Page 49 of Never Been Shipped

The very idea was so wrong, sougly, that John was struck speechless. That had never even crossed his mind, and he didn’t know whether to be more anxious to reassure her or more angry that it had crossedhermind in the first place.

“That’s what you think of me,” he said. “After all this time.”

She swallowed, and it could just be the shadows on the dark ship, but he thought he could make out a small purple mark he’d left on her pale throat, next to her dandelion tattoo. She still wouldn’t look at him, and he felt himself veering towardangry, which was an emotion hehatedfeeling. He hated it more directed toward Micah, because he’d so rarely felt it with her. He hated it because he knew there were other emotions underneath it, deeper still, that were even harder to look at head-on.

“If you don’t want to do it, say no,” he said. “I don’t really care. But just remember that at one point, Micah, we were aband. The five of us. We were a group of people who made something together, who supported each other, who rode the highs and lows together. Maybe we can’t get that back. Maybe we shouldn’t try. But I’m not going to erase what we had then, either. It’s too important, it’s—”

Now it was his turn to take a hard swallow. It wasn’t just the band, obviously. It wasthem. Even before they’d had the band, it had always beenthem.

“It’s probably four o’clock in the fucking morning,” he said. “And I’m sure we’re contractually obligated somehow to be on that beach. You can think about it and let everyone else know your decision. I’m heading to bed.”

He waited a second, to see what she might say. Only a few minutes ago, he’d assumed they’d be sleeping together that night—not even having sex necessarily, just sleeping together in the way they’d done so many times before. He’d been looking forward to it. The ability to snuggle up against her if he wanted to, to hold her if he wanted to, to open his eyes the next morning knowing she’d still be there.

But all she said was “Okay. Have a good night.”

The echo of his earlier words had to be deliberate, and they only frustrated him more. That and the fact that she’d directed them toward the water, and not toward him.

“You, too,” he said. And then he walked away, heading towardthe interior part of the ship. Right before he disappeared through the door, he glanced back once to see her still standing there, a lone figure dressed in black, her hair bright in the moonlight. She was still staring out at the ocean, and he felt a sudden pang of…what? It wasn’t as easy to name as the anger. It was a feeling that could pull him under if he let it.

John realized they’d never gotten to see the port. At this point, they’d see it in daylight, and they’d do it separately. He opened the door, and left her behind.

Chapter

Twenty-Two

Micah felt hungover,and she hadn’t even had a drop of alcohol on this cruise so far.

For one thing, the sun was so bright. She’d woken up later than she’d planned but still way earlier than she would’ve liked, and she’d made her way down to the cruise company’s private island. It was a gorgeous, perfect beach day—warm wherever you were in the sun, just chilly enough in the shade to feel like a relief. The sky was clear and blue, and the water literally sparkled like something out of a tourism commercial.

And the sun was way too fucking bright, giving Micah a headache even though she’d put her sunglasses on.

Frankie and Steve must’ve gotten there early enough to claim a couple chairs, because they were already lying out, looking lazy and comfortable. She didn’t see John anywhere, but she assumed he must be around, since he was the one who’d brought up the beach last night.

She knew she shouldn’t have said what she did. The minuteit left her mouth, she’d known it was wrong. But she’d been angry and blindsided and ready to lash out, and so that was what she’d done. Self-sabotage had always been a specialty of hers.

She was already halfway to feeling completely sorry for herself, debating whether she should just go back to her room and take a nap, when she heard someone call her name.

“Micah!”

It was Frankie, bracing against the back of the chair with one hand, the other hand curled around some kind of tropical cocktail. “Come over here!” Frankie yelled. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Had they? Micah took off her sneakers to make her way toward the chairs, the white sand burning the bottoms of her bare feet a little. Frankie tried to shoo Steve off his lounger, telling him he needed to be a gentleman about it, but he looked so comfortable lying there with his eyes closed that Micah hated to be the one to disturb him. She perched on the edge of Frankie’s lounger instead.

Frankie gave Micah a look over their sunglasses. “Jeans and sneakers?” they said. “At the beach?”

Micah glanced down at herself. It was about as beachy as she got—she was wearing a bathing suit, at least, a one-piece that was plain and lifeguard-y except in dark purple instead of red. But over that, she’d layered a loose pair of ripped jeans, her knee and a glimpse of her thigh tattoo peeking out from the shredded places.

Frankie, on the other hand, looked like they were born to be in a tropical paradise, with their silver-and-teal bikini and gauzy sarong cover-up.

“Watch John be in a full-out T-shirt and jeans,” Frankie said. “He’ll be wearing the exact same thing he wore for the show last night. WhereisJohn?”

They asked like Micah would be the one to know, and she cleared her throat. “No idea,” she said. “Maybe he slept in.”

“Maybe he went snorkeling,” Steve put in. “I want to go snorkeling. You think it’s too late to sign up?”

“You should go check,” Frankie said.

Steve drummed his hands on the sides of the chair, taking a second for some internal debate before he finally sprang up as though he’d been given a timer to complete his task. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Micah, save my seat.”

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