Page 15 of Never Been Shipped

Chapter

Eight

It was evenhard to walk down the hallways leading to the rooms, Micah discovered. The ship kept pitching at the last minute, and she had to brace her hand along the wall to keep herself steady.

She wasn’t feeling very well. And she didn’t know if it was run-of-the-mill seasickness, if it was the onset of a panic attack, if it was something else. She just knew she had to get away from everyone, couldn’t stand there on that deck for another second.

Luckily, most people had gathered for that first night’s panel, and so the halls were relatively quiet. Still, she definitely caught the few people milling around looking at her—some because they clearly recognized her as Micah Presley, some maybe just because she was staggering like she was drunk. A lot of them probably thought Micah Presleywasdrunk, which would be just perfect, if that rumor started going around.I’ve had one sip of fruit punch!she wanted to shout. She wanted to laugh inappropriately.

The power to shapeshift would be pretty useful right now,actually. She’d turn into a wolf, and even if it was strange, a wolf tearing down the halls of a cruise ship—even if it wasscary—she’d be sure-footed and quicksilver fast, gone before anyone could register what they’d seen.

She stumbled a little, hitting one knee on the aqua-and-pink seashell carpet, before standing up. A group of giggling girls passed her by before doubling back.

“Excuse me,” one said. “Aren’t you her?”

Vague enough that maybe she could get away with acting like she didn’t know what they meant. She was worried she’d be sick in front of them, which just couldnotbe the cruise memory these girls were looking to make their first night. But she also knew that pictures with anyone even tangentially related to the show were exactly the kind of memories they’d treasure, and she wanted to give that to them, wanted to be that for them.

“Micah Presley,” she said. “From ElectricOh!.”

“Oh my god,” another of the girls said, immediately pulling out her phone. They all grouped around Micah, and she barely had time to put a smile on her face before they’d taken a sequence of selfies and told her that they loved her before moving down the aisle. That word always threw Micah—love. Even when she knew it wasn’t meant literally, or at least not on a level beyond the way you might say it about anything. You love scented candles, or a book you read, or when a last-minute cancellation frees up your afternoon. The word didn’t always have to have as much weight as Micah put on it, but she still found it hard to receive, wanted to shrug it off even when she knew it was only a gossamer thing skimming over her shoulders.

There was another group heading toward her now, and Micah wondered if it would be too obvious if she split off in theopposite direction, even though she was already turned around with no idea if she was taking the most efficient route to her room. She was considering her options when she heard a voice from behind her.

“Hey,” John said, but when she turned she realized he wasn’t talking to her. He was addressing the group, who were closer now and had already gotten their phones out. “Sorry, we’ve got somewhere to be, but we’ll see you around the ship, yeah?”

They looked confused for a second, like they’d been suddenly redirected and didn’t know which way they were facing.

Micah felt John’s hand at the small of her back, so light she almost thought she was imagining it, and she wanted to lean back into it just to see if she was. But then he was guiding her forward with a little more pressure, giving a wave to the group as they squeezed past them in the hallway. “Definitely go check out the panel happening right now on the pool deck,” he said. “I think they’re about to open up on season six.”

That got the group chattering among themselves, picking up the pace as they headed in the opposite direction down the hall. John dropped his hand the second they were alone, which made Micah’s stomach swoop. She couldn’t tell if it was disappointment or just another symptom of being on this goddamn ship.

“Sorry,” he said.

“You say that a lot.” It was the first word he’d said when he’d walked into that meeting a month ago. The first word she’d heard him say in over a decade.

“Better than the alternative, right?” His gaze caught hers for a moment before it slid away, and she couldn’t tell if that was aimed atherspecifically. God knew she had a lot to apologize for, a lot she’d never said. “Anyway, I wanted to—”

He cut himself off there, knocking his fist gently against the railing like he was testing its strength.

“Wanted to what?”

The hallways were narrow, and she was pressed against John now, close enough that she could feel his body heat against her skin. Or maybe it wasn’t fair to blame that on the hallway, when she had ample room to move away. There were more people headed toward them, and John glanced up, reaching like he was going to touch her elbow before thinking better of it.

“You didn’t look good,” John said, his voice low enough that she had to lean in more to catch it.

“Gee, thanks.”

But she knew what he meant. He thought she’d been upset by what Ryder said, which—she shouldn’t be. She was certainly used to it by now, coming from him. There had been all these throwaway comments while they’d dated, landing lightly enough that he could tell her it was just a joke, or an observation, calm down, you’re putting words into my mouth. And yet somehow they’d landed hard enough to get stuck in her, like little burs she would still come across no matter how many times she thought she’d picked them all out.

She barely had the energy to worry about Ryder at all right now, though. Her stomach was rolling along with the ship, and she wanted to make it to her room with the desperation of someone crawling through the desert looking for water.

John did take her elbow then, his hand warm and firm as he guided her down the hallway, giving anyone they passed a quick nod and a hello but moving efficiently enough that they were gone by the time the person tried to say anything.

“I’m fine,” Micah said, although she didn’t know why shebothered. She was very clearlynotfine, and the truth was that in that moment, she didn’t even want to be fine. She wanted John’s hands on her, wanted to feel taken care of and like someone else had custody of her body for a few minutes. God, when was the last time she’d felt that way?

“Which one’s yours?” he asked when they’d finally reached their deck, and she rummaged through her bag, coming up empty. Finally she pulled her cruise ID card out of the back pocket of her jeans, where she’d shoved it, lanyard and all. She looked down at the card, frowning while she tried to figure out where her room number was listed on it.

“It should be on the blue one,” he said. “With the pattern of waves in the background.”

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