Jack is standing on the dock when I come outside.
“Good morning,” I say, squinting up into the sunshine. I have to lift my hand to block the glare, and the second I do, I know something is wrong.
“Good morning.” He doesn’t smile when he says it. He looks tired, but not in the “well, at least we had a good time last night” way that I must look this morning.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah.” The word is clipped. “You want to go out?”
“Do you?” I ask, because the expression on his face says he wants to be pretty much anywhere but here.
“Let me get some gear.”
It’s not a yes or a no, and his posture as he walks back up the dock leaves me uneasy, but fifteen minutes later, he’s back with what looks like a cooler of food, some dry clothes, and a pair of sunglasses that cover his eyes and keep me from reading him properly.
“Can I help with anything?” I ask as he pushes us away from the hotel.
He points to the flybridge. “Why don’t you sit out here? It’s a nice day. You’ll enjoy the view.”
Something is really wrong.
Jack takes the boat out to the ocean with a little more power in the engine than usual. The vibration shudders through me, mixing with my nerves. This time yesterday, we could barely keep our hands off each other, and now something’s happened to completely change his behavior.
Does he know? Honestly, it’s a miracle he hasn’t figured it out yet. How no one has told him or that he hasn’t spotted me online is a mystery. If he has, it would explain the icy feeling blasting off him, but honestly, Jack doesn’t seem like he’d be big on the silent treatment when he’s upset about something.
He takes us along the coastline for what feels like a long time. Every minute that goes by ratchets up my anxiety further.
Finally, the boat slows. I climb down to the deck. We’re bobbing in the open ocean with the shore off to my right. I only get this nervous for auditions I really want and have no hope in hell of getting, which can’t be a good sign. I hold my breath and wait for Jack to come join me. Watching him come out of the cabin and not being able to touch him is torture. His jacket is unzipped, and the flannel underneath looks cozy enough to snuggle up with. Like he knows I’m staring, he does up the zipper and folds his arms over his chest. He’s still wearing his sunglasses.
He still looks unhappy when he says, “Do you want some coffee?”
“What’s wrong?” I ask, because I’m done with giving him space. Just rip off the Band-Aid and let’s have at it.
“I’ll make coffee.” But he doesn’t complain when I follow him into the cabin. He sets a small kettle to boil on one of the propane burners, then goes about spooning coffee into a French press with the same quiet efficiency he does everything. I love watching him work. No fuss. No drama. No demands other than to be a decent human being.
A clatter makes me jump, and Jack hisses as he pulls his hand away from the kettle.
“Are you okay?”
“Just got a knuckle.” He sucks his finger into his mouth, and I go weak at the knees because I’d rather he let me suck on his fingers. Or he sucks on mine. Anything but this frosty silence.
“I can get the first aid kit or—”
“I don’t need a first aid kit, David.” He shouts it like it’s the fifth time I’ve asked him. “I just need...” He goes back to rattling around mugs and scoops of coffee.
“Did something happen?” I ask.
“You know”—he shakes his head—“it makes me so mad. I’m so sick of people who think their money and prestige gives them the right to just march in and treat people like their feelings don’t matter.”
Every single one of his words makes my heart sink.
“Jack, I should have—”
“Sorry.” He pulls his sunglasses off and rubs his face. “I shouldn’t unload my problems on you. It’s not your fault.”
“It—” My brain is already halfway through a breathless monologue of apology and begging. “It’s not?”
“No.” He hands me a mug like it’s not a big deal. “I had a fight with my sister last night, and it’s still bothering me today. I didn’t mean to take it out on you, I—”
