Page 13 of Never Been Shipped

But she knew there was no getting around it. She was trapped.

Chapter

Seven

John had neverfelt more trapped in his life. He hadn’t been on a cruise before, and he’d already decided he didn’t like it. It had been cool when the ship had pulled away from the port and everyone had rushed to the sides, waving and cheering. But now he was very conscious of the fact that the ship wasmoving. And worse than that, he was conscious of the fact that there’d be no getting off it, at least not until they reached the private Bahamian island owned by the cruise company that was their only excursion stop.

He clapped for the last of theNightshifterscast as they took their seats, already scanning around to see if Bobbi was there and would notice if he left or not.

His gaze snagged on Micah, who was standing with her arms crossed, her expression neutral as she watched the panel. Micah’s short-sleeved shirt bared most of her arms, and he could see more of her tattoos, although there were others he couldn’t see but knew were there. The peony she’d gotten to cap one shoulder, the delicate word etched on the inside of onewrist. She still had a lot of open real estate on her arms, though, and that surprised him—somehow he assumed she would’ve filled all that by now. From what he could see, she didn’t appear to have anynewtattoos.

But of course there were a lot of different places to get tattoos that he wouldn’t necessarily be able to see.

“We knew we had something very special from the first table read,” Tatiana was saying on the stage. “And look at all of you now! Obviously we were right.”

A huge cheer from the crowd, who were pressing forward, as if wanting to get even a couple inches closer while the cast answered presubmitted questions about the show. John had never gone into music for the adulation—if anything, it had often made him feel uncomfortable, having people look up at him like that while he was onstage. But he couldn’t deny that there was something powerful about seeing a whole group of people so united over a shared love of one single thing. Everyone here loved a television showso muchthat they would save up thousands of dollars, take time off work, and subject themselves to these winds and seas just for this moment where they were all in it together. It made him miss it, for a second—being in a successful band. Being part of something that could give people that.

He nudged Steve next to him. “Hey,” he said, gesturing toward where Micah and Frankie were standing. “Should we?”

They crossed over to join their bandmates, excluding Ryder. John had no idea where Ryder was or why he wasn’t at the panel, but he didn’t particularly care. Micah glanced up at him, her eyes still hidden behind those sunglasses, the slight parting of her lips the only sign of surprise.

iteration.That was the word tattooed in lowercase script on the inside of her left wrist. She’d never fully explained to him what it meant, but he’d never asked. He felt like he’d lost any right to ask her about her tattoos after he’d let her down when she got her first one.

“Where’s Ryder?” he asked now, which was not what he’d meant his opening gambit to be at all, and which he regretted the moment the words were out of his mouth.

Her mouth tightened. “I don’t know.”

“He was supposed to introduce me to Tatiana,” Steve said.

“Something tells me you’ll have ample opportunity,” Frankie said dryly. “Not like we have many places to go. Where did you get the drinks?”

“There’s a bar over there,” Steve said, pointing his drink toward the pool on the other side of the ship. “But there’s also people in yellow shirts who’ll take your order. This one is something withBreezein the name. It’s good as hell.”

Steve took another slurping drink up his straw, as if making his point.

“What’s yours?” Micah asked John.

“Try it,” he said, tilting his cup toward her. He didn’t know what had made him say that, either, any more than what had made him ask about Ryder. He felt like his head was all turned around, the sway of the ship making him a little unsteady. They’d shared drinks all the time, picked food off each other’s plates, borrowed each other’s razors when it came time to shave. Once this had been an instinct, to offer her some of his own drink, but he couldn’t say that was what was going on anymore.

She took the cup from him, and he wished he could see her eyes as she brought it to her mouth, taking a tentative sip.

“Fruit punch,” she said. She had a subtle line of red above her upper lip now, where the drink had stained her skin.

“Felt right for the occasion.”

“So you still don’t drink?”

He shook his head slowly. “I said I never would,” he said. “And I never have.”

Only Micah could guess what that promise to himself meant. They might have shared everything as kids, but he’d never wanted the full ugliness of his home life to touch her. It was the one part of himself he’d kept deeply tucked away, powerless to prevent her getting a sense of the broad strokes but not wanting her to have all the details.

Well. One of the parts.

The ship shifted under their feet, to the point where even the actors sitting on the stage had to brace themselves against their chairs, laughing nervously at the weather, one of them losing a hat that went flying off into the crowd. Next to him, Micah stumbled, still holding on to his fruit punch, and John grasped her by the arms just as the rest of the contents of the cup sloshed all over his shirt.

“Oh my god,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

The liquid was already starting to make the fabric stick to his chest, cold and wet, but he was reluctant to let go of Micah. He could feel the way her skin prickled into gooseflesh under his fingertips, and he gave a slight squeeze, wanting to warm her up.

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