The Last Ship Sails || Scott and Ryan


“…Well, when we got to her, she was sleepin’ on the bench near the old park. It’s cold as all hell, so me and the lads got her inside. I’ll send someone over in the mornin’ to be sure that she’s alright. That’s all. I figured ye weren’t gonna answer. Yer just so far away now. What time is it where yer at again? Jesus, laddie. We miss ye out here…”

Scott only half listened to his voicemail. One of the lads from the dock had taken pity on his mother. They were always taking pity, pretending that they didn’t know that she got fired from another job for being too drunk. That she hadn’t been found in the store room of her usual spot at the bar, running up yet another tab that she couldn’t afford. And soon, he was sure, he could expect a phonecall about another bill he’d cover.

The voice in the back of his head told him that he shouldn’t stay here. That he should go home and take care of her and get her back on her feet. And going back to the docks wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. And the guys would take him back in a heartbeat, things would be just as well as they had been. The crux was that Scott didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to leave his friends or his job or his life here (even if he was starting to miss snow and other seasons). He didn’t want to think about it now, he was meant to be enjoying his twenty-four hours of freedom from the office. But now, he wasn’t sure if he’d even catch sleep tonight. So he started to drink. A bottle of whiskey for his troubles. “Like mother like son,” He murmured to himself upon forgoing a glass. 

“Hey there, Ry,” Scott slurred gently when the door open. “C’mon in the living room. ‘ave a drink with me.”