Page 2 of Searching for Sunshine (Crestbrook Cove #1)

WYATT

“ M otherfucker, will anything ever go right on this damn boat?” I mutter under my breath as the motor sputters to a sudden stop, causing the boat to lose power and jostling me and the rest of my passengers.

“Uh, man, I’m no mechanic or anything, but, uh…I don’t think it’s supposed to do that,” one of the men I’m supposed to be taking out on a fishing trip says.

“Yeah, that didn’t sound too good,” his friend agrees.

As soon as this group stepped on the boat, they started offering “suggestions” of things I should do differently, despite the fact that when I asked, none of them had been on a boat more than once.

I’ll never understand what it is about a boat that makes other men act like they’ve lived on the water their entire lives.

The attitudes of most of these groups get on my damn nerves, and even though it’s been less than ten minutes since we left the dock, I'm already looking forward to this trip being over.

However, I would much rather it conclude with a few happy customers and some decent tips for once.

I blow out a breath and try to hide my frustration. “It’s probably something with the spark plugs. It shouldn’t take me long to get it fixed, so y’all can hang out and wait. Or if you’d rather go on out, I can try to get one of our other boats to come get you and finish your trip.”

“We don’t mind waiting. As long as we don’t run out of beer, I’m pretty sure we can keep ourselves entertained,” one of them says before turning and grabbing a handful of beers out of the cooler for him and the others to shotgun.

The rest of them cheer like their team just won the Super Bowl, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes at their antics.

“Fucking fabulous,” I mumble, grabbing the toolbox I keep stashed away and turning to the back of the boat to work on the motor.

It takes me less than ten minutes to get the spark plug replaced and after making sure everything is ready to go, I turn back to my passengers.

“All right. Sorry about that. We’re good to go now,” I tell them, straightening and pointing us out toward one of my usual fishing spots.

“No big deal. Really, man, don’t sweat it. We’re having a great time,” one of them calls back.

“Yeah, man, no stress. Do you want a beer or something?” another one of them asks.

“Nah, I appreciate it, though,” I say tightly, turning back to the miles of open water.

Despite it feeling like nothing’s going right today, I feel my frustration ease a little at the sight. The water’s always been my favorite place, and now that we’re easing back into the heat of the summer, I feel more at home out here than anywhere else.

“All right, we’ll try this spot first,” I explain, before grabbing the poles and sitting them out for the guys.

“So, what are we catching? Sharks?” one of the men asks with a goofy grin.

“Dude, you’re a fucking idiot,” another one says. “We’re definitely catching largemouth bass.”

I pause, waiting for either of them to laugh before I realize they’re serious. “Largemouth bass are actually freshwater fish. At this depth, you’ll be fishing for mostly red snapper. Let me give you a quick tutorial, and then you should be good to go.”

I go through my usual spiel teaching them how to cast and reel their lines in before making sure they have everything they need.

“All right, gentlemen, y’all can start whenever you’re ready.

Just make sure you watch out for each other when you’re casting and don’t jerk your line too hard so we don’t get any stray hooks.

I’ll be here if you have any questions.”

The men rush to get started, and I turn to grab my water.

The best part of a fishing trip is once I get them going, I can let them do their own thing and only have to intervene to help them get the fish in the boat.

I’m just sitting down to stay out of the way when I hear one of the men from the tour start screaming.

Alarmed, I run over to see that one of them managed to get his hook lodged in his friend’s hand and there’s blood everywhere. Motherfucker.

“Damn it,” I mutter, reaching out and examining his hand. It’s not the worst I’ve ever seen, but thanks to the barb that was on the hook, I don’t feel comfortable pulling it out myself.

“Okay, gentlemen. I think this fishing trip’s over,” I say, shaking my head and turning to the wheel to head back to shore.

Have I mentioned I’m over this fucking day?

“How was the trip today?” my brother, Trent, asks later that afternoon as I walk into our little shack at the marina.

“Well, it ended with me washing a shit ton of blood out of the Fin and Tonic , so I’ll let you be the judge of that,” I grumble, reaching for the fridge to grab a beer now that I’m done for the day.

“Damn,” Trent mumbles, shaking his head. “How in the hell did that happen?”

“Well, to start, the boat fouled a spark plug less than ten minutes in and I had to fix the damn thing in the water, which you know is a real pain in the ass. Then, as soon as I got that fixed, I took them to start fishing, and one of ’em got hooked straight in the hand on their first fucking cast. So clearly it was a really great fucking day. ”

“Shit, man. That sucks. I guess since you didn’t call me to tug you back, you got the boat up and running?” my brother asks.

“Yeah, thankfully it was a quick fix, but that’s the second time this week she’s given me trouble.

I don’t know what we’re going to do if she goes out,” I admit, and I know Trent doesn’t miss the concern in my voice.

“We already had to let both our deckhands go last month because we didn’t have enough tours, and if things don’t pick up soon, we’ll be eating into the slim profits we’ve had so far this year. ”

My brother and I have run Crestbrook Charter Company together for the last six years, and we’ve gotten used to the ups and downs of being small business owners.

When our granny died, I convinced Trent we should use the inheritance we received to start the business.

The idea of spending all day on the water and showing others how to fish seemed like a dream.

But now that the business isn’t doing as well as we’d like, I feel a ton of pressure to make sure Trent never regrets going into business with me.

And sometimes, like today, the pressure just seems too damn much.

“It’ll be fine. We’ve always figured it out in the past,” Trent says with a shrug before picking up a stack of invoices from the small desk in the corner. “I do have to say the bills are adding up over here, but we’re going into the summer season, so hopefully that’ll give us the push we need.”

“I hope you’re right. But between the new charter service in the next town over that opened last year and all the upkeep we’ve needed this year, I’m worried we won’t make it to another summer season.”

“Let’s not go there yet. Why don’t we go get a drink from The Sand Bar and we can try to brainstorm some ideas to get some other business?”

“That sounds fine. I’m starving. Do you know if Everett’s there tonight?” I ask, referring to our other brother who owns the local dive bar in town.

“You know he never leaves that place,” Trent chuckles. “I’d tell him he needs to get out more, but then we might actually have to pay for our shit when he’s not there.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I agree. “Let’s see if we can figure all this shit out.”