by J. F. Smith
Travis watched him, seated below in the boat’s fighting chair. Matt was working a large rod and reel with both beautifully sculpted hands. The toned muscles in his arms strained and worked, alternating between pulling hard and reeling in. He wasn’t using the pole gimbal since whatever was on the line definitely wasn’t all that big. but Matt was having the time of his life fighting to land it anyway. Petey was right behind him, coaching him, his shoulders bright red under the aqua blue tank top that Matt had picked out for him at some point over the summer. Fincher, Rickey and Dillinger were there, beers in hand, egging him on. Wasp was leaning back, up on the built-in fishing lockers, almost napping in the shade behind his blue-mirrored sunglasses. His broad, golden tan chest was rising and falling rhythmically, oblivious to everything going on around him. Travis knew that Matt probably had an image of some huge marlin or sailfish in his mind given the fight on the line, but everyone else was probably thinking more along the lines of a small mahi-mahi, maybe a tuna. It didn’t matter. Travis was just glad to see that Matt was able to actually enjoy himself.
It was a beautiful day - light winds out of the southeast, a few snow white clouds dotting the crystal blue sky here and there from horizon to horizon, and not another boat in sight. The late afternoon sun glinted off the rippled water like camera flashes going off randomly just under the surface of the water. Travis caught a strong waft of cheap cigar smoke, one of the ones Marshall had been handing out earlier and was now a smoldering stub in the side of Petey’s mouth. The smell of it briefly overpowered the more persistent smells of salt, fish, and alcohol. Normally, a day like this would be everything Travis could ask for. Open water and good friends. Beer and bullshitting. Rum and rods and reels. Tequila and team. But this time around, all he could think about was the night before.
Travis felt his body swaying slowly as the fishing charter they were on bobbed like a large marshmallow in the water. Wyatt clapped him on his shoulder, shouting “fine girl you are!” in his ear, but Travis ignored it. He had earned the nickname Mope today. Easily.
The brief look on Matt’s face had consumed him, even though he hadn’t seen a hint of it since the night before. Travis wanted to think it was all in his imagination, but he couldn’t. Brief and unmistakable were not mutually exclusive.
I’m slowly losing him, and I don’t know why.
In a way, he wanted to just ask Matt about it. But at the same time, he didn’t want to be that kind of boyfriend - Christ, honey, what the hell’s wrong with you now? There was no way in the whole damn world he was going to turn into that. He wanted to figure it out for himself and make it right. He owed Matt that effort.
But he just kept drawing a blank. And it was killing him. All day so far, it had felt like a hand was twisting his lungs around inside his chest.
Hell, why would he even want me in the first place?
Travis considered how Matt could have much more than what he had to offer him, how Matt deserved more. He didn’t think Matt was doing it because he had saved his life. Travis wouldn’t have liked that at all and wouldn’t have even kissed him that first night without knowing for sure that Matt wasn’t driven to him that way. But other than that, why? His heart sank thinking about all the time he had to spend away. Matt deserved someone there with him, way more than what he could be. And Matt was so good-looking, too: the dark brown-to-almost-black hair, the perfect goatee framing his mouth, the smooth skin, the great build he had behind skin with such a magnificent complexion. And that wasn’t to even mention those malachite eyes of his that wars should be fought over. Sure, Travis was muscular and he had stamina as his job absolutely demanded, but his body was scarred up from seven years of fighting, near misses and bad decisions, not to mention the ridiculous ears he hated and that broken nose. And then those damn smile lines etched in his face. Even with Matt telling him all of this was handsome and attractive, Travis had a hard time accepting that. Didn’t Matt deserve better than all this? What was he really offering Matt in the end?
Travis put his hands on top of his head and sighed wearily. He wished he knew why Matt was slipping through his fingers. He wished he knew why someone as great as Matt was even bothering with him to begin with. He wished he knew what was going on.
After a full day of these mental gymnastics behind him, the only conclusion he had managed to arrive at was that he needed to remind the team about discussing classified information with Matt, yet again. He had spied Wes telling Matt a story about Crank earlier, then looking like a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar when he realized Travis was watching him and knew what he was talking about. He couldn’t hear what Wes was saying, but Travis knew exactly what it was anyway. The guys had gotten looser over the summer, sharing details of their missions with Matt, and he had warned them about it once already. It wasn’t a trust thing, not by a long shot. Travis knew that Matt was every bit as trustworthy as anybody else in the platoon with the information, and would never take it outside the team. But he didn’t like the guys doing this because he wanted to protect Matt. The more of these stories Matt heard, the more worried he’d be every time they left. He didn’t want Matt to always be thinking the worst every time they went off; Matt did plenty of that already. Travis would do anything to keep Matt from getting hurt that way, even if he knew it was almost inevitable in the long run. It was the nature of the fucking job. He didn’t like to enforce this little bit of separation, but it was for Matt’s own good. It was Travis’ dangerous world, not Matt’s, and it was Travis’ responsibility to protect him from it.
Aside from the episode with Wes, though, he didn’t know what was going on. And the hand twisted the air up in his lungs in him tighter and tighter, to where he almost could no longer breathe. He downed the rest of his beer and tried to get his chest to loosen up some.
He’s drifting away from me, and I don’t know how to get him back.
Fortunately, Travis had been able to leave Matt to the team for most of the day, otherwise he would have been a neurotic wreck around him, which would have just worried and upset Matt in turn. Petey was always more than happy to monopolize Matt, to put a herculean effort into picking on him, who then picked back in just exactly the right way. Instead, Travis had watched Matt like a hawk from a distance, had a bead on him like a sniper, waiting to see anything that might give him a clue. He did notice that Matt stayed away from the gunwales if at all possible and absolutely didn’t attempt the very narrow breezeways this boat had running to the foredeck. Matt was still a little nervous on this particular boat, but unless someone looked for it carefully, they’d never notice it. It was that important to Matt to be a part of today. Travis had managed to steal a few secret winks at Matt, a brief Morse code message reassuring him and making Matt smile, and safely hiding his own knotted up guts.
Suddenly, down below, the fish Matt had on the line breached the water’s surface close to the boat. From what Travis saw, it looked like a mahi. Petey shifted the cheap cigar from one side of his mouth to the other and started shouting advice on bringing it in the rest of the way. Rickey grabbed a net to catch the fish in when Matt got it close enough. The guys up on the flybridge stopped singing to see what kind of massive sea monster Matt was going to finally reel in.
Matt pulled up on the rod, reeled in more as he lowered it, pulled up more, reeled in more, until the mahi was fully up out of the water and flapping around in the air just off the stern of the boat. Rickey chased it around with the net while Petey helped Matt steady the rod.
Rickey finally caught the fish in the net and brought it onto the boat. The mahi was only about four pounds worth, but mahi tend to be fighters, so even the small ones are a workout to land if you’re not used to it. Travis couldn’t help but smile at Matt’s big trophy catch of the day. Rickey unhooked the fish and got it out of the net so Matt could hold it up for a picture, Petey right next to him, grinning like a fire-topped fool with a cigar stub.
Matt struggled to hold the fish while Dillinger snapped a few
pictures. He actually looked offended by the fish.
“This is what I caught? All that fucking work for THIS?! What the hell?”
The guys around Matt couldn’t help but start laughing at his reaction.
Matt added, “It smells bad, too.”
Petey commented loudly, “I said the same thing about the fish I picked up last night at The ‘Sides!” He took the cigar out of his mouth and added, probably more proudly than he had a right to, “She sure did taste good, though.”
“Is there anything you won’t fuck, Colorado?” asked Matt.
“You. Cornhole, that dude-cooch of yours smells worse than that fish there. My apartment always smells like sardines after you’ve bunked for the night!” said Petey, punching him in the arm.
Matt dropped the fish, which started flapping around by the base of the fighting chair. He chased it around trying to grab it again.
Matt said, sarcastically, “Yeah, yeah, I love you, too, pencil dick.” He threw the fish overboard and back into the Atlantic Ocean.
Petey got this gentle, wry smile on his face as he watched Matt chasing the fish. He said, quietly, “Yeah, I love you, bro.”
Fuck.
Fuck fuckity fuck fuck FUCK!!
How could I be so fucking brain dead STUPID?!
Wyatt took his foot and pushed in on the back of Travis’ knee playfully, causing his leg to buckle and almost making him fall. Travis hadn’t even realized he had stood up to begin with.
“You alright, Mopey?” asked Wyatt, trying to kick Travis in the other knee and finish the job.
Travis couldn’t believe how dumb he had been. How obvious it was.
He turned and saw the boozy grin on Wyatt’s face, his bare foot still buzzing around trying to make Travis’ legs collapse under him.
Travis avoided Wyatt’s foot and his gaze and said, “Huh? No. I mean, yeah, I’m fine. Just gotta get a refill.”
He turned back and looked down on the deck below again. He never felt so angry and ashamed of himself in his entire life.
Matt stood down there with Petey, Dillinger, Rickey, and Fincher. And now Wasp had joined them.
Travis looked at Matt and wondered sadly if he’d ever be as brave as him. Matt, who had volunteered to be bait in a country where he almost died, who had trusted in guys he had no reason to trust, who had reached deep down inside himself for a courage he had no reason to believe was there, who would swallow his own deep fear to be on a boat with a bunch of guys that he cared about more than himself. Matt, who gave himself so openly and completely, whose fucking heart was big enough to park a goddamn aircraft carrier in. Who had told Travis he loved him more times than he could count now. And Travis hadn’t said it back to him one single time. Not. One. Single. Goddamn. Time.
He had to get out of there or he was going to explode.
Travis practically slid down the ladder from the flybridge to the aft deck and flew through the door into the salon. He needed some privacy right now or he was going to make a grade-A ass of himself in front of a lot of guys he couldn’t afford to do that with.
The boat, Lucky Stars, was a 45 foot Ocean Super Sport charter. Jonas had worked on it on his off days back when he was a Special Warfare Combatant Craft crewman. The owner of the charter company was pretty gung-ho patriotic and when Jonas made it into the SEALs, he was super excited. He let the guys have it at a very steep discount each year. It was equipped for fishing, with a fighting chair on deck for the sport fish, live bait wells, fish box, lockers, a sink and tackle center. Inside, the salon was well equipped with a comfortable couch, entertainment center, and galley. There was a separate stateroom with queen sized bed and a comfortable head, too.
Travis didn’t want to stay in the salon, though. He needed to pull himself together and the salon was too open. The guys were in and out a lot since the ice chests and drinks were set up in there.
He passed through to the stateroom and was going to hold up in the head for a little while, but it was fucking occupied. He should’ve known that would be the case.
Fuck! What the hell is wrong with me? How could I be so miserably stupid?
He spun around next to the queen bed with the ugly brown bedspread, trying to decide what to do. He could feel Jonas crank the boat up and start out to find another fishing spot.
Travis gave up and plodded back into the salon, feet like boat anchors and feeling miserable. He could see Desantos, Crank and a few others out on the foredeck, and Matt and that whole crew on the aft deck. There was nowhere to really go. He sat down on the floor and leaned back against the cabinets in the dead end of the galley, hidden by the cabinets on three sides.
What made him want to punch a mirror just so he could hit his own sorry face, make it even uglier than it was now, was that he got it now. In one blinding flash like the mythical green flash of sunset, he understood the disappointment in Matt’s face, and he understood why he hadn’t said the words. Why he hadn’t said the three fucking words that Matty deserved more than anyone he knew.
He had held back out of some stupid, misguided attempt to protect him. If he didn’t say the words, then one bad day when he came home feet first, maybe Matt wouldn’t hurt as bad. Maybe Matt would heal a little faster and move on a little more quickly. But he was hurting Matt now. His subconscious didn’t take into account that he was hurting Matt a little bit every day right now. Slowly killing off the light in Matt that was there for him.
The agonizing thing was that he did love him. He loved Matt. Matty. Matt was everything to him. His safe mooring in a stormy sea. His flak jacket. His extraction point. Matt was… his. Travis might not have a lot in this world. But he had Matt. He just needed to say it. Matt just needed to hear the words. All that was missing was a tiny handful of words - I love you, Matt.
On this boat were sixteen men he trusted his life with. But there was only one he trusted his heart to. Matt just needed to hear him say it.
I love you, Matt.
Right on cue, Petey came busting through the cabin door to the salon. Travis sat up and tried to come up with an excuse for sitting on the floor of the galley, but Petey just belched and walked on past into the stateroom without even noticing Travis on the floor.
Travis rubbed his red, burning eyes a few times. He knew what he needed to do; he just had to find the first opportunity to make things right with Matt. To be the man Matt was and deserved. Travis thought that maybe he’d be able to get Matt alone for a few minutes at Chick’s Beach later on, after a little dinner. Get him away from the team for just a few minutes so he could get down on his knees and tell Matt how he felt. And tell him how sorry he was. To give Matt the tiny handful of words.
Travis felt better, and his breathing finally slowed back down to normal.
Petey came back in from the stateroom and started poking around in one of the ice chests. Travis felt a little embarrassed and opened one of the cabinets next to him and started digging around, pretending to look for something.
Petey stood over the open ice chest and looked back over his sunburned shoulder at Travis in the galley behind him. He asked, “Whatcha lookin’ for?”
Travis was about to make up some answer when he heard something pouring into the ice chest at Petey’s feet.
“Petey, are you pissing in the ice chest?”
“Yeah, Baya’s hogging the head again.”
Travis shook his head. “Fuckin’ hey, Petey! Were you raised by dingoes or something?”
The stream of piss continued unabated. “What, you’d rather I flop it out in the sink and piss there?”
“Shithead! Yeah, that’d be better! Our beers are in there.”
Petey let out another small belch and expressed his opinion. “Whoever drinks this gay shit deserves to have my piss all over it. What are you lookin’ for, anyway?”
Travis just picked. “A Corona, I think.”
“Yeah, I’m pissin’ on ‘em right now. You want one?”
Travis didn’t bother to answer.
Petey finally finished and zipped his cargo shorts up. He slurred at Travis, “And I have impeggable manners, I’ll have you know, you crap stained taint hair.”
Travis was about to respond and tell Petey that he had the manners of a son-of-a-dingo, but he heard a sound. Over the growl of the boat engines, it barely registered, but he had picked up on it for some reason.
As he listened, Jonas gunned the engines a little more to put on some speed and Travis heard some of the guys on the aft deck start laughing and clapping.
Then he heard Rickey’s voice yell out, “C’mon, Matt, catch up!!”
The blood in Travis’ veins turned to sharp ice crystals, stinging and stabbing every inch of his body. He flew up off the floor, glancing at Petey just enough to see the terror in his face, too.
Travis’ hands felt like slippery ice, almost unable to work the latch on the cabin door as he tore it open, trying to get outside. The instant he was outside, he could see Rickey, Dillinger and Fincher looking off the stern of the boat.
Travis yelled, “Where is he?!?”
Rickey and Fincher laughed good-naturedly and pointed out in the water. Travis felt like he had been cut in half and could no longer move his legs. Matt was already forty agonizing yards off the stern since Jonas had gunned the engines, and getting farther away every split second. He stole one more glance at Petey, who was as white as a ghost.
Travis screamed at them, “HE CAN’T SWIM!!!” His body finally reacted, jumping up on the gunwale and his powerful legs launched himself hard, out as far as he could go. It was a dangerous thing to do with the engines churning the water at full power, but he sliced into the water and swam like he had never swum before.
He swam five or six strokes, then looked for Matt. Another five or six strokes, checked for Matt again. He noticed that Petey was in the water with him, trying to keep up. Six strokes, check for Matt.