Chapter 31 The Resort
THE RESORT
ASHLEY
Iwatch my boys disappear toward the beach with Beckett, Babs, my mom, and the rest of Luna’s bus friends, each of them carting towels, sunscreen, and a level of enthusiasm I absolutely do not have today.
We may be at a ritzy resort in Mazatlán, but I have work to do.
I claim a shady table near the pool’s edge and wipe it down with a disposable wipe.
With that taken care of, I line up my day planner, notepad, pencil, pen, highlighter, and my phone.
Everything in its place. I didn’t risk bringing my laptop, but I don’t need it—not for this.
Vendor confirmations, seating chart revisions, contingency plans in case of a floral catastrophe.
I even downloaded a romance novel to my Kindle app—as a reward for being efficient.
Disciplined. Focused. Responsible. That’s who I am.
Usually.
Because once I sit down? I do none of it.
I tap my pen against the edge of the planner for five whole minutes, read over my list twice, and scribble one half-hearted to-do on a sticky note—which immediately lifts off in the breeze and lands face-up in the pool.
I stare at it, watching it drift across the turquoise water.
It’s not the resort that’s distracting me. Not the soft island music, not the sound of splashing water or distant laughter, or the waiter offering guests another round of margaritas.
It’s Beckett.
Beckett, who’s out there on the beach with our boys, acting like everything is perfectly normal.
Maybe he’s just better at this, at pretending, than I am.
He hasn’t tried to talk to me since last night—but I know he’s wanted to. I’ve felt it. In the quiet looks, in the way he hovered near me while we stood around waiting for our shuttle.
But I didn’t give him an opening. I wouldn’t let him pull me aside.
Because if he tries to talk, I might listen. And if he tells me the same thing again, I might just break.
So…
No.
Just no.
I am fine. I have work to do.
Even if my chest is tight and my head is spinning and my throat is doing that weird thing like I’m about to cry, even though nothing’s happened.
I snap the planner shut and force myself to take a deep breath.
Get it together.
I absolutely should not dwell on last night, before the call, when Beckett had been so sweet, so giving…so…
God, so sexy—but then answered his phone and walked away.
I slip off my coverup, toss it over the back of my chair, and wade into the pool to try and find my wayward post-it note. I can’t find it. And when my sunglasses slide down my nose as I half walk, half float through the water, I find myself moving towards the festive little hut at the other end.
A few seconds later, I’m perched at the swim-up bar, enjoying a pretty spectacular view of the beach.
“Buenas tardes, senorita!” The bartender greets me like I’m the best thing to happen to him all day. His name tag says “Alphonso” and his teeth flash white against his tanned skin. “You let Alphonso put a smile on your pretty face today, yes?”
I don’t actually roll my eyes, but I’m close. “Just a drink.” I eye the sodas, the vodka… “I’ll have a—”
“I know what you need… the Alphonso Special.”
He says it like it’s trademarked.
I don’t have the heart to say no.
Moments later, he slides a tall, frosty concoction across the counter, served in a giant plastic pineapple, garnished with not one but two umbrellas, and a small shish kebab of tropical fruit.
One sip and I’m in trouble. Pineapple, banana, coconut, orange liqueur—and something else I can’t name but definitely feel behind my eyes.
It’s sweet. It’s dangerous. It goes down too easily.
Obviously, I order another.
I’m halfway through round two when Tay drifts up beside me, hair slicked back from the water, face suspiciously amused.
“Alphonso Special?” she asks, eyeing my drink.
“No comment.”
She leans her elbows on the bar. “So… not pregnant, then?”
I chuckle into my straw. “Not pregnant.”
She nods, not smug, just… observant. “Didn’t think so.”
I raise an eyebrow. “How long have you been sitting on that one?”
“Since the spa. I love Luna, but she can be a little… oblivious.”
Ha. “Well, she is a little distracted this week.”
Alphonso sets a drink in front of Tay without her even having to ask, and she takes a sip, her gaze focused on the beach, tracking Luna as she flits across the sand, glowing in a white gauzy cover-up and a fashionable sunhat.
“I’m so glad everything worked out for those two,” Tay says.
“I’m really happy for her.”
And I am. I really am.
But the words feel thick on my tongue. Like I have to force them into the air.
Tay shoots me a look over the rim of her drink. “But…?”
“But what? Nothing.”
But then, when Tay just keeps looking at me, I add: “Beckett and I are…”
My throat closes around the rest. I can’t even say the word.
“I get it.” Tay’s voice is soft now. “You don’t want your problems to take away from the wedding. You’re a good sister.”
I smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. Because the truth is…
I’ve spent my whole life being the responsible one. The good sister. The good daughter. The good wife. The good mom. The one who never made messes because I was too busy cleaning up everyone else’s.
And I was okay with that. It’s who I am.
But on the flip side of that…
Because my sister has been willing to make mistakes, she’s experienced more adventures than I’ll ever know. She’s taken the time to chase things, and now she’s getting everything she ever wanted.
And I’m… not.
I’m the one being left behind.
I shake the thought off, forcing my attention back to the pool. To the sunshine.
It doesn’t mean I’m not happy for her. Because I am. I am totally happy for Luna.
I swallow hard. “She would do the same for me.” I lean against the bar, let the water lap around me. “It’s just a week. Besides, you only get married once.”
“Theoretically,” Tay adds.
I turn around to see what she’s looking at.
Across the sand, Luna and Noah are getting strapped into a kite-like contraption. After a few minutes, they take off—literally—parasailing into the sky like two lovebirds. Everyone cheers. Josie, of course, is holding up her iPad videoing them.
Tay nudges me. “You should do it.”
“What? No way.” If I was the sort of person who snorted, I would have then. “I’m not the best swimmer.”
Tay just shrugs. “There’s this really cool invention. It’s called a life vest.”
Luckily I have another perfect excuse. “Beckett can’t get in the water…” I don’t bother explaining why because apparently everyone knows…
“Do it alone,” Tay suggests.
At first, it sounds absurd. I’m not a thrill-seeker. I’m not the woman who does wild, spontaneous things.
But… could I be?
Maybe it’s Alphonso’s special blend kicking in, or maybe it’s something deeper. Something shifting inside me—uncoiling after a year of tight control.
Whatever it is, I don’t fight it.
I let Tay drag me out of the pool and lead me barefoot across the hot sand to where most of the wedding guests have set up.
Just as we arrive, Luna and Noah come striding out of the surf, windblown and grinning. They're soaked from the waist down, hand-in-hand, looking like they just stepped off the cover of a honeymoon brochure.
My mom is tearing up. Josie’s mumbling something about "iconic content."
Noah lifts their clasped hands in victory, flashing that doctor-next-door smile. “Who's next?”
Everyone laughs. The obvious answer is no one.
But before I can stop myself—before I can remember who I usually am—I hear my own voice cut through the buzz.
“I am!”
The world tilts for a second. Heads turn. Even Luna’s brows shoot up.
Tay does a double take. “You will?”
I shrug, ignoring the flutter in my stomach. “Why not?”
A beat passes. Then the twins scramble up from where they’ve been digging around in the sand, castle molds and plastic buckets scattered everywhere.
“Are you seriously gonna do it, Mom?” Max’s eyes are wide open.
Blakey is frowning. “But… it’s the ocean.”
“I’m aware,” I say dryly.
“What if there’s sharks?” Max asks.
“Or… or whales?” Blakey adds, his eyes wide. “What if you fall in and a whale swallows you like in Pinocchio?”
“Or worse,” Max whispers. “A peanut butter jellyfish.”
I pause. “A what?”
“A jellyfish made of peanut butter and jelly,” he explains patiently. “You’d get stung and sticky.”
And then Blakey puts his hands on his hips. “You don’t like to swim, Mom.”
Tay kneels down beside them. “She’ll be wearing a life vest, guys. That keeps people above water even if they can’t swim at all. It’s totally safe.”
“You guys don’t need to worry about your mom,” Beckett says, suddenly right beside me.
I haven’t decided if I’m softening, or just keeping up the illusion of marital bliss. But when his hands brush my shoulders, I don’t stop him.
That’s the moment I realize—No one is going to stop me.
Not that I was hoping for that.
Because I wasn’t.
Really.
I can do reckless. I can do wild.
And I’ll be wearing a life vest.
“I’m doing it,” I say again, louder this time.
Apparently, I, Ashley Carrington—responsible wife, competent mother, soon-to-be divorcée—am going to launch my ass into the sky behind a boat today.
Noah flags down the parasail crew—the guys in bright shirts under a beach umbrella.
They fit me with a life jacket and quick-release harness, slap a paper wristband on my arm, and point us toward a small skiff bobbing just offshore.
We wade in to our knees, climb aboard, and in under two minutes they’re ferrying us out to the winch boat for a dry, on-deck takeoff.
I straighten, turning on Beckett. “I’m going up by myself,” I say, sharper than I meant to—because the idea of him doing this with me feels like cheating. Like it won’t count if I’m not alone up there.
Beckett blinks, but then, after a second, just nods. “I’ll be on the boat,” he says, meeting my eyes. “Just in case.”
Just in case.
The words hang between us. I glance out toward the sea—vast, blue, endless—and something cold slithers down my spine. What the hell am I doing?
“I mean, maybe—”
“You’ve got this.” His hand closes around mine. “Ash. You’ve got this.”
“It’s not like you can jump in and save me,” I murmur, barely audible over the engine’s roar. “Don’t forget about your piercing.”
Beckett turns, his expression dead serious. “If you need me, I’ll save you.” His gaze doesn’t waver. “You know that, don’t you?”
I do, actually.
Despite everything—despite the silence, the distance, the past year of unraveling—I trust Beckett with my life.
Just… not with my heart.
That’s why I can’t just forget and forgive.
The crew straps me in, tightens the buckles, checks the rig.
One of them flashes me a thumbs-up.
This is it.
I glance over my shoulder—and Beckett is there.
Not looking panicked. Not trying to stop me. His arms are crossed, his jaw relaxed, but there’s something in his eyes—curious, focused. Like he’s seeing me. The person.
It’s not that I don’t know what I do at home is important, because it is! And I love it. Usually. But that endless sort of routine… it makes you kind of numb inside…
And right now, I’m feeling something I haven’t felt in I don’t know how long.
Not afraid.
Alive.
Clutching the bars, I look down.
Ripples from the boat, cresting, foaming, dancing. I think I spot a fish. I hope it’s a fish. Not a shark.
“On three, Senorita.” Then. “Uno. Dos. Tres.”
My stomach swoops.
And then—I’m the one swooping.
Before I realize what’s happening, the chute catches, yanking me up with a sudden, powerful jerk that steals the breath from my lungs.
Oh my God! I’m doing it!
The water falls away. The boat gets smaller. The noise of the engine fades until all I hear is wind.
It’s… quiet.
So much quieter than I expected.
I float. No, I fly.
The resort unfolds below me, white rooftops glinting in the sun. The shoreline curves like a smile, and the sea stretches into forever. And down on the beach, I see them—my boys—two tiny figures waving and jumping up and down.
A laugh bursts from my chest—part shock, part joy, part pure, stupid awe.
I kick my legs, just because I can.
I’m flying.
I’m flying!
Tears spring to my eyes, sudden and inexplicable. I could blame the wind, but it’s more than that.
I think of my dad out of nowhere. Of something he told me once, on a road trip when I was twelve and mad we were camping instead of going to Disneyland: “We don’t travel just to see new places. We go away so we can step away from our lives, be someone different, learn something new.”
See things in a different light.
And from up here… I do.
I see everything. Luna, laughing with Noah. My mom with one hand on each of my boys’ shoulders as they watch me soar. Babs waving her floppy hat, her cover-up blowing in the wind.
And standing in the boat at the end of the rope keeping me tethered, Beckett, one hand lifted, shading his eyes so he can see me.
I should shoot him an angry glare. I hate that he left me last night. But… I don’t want to feel that way today.
So I shakily let go of the bar I’d been clutching and wave.
My husband waves back.
My husband.
Still mine. For now, at least.
I swipe at my eyes and then grab the bar again.
Maybe this isn’t forever, not the way it used to be, but right now? Right now I want to bottle this.
This view.
This feeling.
I’m too high up for the what-ifs to reach me.
And as they start reeling me back toward the boat, something clicks into place—quiet and simple.
Maybe when you stop bracing for everything to go wrong, you finally start noticing what’s going right. I didn’t just survive this, I… had a blast!
When the crew unclips me from all the straps, my legs are shaking, and the second my feet hit the deck, I fly straight into Beckett’s arms.
Not because I’m scared. Not out of desperation.
Because I’m exhilarated. And he’s there. And because he’s always been my person.
He catches me without hesitation, arms wrapping around me tight, lifting me just enough to make me laugh. I press my face to his neck and breathe him in.
We’re laughing.
God, we’re laughing.
Later, once I’m back on the cruise ship—once the adrenaline wears off and my feet are flat on solid ground—I’ll overthink this. I’ll dissect every second of it, the way I always do.
Just…
Not right now.