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Ethan noticed her hand move behind her back, balling her fist as they clinked glasses. Whatever they were toasting to, it was obvious she wanted to get the hell away from him.

Ugh, that poor woman.

“Ethan, honey, you gotta try these little shrimp things.” Joyce slurred, shoving a plate at him as she swayed. “They’re so damn good!”

Ethan’s brow arched. “Joyce, how many of those have you had?”

Joyce shoved another hors d'oeuvre into her mouth before standing back and crossing her arms. “You know what your problem is, sweetie?”

How much time do you have?

She wagged a finger at him. “Ya’ think too much.”

Ethan scoffed, looking out at the dark water. “I do not,” he said, knowing damn well it was true.

“Ya’ gotta relax. Enjoy yourself. You can still have fun…” She paused, covering her mouth and whispering louder than she thought she was. “Even at this asshat’s party.”

Ethan smiled as Joyce nudged his shoulder. Despite everything, she made him feel a little better.

“I’m just sayin’, honey. You’re young. You should be talkin’ to people and havin’ fun. Not—” She paused and crossed his arms, mimicking his rigid stance. “Not standin’ in the corner like some kinda sad statue.”

He forced a laugh. “I’m not sad,” he murmured. “I’m fine, Joyce. Just a little sea-sick, that’s all.”

Joyce studied him for a moment, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses. She finally gave up and shrugged it off as she downed the rest of her champagne in one gulp. “Suit yourself, sweetie. But if you ask me,” she said, gesturing toward the bar. “You should go talk to the cutie in the black dress you keep googly-eyeing.” She paused, craning her head and squinting. “Oh, wait, she just left. Damn.”

Ethan’s eyes darted back across the deck. He barely caught the billowing fabric of her black dress as she disappeared around the corner toward the back of the yacht. Preston trailed not far behind her, stumbling through the crowd.

The tightness in his chest got worse.

Joyce waved herself away, stumbling off as she slurred back at him. “Alright, I’m gonna go find some more of those shrimp things.”

Ethan turned back and gripped the railing, scrunching his face.

My head is pounding, he thought.

There was too much going on, and he needed to get away from the crowd. Making his way through the sea of people, the sounds of raucous laughter, clinking glasses, and obnoxious conversations pressed in on him.

All the sounds blurred together, only adding to the mounting pressure in his head.

Reaching the other end of the yacht, Ethan gripped the railing until his knuckles went white. The cool metal beneath his palms grounded him, but not by much. He pressed his eyes shut as the wind blew past, tousling his hair.

Ethan exhaled as he stared out into the water. It was completely dark now, and the water below was black and endless. White foam churned in the wake as the yacht cut through the Bay. He found himself lost in it, the sounds of the party becoming muted and distant around him.

His lungs felt like they were caving in. Am I having a panic attack? His chest rose and fell in rapid succession.

He shouldn't be here. Should have just stayed home. Standing on Preston Willows’ yacht pretending like everything was just fine when his world had imploded less than twenty-four hours ago.

The girl he cared so much for had ripped his heart out, and he still didn't understand why or what she was hiding from him.

Evie’s words echoed in his mind.

Pathetic loser.

I don't want you.

You were a mistake.

He pressed his forehead to the back of his hands as they gripped the railing, the salty air filling his nose.