Wanting—more than anything—not to feel so damn far away.
I pull out the sofa bed. Go to punch the pillow but I don’t.
She deserves sleep.
So I lie down in my clothes, shoes still on, and stare at the ceiling—my pulse ticking like a time bomb. Only… I’m the time bomb. And if I go off, everything around me does too.
And I’m not even sure we’ve survived tonight.
DAY 4, MAZATLÁN
ASHLEY
I’m barely awake when the elevator doors glide open—and of course, Luna is already there.
Freshly blow-dried. Disgustingly radiant. Even in bike shorts and an oversized “Bride Vibes” tee, she looks like she’s been up for hours.
“What’s Beckett doing this morning?” she asks, like it’s the most casual question in the world.
“Still sleeping,” I say, like everything is fine.
Technically, it’s not a lie. He came back late again last night, and of course, I’d pretended to be asleep. I don’t think he’d been drinking—his footsteps were steady. I’d held my breath when I thought he might try to climb in beside me. And when he’d gone to the sofa, I couldn’t begin to describe how I felt. Relieved? Disappointed? Sad? Grateful?
When I left this morning, he was still out cold.
Luna gives me a knowing look, then winks. “Romantic night?”
Before I can even try to summon a lie—she presses a to-go cup into my hands, grinning.
“Vanilla latte,” she says sweetly. “But don’t worry. It’s decaf.”
“Oh.” My cheeks are already hurting from all the smiling. Somehow, pretending to be pregnant feels like the least of my worries. “Perfect.”
She takes a sip of her drink, then eyes me with a tilt of her head—sympathetic now, like she’s clocked the fact that I’m not exactly radiating joy.
“Did you eat anything yet? Mom says she used to keep saltines by her bed.”
I freeze, latte hovering just below my lips. I could explain.
I could end this charade right now.
But she looks so happy. Glowing.
So instead, I swallow the truth—along with the first sip of lukewarm decaf—and then let out a dry laugh. “I’m good. No saltines necessary.” And then I latch onto something I’d been worried about. “I’m so sorry about the boat yesterday. I didn’t think it’d be so—well…”
“Rustic?” Luna offers with a grin.
I wince. “That. And also maybe… murdery on the stomach?”
“Oh my God, Ash.” She loops her arm through mine as we start toward the salon. “You worry way too much. It was perfect. Memorable. Roger and Helen said the Booze Cruise from Hell made them grateful to be alive. Tay says Julio gave her his phone number. And Josie’s hoping the videos she took go viral.”
That’s just… great.
“Wait.” I pause. “Who’s calling it theBooze Cruise from Hell?”
“Babs wanted me to thank you. She swears she lost five pounds.”
“No, seriously. Who’s calling it that?”
