragement as I could muster, I was the only one who found it awkward.
Dave shuffled his hips about, tucked his arms behind his head, and did what needed to be done with his eyes on me the whole time.
The whole time.
I hoped I hadn’t awakened anything in him.
I’d expected him to be an absolute nightmare patient. This wasDave. My big, beautiful, rambunctious Dave who could be silly, and sweet, and sexual, and who also had the fierce focus of a predator. One who stopped at nothing to get what he wanted.
Me.
So I’d expected that he’d bellow for me whenever he was awake, and not stop until I came to his call. That’s not how it went at all.
I’d expected to have to fend off his amorous advances until he was healed. That didn’t happen, either.
Instead, he was a dream of a patient.
He was…quiet.
And while he continued to slowly and visibly heal as the days passed, things weren’t getting back to normal.
On more than one occasion, I tiptoed into the room to bring him a snack, or something to drink, or simply to reassure myself with the sight of him sleeping in my bed, and found him wide awake.
He’d be lying there, staring at the window that looked out towards the sea, and when he turned to me with a tired smile, there was something distant in his dark eyes.
I’d seen that distance in him before, the first year when he’d tried to stay. I’d watched him fade.
His hair had turned brittle and dull. His lovely, supple skin had dried and cracked. In the end, I’d taken theRosy Dawnout to sea with him swimming alongside and I’d sent him away, trusting that he would return.
And he, I suppose, had been trusting that I’d be here waiting when he did.
Of course I would be. I’d wait for Dave until the end of time.
I’d spend a lifetime alone on nothing more than the breath of a chance that Dave would come back to me. I’d gamble decades for a single day. I didn’t care. It would be worth it.
