Page 52 of Never Been Shipped

Ryder glanced down at her. Her bathing suit straps were still halfway off her shoulders, she realized, and she reached up to adjust them. His gaze on her made her skin crawl. She stood up, not wanting to be lower than him for this conversation. They were almost the exact same height—in heels, she towered over him, which was why he’d never liked her to wear heels.

“Move your, lose your!” Steve declared, jumping onto the lounger.

“I thought John was going to talk to you,” Ryder said, shooting an irritated look John’s way. “We were discussing the possibility of getting ElectricOh! back together, just for a limited tour.”

“No.”

“Or a couple festival dates. There’s one in Las Vegas that—”

“No.”

Ryder held up his hands, like he was trying to get her to calm down, even though she hadn’t raised her voice. She remembered that move from when they’d dated. She’d always hated it.

“I know you think you alone get to makeeveryband decision,” Ryder said. “But we get to have a say in our careers, too. And if we say we want to do this, then—”

“She said no,” John said. “And whatever we do, it has to be unanimous. If she says no, then it’s a no.”

“That’s always been your problem, hasn’t it?” Ryder said with a smirk. “You’ve never known how to turn anointo ayes.”

John just looked at him. There was something in his eyes that she’d never seen there before. He could shut Ryder down in an instant, of course, could tell him all the ways he’d had her sayingyesas recently as a few hours ago, could play right into the alpha bullshit Ryder had always introduced into the band dynamic. Sometimes she thought that so much of what had happened would’ve never gone down if he hadn’t been a senior when they were freshmen, but they weren’t freshmen anymore.

“That,” John said, “is an extremely fucked-up thing to say.”

Frankie was glancing between the two of them, taking a long sip from their cocktail that ended in the ragged slurp of an empty cup. “All right,” they said. “We don’t need to go down this road.”

“I wouldn’t care if you did ElectricOh! covers with your new band,” Steve said. “That could be cool.”

“I’m not going to docoversof my own songs!” Ryder yelled, before seeming to remember that they were on a beach with other people, some of whom had turned around to see what was going on. “I want to know how everyone would’ve voted—not because of what anyone else said, but based on what you actually want as an individual member of the band. Obviously I’m a vote foryes. Steve?”

Steve looked uncomfortable to be put on the spot. “Yes?” He glanced at Micah apologetically. “I mean, I’m also fine not doing it. But yeah, if it were up to me, I think it sounds fun. Not for a long tour. I don’t want to miss my kid growing up or anything. But yeah. Sounds fun.”

He clamped his mouth shut, as if to stop rambling.

“Frankie?” Ryder prompted. “Not based on anyone else. Just whatyouwant. You said last night you thought it would be a great opportunity.”

“I know what I said last night,” Frankie said dryly. “I can remember back that far, thank you very much. I thought it could be fun, but suddenly I’m reminded why it might not be. And John’s right—if one of us is out, then it’s a non-starter. We can’t do it without Micah. This cruise has been a good send-off. I say we leave it here.”

Ryder turned to John then. “Well?” he said. “And please, for the love of god, don’t just say what you thinkshewants to hear. Take a stand for once in your life.”

Micah closed her eyes. She obviously knew what John would say—last night, he’d seemed interested in the idea. And no matter what Ryder seemed to believe, she wasn’ttryingto take anything away from anybody. She simply couldn’t do it.

“Take a stand?” John said, stepping closer to Ryder. “All right, I’ll take a stand. I don’t want anything to do with ElectricOh!. Not a reunion tour, not a festival date, not a single goddamn group photo as long asyou’rein the band. You’re toxic. And if you think you’re a good enough guitarist to make any of this worth it, you’re not.”

Micah opened her eyes again, staring at John. She could count the times she’d seen him truly angry on one hand. The band had had many arguments, all those years ago, but he’d been more the type to hang back and listen to what everyone had to say, then weigh in with some reasonable compromise after everyone else had shouted themselves out. Now his voice was low but hard, and Frankie and Steve hung back, seeming to understand that this was a fight that had been brewing between the two of them for a while.

Ryder made a scoffing sound. “Says the guy who’s been playing dive bars for the last ten years. That tip jar’s bound to run dry, wouldn’t you say?”

“I don’t give a fuck about the money,” John said.

“Let me guess, you only care about themusic,” Ryder said derisively, making it clear what he thought about that. “Bullshit. You’re a hack. Go get your songbook to play nostalgic slow jams at second-rate weddings. And Micah?”

She looked over at him, even though she realized Ryder was talking about her rather than to her.

“Calls herself a musician when she can barely play an instrument,” Ryder continued, his lips twisting. “It’s a joke. She was there for novelty and for some sex appeal, and in the end she couldn’t even deliver that, huh? Funny how that works.”

“Thatisfunny,” John said. “Because it’s no coincidence that the best song we ever wrote was without you.”

John’s retort came fast, but Micah barely had any time to process it because Ryder’s fist quickly followed. He punched John right in the face, sending John reeling back. Micah saw red—literally, because there was blood on John’s mouth, but also in that this was the absolute last shit she was going to take from Ryder. She acted on instinct, without any care as to whether people were watching or if she was putting herself in danger.

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