Page 38 of The Butler

“I have no room in the interior.”

“Shit! Deck crew then?” I asked.

She nodded.

Deck crew was hard work, but I’d done it before, and it was only three more days.

“There won’t be ten grand in tips though,” she said, placing her hand on my knee and rubbing it.

“I need one more favor,” I asked.

Starr looked like I’d just asked for a kidney.

“Calm down, girl, it’s nothing big. Besides, it’s your job as queen of the ship.”

“Fuck off! What?”

“I need you to call payroll and tell them an error occurred and take the twenty grand back.”

“Seriously, Dek. He gave you twenty-fucking-grand?” she shrilled. Are you sure you want to return the money?” I nodded and sniffled. “But you need that money,” she stated.

“What I need, Starr, is my goddamned dignity for once in my life.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Lincoln

I’d invested a lot of heart and soul into my relationship with Troy and it hurt something fierce when he left. I’d figured two weeks on my yacht offered a chance for peace. An opportunity to heal and try to forget the loneliness that dwelled in every fiber of my being. Discovering Dek had certainly improved my mood for several days, but now I felt like I was back at square one. Was it the familiar pain induced by Troy or the more recent sense of loss of Dek? I couldn’t be sure but the reality was that it all hurt. Troy, Deklyn, getting old, getting dumped. Everything was adding up but my plus column looked empty.

The old adage that money can’t buy you love is the absolute fucking truth. I’ll tell you what it can buy though. Money can buy many friends and you’ll still wonder what they see you in besides your wealth. You get to buy every toy, every mansion, the fanciest of cars, and yet you still feel empty inside. Money doesn’t fill you up in ways that love does. Living without love is like poverty for your soul. Life feels meaningless without it. You can even try to buy what you think is love, you can dress it up with money, but if it’s not real, it still lets you down.

Lost love is the worst of the pains in my opinion. The heart is the only organ that can manifest pain when it isn’t being physically harmed. The pain of heartbreak is actually fake. Your heart isn’t damaged or sick. The muscle still goes on beating, all the while killing you from the inside out. Broken hearted, my ass. More like a cruel and deceptive organ.

At first the pain I was feeling from the loss of Troy had been replaced with the growing feeling of a new love. Carly Simon said it best in one of her songs. “There’s more room in a broken heart.”

Deklyn found whatever space was left in me and filled the emptiness with his being. How could I have possibly known that a chance meeting with him would lead to this feeling of happiness? Only to be replaced once again with the familiar pain of loss. All in the span of two weeks.

I forced myself to get off the sofa and find an outfit for going up to greet guests. I don’t think I’d selected an outfit on my own in years. In fact, I’d never been in my closet alone. I stood in the middle of the walk-in that could have been home for a family of four. Not really, but it was huge.Where does one keep shorts?I’d decided to dress and finally join the guests on deck. I couldn’t face staring at four walls knowing that Dek would not be coming to my room any longer.

* * *

“Well, looky here,” Bob said, grinning at me in surprise. “He lives! Welcome to the main deck of your two-hundred-foot yacht, Linc.”

“Piss off.”

“Seriously though. I’m glad to see you up here. I’ve missed my buddy,” he said.

I walked to the glass rail and stared into the distance and the blue waters of the Pacific Ocean. The sun felt wonderful on my skin. Turning, I glanced up to the bridge and its huge windows. The first officer who had just started his employment on this cruise was looking down at me before he saluted me in respect. I waved back and continued staring at him. He was stunningly handsome. Very muscular with a jaw square enough to measure ninety-degree angles. So gorgeous and yet so not my type.

I could see the Mexican coastline in the distance. “Where are we Bob?” I asked.

“Heading back up to Cabo from Puerto Vallarta.”

“Did you guys go to shore there?” I asked.

Bob nodded.

“Sharkies as usual?”

He gave me a shit-eating grin. Sharkies was the name of the hottest gay bar in Puerto Vallarta. If you were looking for eye candy or wanted to spend a few bucks on Mexico’s hottest guys, that was the place.

---