Chapter 26 Aloe Vera and Cold Showers
ALOE VERA AND COLD SHOWERS
ASHLEY
By the time I come out of the shower, in my shorty pajamas, toweling my hair dry, the sun is setting. Through the glass doors, I can see it sinking behind the rock formations and arches in the distance and… it’s breathtaking.
Still, it doesn’t hold my attention as much as the man standing in front of it.
Beckett’s leaning against the railing, a glass of wine in hand.
Bittersweet. That’s what this entire cruise is turning out to be.
Bittersweet.
He must hear me because he turns, the fading light spilling over his face before he steps inside.
Seeing him like this—barefoot, quiet—makes me wish I could just let go. Forget all the reasons I’m angry. Forget the way he made me feel small when I needed him to see me.
He sets his glass down and his gaze drifts down the length of me, slow and deliberate.
“You’re sunburnt,” he says.
“Just a little.” I tug at my strap, fingertips brushing the tender skin near my collarbone. “I wore sunscreen. I just didn’t expect to bake for five hours.”
I pluck a bottle of aloe vera from one of my bags, mostly just to give myself something to do with my hands.
“Shower’s free,” I point out unnecessarily, because apparently I’ve forgotten how to make conversation.
He smiles—small, lopsided. It’s a little apologetic, a little understanding, and just a little frustrated. His gaze flicks to the aloe, then to me.
“Turn around,” he says quietly, holding out a hand. “I’ll get your back.”
I could say no. I should say no.
But instead, I hand him the bottle.
Our fingers brush, linger—and that tiny, incidental touch feels like déjà vu.
When he steps closer, the air shifts.
Then, oh, so gently, he moves my damp hair over one shoulder. I shiver when his knuckles scrape my neck, and then again, when the cool gel touches my skin.
His touch is light but thorough, his palms spreading the aloe over my shoulders, then down between my shoulder blades. He’s giving this more attention than necessary, and I hate that it feels so good.
My breath catches. My heart pounds.
If I’d just been honest with Luna from the start. If I’d admitted to everyone—to myself—that Beckett and I were already falling apart, maybe I wouldn’t be standing here, tormenting myself with what I’m giving up. With what we’re both giving up.
To be fair, when I told him to come on the cruise, I hadn’t expected this Beckett.
I’d expected the broody, distant one. The Beckett who never looked up from his phone. The one who, at some point, stopped meeting my eyes.
That Beckett would’ve been easy to dismiss. Predictable.
Safe.
This one—quiet, attentive, careful with his hands—feels dangerous.
He drags his palms lightly down my back one last time, and then caps the bottle with a soft click. Before I can turn to face him, there’s a knock at the door.
“Room service!”
He exhales, a low sigh against my hair, and steps back.
“I’ll get it,” he says.
I retreat to the balcony, pretending to admire the last sliver of sun sinking behind the horizon. The sea glitters, calm and endless, and I focus on the sound of the waves instead of the rush in my chest.
Behind me, I hear the cart rolling in, the clink of plates, the murmur of Beckett’s voice as he signs the check.
When I turn, the room is empty again, but there’s light visible through the crack in the bathroom door.
I press my palms to the railing and stare out at the fading light, telling myself the warmth on my cheeks is from the sun.
It’s definitely not from my husband.
Beckett
The shower hisses to life, and I twist the knob hard toward cold.
The water hits me like a punishment. I let it.
For a few seconds, I just stand there, head bowed, watching the stream run off my shoulders and down the drain.
My body is one long ache of exhaustion, frustration, and want.
Right now, mostly want.
I scrub my face and try to focus on the sting instead of the heat crawling under my skin. The damn piercing doesn’t help—still tender, still reminding me of my own stupidity. I grit my teeth and rinse the soap away, ignoring the throb.
When she came out of the bathroom earlier, damp hair clinging to her shoulders, wearing those barely-there pajamas that did absolutely nothing to hide her curves, I almost lost it.
And when I touched her shoulders, felt her shiver under my hands.
.. it was the kind of moment I never would have walked away from before.
But I did. Because I’ve lost that right, for now, anyway.
How the hell had I let things go this far?
It’s like something in me short-circuited last year—maybe even died.
I hear the phone buzzing by the sink even over the hiss of the water. And I fucking hate it. I hate that my instinct is to jump—to give them everything I can until there’s nothing left.
Fucking Aurum Micro-PIPE Units.
I’d followed my instincts and gone all in. At first, it had paid off. God, did it pay off. For a while, I thought I’d made the smartest move of my life.
Only it was just the opposite.
And now I’m doing everything I can to undo it—lying, conning, entering deals I have no intention of closing, accessing correspondence I have no business seeing—but I’m close.
If I’m lucky, it will never touch Ashley or the boys.
After nearly a year, it’s almost over. A few more weeks. Then maybe I’ll finally be able to breathe again.
The phone falls silent. Unanswered.
For now.
The timing of this cruise wasn’t ideal. But after eighteen days away from my wife and my kids, I latched onto it like it was my last lifeline.
Eighteen days in a furnished apartment that looked like no one lived there.
No photos. No noise. No life.
No love.
I should’ve seen it sooner. Should’ve realized I’d pushed too far before it came to this.
She kicked me out. Started sketching shared custody schedules like she was already rehearsing life without me.
By then, it felt like it was over—like no matter what happened with the firm, I’d already missed my window.
Coming to the wedding, being here now, it gives me access again. But as good as it feels just to be with her, to be able to touch her, even if she thinks it’s pretend, I know deep down that it isn’t gonna be enough.
The only thing that will win Ashley back is the truth.
And I can’t give her that until this is finished—until I’m either free… or sitting in a cell somewhere.
But I’ve got one last ace in my pocket.
I’ve been saving it, though, because once I play it, there’s no undoing the fallout.
I turn off the water, grab a towel, and stare at my reflection in the fogged mirror.
I look tired. Older. Like a man running out of time.
Which I am. And that’s how I make my decision. I don’t have my laptop anymore, but that’s fine. I can do what I need to do from the ship’s business center.
But not tonight.
Tonight is about Ashley.
Whatever she needs. Whatever she wants.
Because that’s how it should have been all along.
She might think I’m just going through the motions—but she’s wrong. This isn’t pretend.
Ashley—my beautiful Ashley—and the boys are my whole world.
And when this is over, when I finally come clean, I’m not losing sight of that ever again.