That need to surrender.
I don’t stop.
And when he comes, it’s powerful and uncontrolled, his release spilling warm and heavy, his body shuddering as he cries out.
I stay with him, holding onto him as the last tremors fade.
He leans forward, forehead resting against mine, breath harsh, tears sliding freely now.
I wrap my arms around him, press my face to his chest, feel his heart hammering beneath my cheek.
Whatever secrets he’s carrying.
Whatever storms are coming.
We’re in this together.
But tonight—this night—he’s all mine.
And I’m his.
DAY 7, DEBARKING
ASHLEY
We’re not moving anymore.
The subtle thrum of the ship’s engine has gone silent, replaced by the sounds of seagulls and distant machinery—cranes lifting, forklifts beeping, muffled announcements in English and Spanish.
We’re docked. Back in L.A.
I slip quietly from the bed, careful not to wake Beckett.
He’s on his stomach, arm flung across my empty pillow, his face half-buried in the sheets. He looks... younger like this. Softer. The years we’ve carried haven’t erased the boy I first fell in love with.
I push the balcony door open and step outside, barefoot. The morning air is thick, damp and gritty with fuel and salt and exhaust. Ships loom in the distance. The skyline of Los Angeles sits hazy beneath a rising sun.
I grip the railing and lean forward. Even though I’m not sure if today is a beginning or an ending, I’m here. I’m ready.
Just as I straighten my back, familiar arms come around me from behind, and I rest into him.
“Good morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.
I sigh, twisting around to see his face. “Good morning.”
We kiss like we have all the time in the world. No uncertainty. No regret.
But we’re scheduled to debark at 8:30, so we really need to start moving.
I pull back. “Did you check in for your flight?”
“Last night. You?”
“Mine leaves later.”
Logistical details.
Even though the larger suitcases are gone, I still need to pack up the bathroom. Check the drawers and the closet. Under the bed…
