Chapter 13 Reckless
RECKLESS
BECKETT
I’m mad.
Pissed.
But not at her.
At myself.
The cabin door shuts behind me, and I just start walking. No idea where I’m headed. My pulse is pounding, my brain a hurricane of everything I should’ve said—everything I thought would work.
I’d really believed I could talk her around.
Hell, I’d half expected I could earn my way back into that bed with her. Take advantage of the romance, the stateroom, the champagne I’d ordered, now sitting in a bucket of cold water.
One good night—that’s all it should take to start fixing things.
At least, that’s what I’d told myself.
But then...
“I don’t love you anymore.”
Ashley doesn’t say things she doesn’t mean.
I grip the railing as I pass through the corridor, the ship rocking gently beneath my feet. This last year has been hell. For both of us.
I’m trying to protect her, damnit. I just need a little more time to make things right, to clean up the mess before it touches her or the boys.
I’d just assumed she’d be there after. But now…
“I don’t love you anymore.”
The words hollow me out all over again.
She’d said other things, things I’d known already. Things she’d told me before…
But today. Tonight, it’s different.
She’s different.
Closed off. Quiet. All the things she’s said I’ve become.
And… I deserve it.
“I hated the person I was becoming—waiting for you to notice me.”
I drift through mostly empty corridors until the low thrum of music pulls me toward one of the ship’s smaller bars—The Brass Compass. The lights are low and the music’s quiet.
A few women at a high-top pause their laughter to glance over when I step in, but I barely see them.
“Beckett!”
When a voice cuts through the din, I spot a tall guy with sun-bleached hair and a cocky grin waving me over. Rocky. One of Noah’s friends, the helicopter pilot.
He raises his glass. “Over here, man!”
The last thing I want right now is to make small talk about the wedding, or anything, really. At least it looks like Rocky is alone.
I weave through the crowd and take the empty stool beside him. The women nearby visibly deflate, and Rocky chuckles. “You just ruined my odds, Carrington.”
I manage a half smile and gesture to a spot at the end of the bar. “I can—”
“Nah, just joking.” He studies me for a second, head cocked. “What’s your poison?”
I pause.
Sugar told me to keep my head on straight. Keep my wits about me.
I glance at the bartender. “Whiskey. Neat.”
He pours a generous shot, sets it down, and I knock it back in one swallow.
Exactly what I need.
Rocky’s watching me over the rim of his glass. “That bad, huh? You look like hell, man.”
“I feel like hell,” I admit, rubbing the back of my neck.
He nods, slow, like he’s taking inventory. “You’re Luna’s brother-in-law, right? The finance guy?”
“For now.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
Rocky’s brows go up. “Oh yeah? And which part is up in the air, exactly?”
I don’t answer, just staring into the empty shot glass.
“I don’t love you anymore.”
The words replay like a skip in a record.
Rocky doesn’t push. He just signals the bartender for another round.
“Keep ’em coming, Emilio,” Rocky says. “My buddy here’s having a night.”
The barkeep’s mouth quirks. “Came to the right place then.” He pours heavy.
I down the second glass slower than the first and wait to feel something other than the excruciating ache where my heart is supposed to be.
Rocky’s quiet, but watchful. “She kick you out or what?”
“Something like that.”
“You deserve it?”
“Yup.”
“Shit.” And then he shakes his head. “Didn’t take you for the type who’d cheat on a good woman.”
That sobers me fast. “I didn’t cheat.” My voice comes out rough. “Only woman I’ve ever wanted is Ashley.”
He nods once. “Good. ’Cause that’s a hell of a mistake to try to come back from.”
We drink in silence for a few minutes. The group of women giggle, sneaking glances at Rocky—he’s got that rough and tumble golden retriever look going for him—but he ignores them. There’s something in his eyes, a weight that doesn’t match the easy grin.
And because I’m not gonna sit here talking about myself, I glance over.
“You learn to fly in the military?”
“Navy.”
“How long?”
He kind of winces. “Too long. Not long enough.” His tone’s light, but there’s an edge to it. “Ten years in sand and rotor wash makes you realize all the stuff you thought mattered doesn’t mean jack.”
“I could see that.” I’d been consumed with maintaining our standard of living. For Ashley. Securing our future. Maybe a little more…
But without her, without my family, it doesn’t mean jack…
We drink in silence for the next few minutes. I ask about flying, about his current job. He describes how he landed the gig, and that it’s a good fit, but that he can’t see himself doing it forever.
I don’t press. I don’t ask him what forever looks like to him. But before I can change the subject to something innocuous—like the last Patriots game, or, hell, maybe he follows the Cardinals? —he tips his head toward me again.
“You wanna know what really matters? The woman who still picks up when you call from a different time zone.”
I huff out a humorless laugh. I’d spent way too many nights in different time zones. I hadn't been on the other side of the world, but I might as well have been.
A few more drinks. Disjointed conversation… And then.
Rocky leans back on his stool, eyes half-lidded. “If it isn’t another woman, what is it?”
“I—” I take a pull from my drink. Third? Fifth? I’ve lost track.
“I’m in trouble. Legal stuff. Trying to fix it. But until then…” I shake my head, staring into the glass. “I’m stuck.” Right between the proverbial rock and hard place.
Rocky waits.
“I shouldn’t even be talking about it.” If I could, I'd have told her everything. “And that’s the problem.”
I swallow. “I kept telling myself this was temporary. That once they have what they need, we can go back to normal.” My jaw tightens. “Turns out, you don’t get to hit pause on your life like that.”
Rocky exhales slowly. “Jesus, Beckett.”
“She’s through with me,” I say quietly. “I thought I had more time.”
Rocky studies me, eyes narrowing. “What the hell is so bad,” he asks carefully, “that you can’t tell your wife?”
I pinch my mouth together. Then I shake my head. “I can’t say.”
“You can’t say.” I apparently found the right guy to hang out with, because although there’s confusion in his voice, I don’t hear judgement.
More silence. More drinks.
Then Rocky asks, “So what now?”
I’m not sure he expects an answer.
I’m not sure I have one.
“I thought…” I shake my head, a hollow sound scraping out of my chest. “I thought I could use this cruise to romance her.... Order her favorite flowers. Champagne. Set the stage...”
The words taste stupid as soon as they’re out.
Like I could patch a year of absence with sunsets and proximity. Like a few nice dinners could fix what I’d systematically ignored.
I’d honestly believed I was doing this for us. For our family. That if I just got through the worst of it, everything else would fall back into place.
Naive doesn’t even begin to cover it.
I laugh under my breath, sharp and humorless. “She’s already got the divorce papers ready.”
Rocky goes still.
“But you still love her,” he says. Not a question.
“Hell yes.”
“Does she know that?”
“It doesn’t matter…”
He studies me for a long moment, then tips back his drink. “Fighter pilots have a saying,” he says finally. “When everything’s blown to hell, you don’t play defense.”
I glance at him. I’ve been playing defense all year.
He leans in slightly. “If she already thinks it’s over, then you don’t half-ass it, man. You don’t ease in. You go big.”
I nod, then immediately regret it when the bar tilts.
Go big.
The idea lands like a flare in the dark—stupid, improbable. But maybe…
I rake a hand through my hair, searching for something. Anything that might still reach her.
“Like what?” I mutter. “I can’t exactly rent a plane out here. Fly a banner over the ship that says, ‘forgive me for being an asshole’.”
Rocky snorts. “It would be a start."
“What about fireworks?” I push on. “Have drones spell her name across the ocean. Is that even legal? Definitely expensive.”
“Romantic, though.”
“I could hijack the PA system,” I say, basically spitballing it now. “Make my big apology to her in front of a few thousand strangers.”
Rocky winces. “That might get you thrown overboard.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “She’d hate it anyway.”
The truth of it settles in, heavy and undeniable.
“She doesn’t want loud,” I say. “She needs to know I’m her forever.”
That’s when the bartender drifts back, polishing a glass, expression unreadable.
“What kind of forever are you talking about?”
“The death do us part kind.” I sound damn sober when I put it that way.
I don’t love you anymore.
Rocky leans forward. “Hey Emilio, you know this ship better than anyone. Got any ideas for my friend to prove he’d do anything to win back his wife?”
The bartender chuckles. “Deck seven. ‘Ink & Anchor.’ Tattoo studio. Open all night.”
A tattoo studio… Huh.
Rocky’s head snaps toward me, and for a long, stupid second we just stare at each other.
“No,” he says flatly. “Absolutely not.”
I narrow my eyes back at him. “I thought you said now wasn’t the time to play defense.”
“This isn’t offense, man, it’s sabotage. You don’t get inked drunk. That shit is permanent, man.”
Permanent. The word bounces around my skull, sluggish and distant.
I look down at the bar, then back up at him. “That’s what I want. Permanent.” Hell, maybe a little physical pain will distract me from everything hurting inside.
Rocky opens his mouth, then closes it again.
I picture it without meaning to—her name, written across my skin. Close to my heart. Not flashy, but something I can’t hide.
Maybe it’s the whiskey. Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe it’s the part of me that’s tired of being careful.
“I’m done keeping my head down,” I say. “Done pretending I can fix this by behaving.”
Rocky studies me, searching for hesitation.
He doesn’t find it.
“This isn’t about fixing my marriage,” I add, because I need to be honest about that part. “It’s about remembering who the hell I am. And maybe—” I swallow. “Maybe giving her a sign that I’m not giving up. That I’m all in.” Hiccup. “Forever.”
Rocky exhales slowly. “You’re really doing this.”
“Yeah,” I say, already pushing off the bar. “I am.”
The floor tilts as we head for the elevator.
Time to play a little offense…