The Ruthless Gentleman

I’d been planning to start UCLA that fall, but suddenly my family had needed me, and I’d needed to earn money, fast.

A friend of a friend had spent a summer in Miami as a yachtie and came back after her first season with a Louis Vuitton bag. It seemed like a quick and easy way to earn a lot of money that didn’t require skills or experience. I’d been partly right. It was quick. But life on superyachts, catering to the rich and occasionally famous, was far from easy. I missed my dad. And my brother. But I couldn’t complain. I wasn’t stuck in a wheelchair, my whole future snatched from me.

Michael just wanted to walk again. And if I took the charter Captain Moss was offering, I might be able to give him that. Or at least find out whether it was possible.

“Six months of an additional three sessions a week?”

“Yeah, it’s completely impossible. I told her.”

I did the sums in my head. At a rough guess it was north of ten thousand dollars.

My stomach dropped.

“I was about to head to the airport, but Captain Moss has offered me a last-minute charter,” I said, then explained about being personally recruited.

“That’s an incredible compliment,” my dad responded. “Not that I would expect anything else from my amazing daughter.”

“I don’t know what to do. I was really looking forward to seeing you and Michael.”

“We were looking forward to seeing you too, honey. Come home. We complain about it, but we miss your fussing.”

I knew my dad was grateful for the financial help I provided, but I also knew it was hard for his ego to swallow. So we both liked to pretend that my job was more glamorous than it was.

“It’s a lot of money, Dad. It would pretty much cover the additional therapy.” I’d call the therapist to see if we could get a discounted rate, but I might be able to cover it. “But it would mean I didn’t get to see you for another five months.”

“If you don’t want to do it then you should say no. I want you to live your own life, honey. You don’t need to worry about Michael and me.” Dad said it as if worry was a tap I could just turn off. I was damned if I did or damned if I didn’t. More money meant better care for my brother but going home meant respite for my dad and a month of normalcy for me. It was lose, lose.

“I think I should take it,” I said. That would be the sensible decision. The one I could live with. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I’d had the opportunity to help my brother walk again and not taken it. No matter how tired I was. No matter how much I wanted to sleep in my own bed, have drinks with my girlfriends and cook for my family.

“I think you should do what will make you happy.”

I stared up at the bunk above me. I’d be happy in Sacramento, but providing for my brother was the most important thing to me. Although earning the money this charter would provide wasn’t exactly happiness, it came close.

“I just wish I were closer to you and Michael.”

“You’re a good daughter and sister, Avery. But you need to worry about yourself more. Let someone fuss over you for a change. You’ve sacrificed an awful lot for your brother and you deserve a break.”

“I’m perfectly fine. I think I’m going to take this offer, but I’m going to miss you.”

“Are you sure? You sound tired and we miss you.”

“Did I tell you that I’d get my own room?” I had to focus on the positive. My own room was a huge win. “I’ll be able to video chat with you whenever I like.”

“Just to make this old man happy, promise me that if you decide to do this, you’ll find something just for you when you’re in Europe. You spend far too much time looking after everyone else.”

Like what? A trip to Zara was never going to happen now. A date? Dating was impractical and finding someone to love was impossible. Guests were strictly off-limits and relationships with another crew member never lasted long after my feet hit dry land. I didn’t want casual.

Just like I didn’t want to be heading to France in two days. But it looked like that was how life was panning out.

“I promise I’ll find something nice to do.” I rolled my eyes. Maybe a bowl of pasta and a new bottle of fake tan would qualify.

“That’s my girl. And try not to work too hard.”

Hard work came with the job, but I still had a few days off. I’d book myself into a nice hotel. Perhaps a couple nights’ sleep and a few days of room service would make up for another five months alone at sea.