Chapter 17
Stretching, I wake up to the sunlight streaming through the balcony door and the ship’s horn announcing our arrival in Nassau.
As I reach my arms above my head, I tip my toes, stretching them out further too. Every single part of my body aches, but I feel so alive.
When my hands come down, I reach across the sheets, seeking Zach’s warmth, only, he’s not there. His side of the bed is cool to the touch, so I lift my head off the pillow and look over to the bathroom.
“Zach?” I call.
Silence.
The ocean waves crash against the ship, and I can hear a few people laughing in the distance as they disembark, but no Zach.
I sit up, push my hair out of my face, and look around the room.
“Zach?” His suitcase isn’t by the closet where I remember seeing it last night, his phone charger isn’t plugged in by the desk, and his shoes aren’t kicked off by the door.
My stomach drops.
No.
I throw the covers off and stand, my legs still a little shaky from last night.
“Zach?” I call louder this time, checking the bathroom even though I know it’s hopeless.
Empty.
He’s not there.
None of his stuff is either.
He left.
I can barely comprehend it.
“Zach, where are you?” My voice is shaky, and my knees give out when I see everything from last night on the balcony is gone too. There’s no beer bottle, and the chairs have been returned to their original positions.
He’s gone. Zach left me.
He left.
My knees give out, and my world feels like it’s caving in.
“No. No. No. No,” I cry, pulling my legs into me and rocking.
He said he was going to leave, but after last night and everything that happened, I just—I guess I thought he’d stay.
Instead, he just had sex with me and left.
Did he finally realize how much I’d ruin him?
The thought sits at the back of my mind, my vision blurring as I look up into the room.
That’s when I see it.
There’s a cream-colored envelope on the nightstand with my name written across the front in Zach’s terrible handwriting.
And next to it—
Oh no.
A familiar, small, blue velvet box.
I pull myself up off the ground and make my way over to the table. My knees knock, my hands are shaking and as I pick up the envelope and prepare myself for whatever’s inside.
I sit on the edge of the bed and carefully open the envelope to find two pages of ship notepad paper, covered front and back in Zach's messy handwriting. Words are crossed out and rewritten with entire sentences scratched through and started over.
I don’t want to read it, but I feel like I have to at this point, so I take a shaky breath and start.
Honeycomb,
You’re going to be pissed I didn’t wake you up.
I thought about it countless times. I tried to convince myself that I’d have the restraint to wake you up and say goodbye so I could leave properly.
But then I remembered that I’m Zach Evans.
And you’re my Honeycomb.
I couldn’t risk it, so I’m sorry I didn’t. You have every right to be angry with me, but if I stayed, I’d just keep doing what I’ve been doing the whole time.
Showing up. Refusing to leave. Giving you no space to figure out what you actually want because I’m always right there, making it harder.
I get it now.
I get why you need to find yourself without me first.
You deserve that. You deserve to finish this cruise alone and figure out what comes next for you and only you.
That’s why I’m finally doing what everyone who loves you has been trying to tell me to do since the beginning.
I’m getting out of your way.
Just remember, you did the zip line, Honeycomb. You're going to be fine whatever you do.
I love you. I’ve loved you since the first day I spoke to you, and there hasn’t been a single morning since I met you that you weren’t my first thought.
Go find yourself Hunniford Sanderson, and once you have, come find me.
Yours (always),
Zach
P.S. I left your ring because I still want to build a life with you.
I’ll want that whether it’s two months, or two years.
That will never change. I want you to be happy.
It’s the only thing I want, and if that means it’s without me, then I’ll figure it out, but no matter what, that ring is still yours.
The words blur and I have to wipe away the tears before they drop onto the paper. I read it again. Then a third time, hoping that I misread it, and it will say something different.
It doesn’t.
With each reread, I’m left feeling hollower than before.
My grip tightens on the page.
How does he get to say all of that—say that he loves me like that—and still leave?
I shake my head; the thought hitting too hard, too fast.
Because he’s right.
My chest tightens, and as much as I don’t want to admit it, I know he’s right. I hate it, but he is.
Every time I start to figure things out, he shows up. And every time he shows up, I fall back into the easy comfort of pushing him away instead of pushing myself forward.
Last night, when he told me he was leaving, my instincts took over. I didn’t want him to go, and at that moment, I convinced myself that choosing him was the right choice, and I was ready for whatever being with him meant.
But was I ready? Or was I just tired of trying to figure out who I am?
I don't know, and that's exactly his point.
My hands are shaking as I set the letter down and pick up the blue velvet box. I stare at it for a long moment, my thumb tracing the worn edges, before I finally open it.
The ring sits there, shining in the morning light. Everything about this ring is perfect. The gold honeycomb band, the beautiful diamond in the center—it’s everything I could’ve wanted, and nothing I’d have been able to imagine. Zach did, though, because he knows me better than I know myself.
I close the box with a snap, my chest so tight I can barely breathe.
He left.
I don’t want him to go,
I grab my phone off the nightstand where it's been charging all night. My hands are still shaking as I unlock it and pull up his contact.
It's a photo of us from his first ever game at St. Michael's. He's holding me in a piggyback, smiling because he just won the game. I'm smiling, too because it was before everything went to shit. We both look so happy. So sure of each other.
My thumb hovers over his name for what feels like an eternity.
Call him.
Don't call him.
Call him.
Don't.
The decision oscillates in my mind, over and over again.
What would calling him accomplish?
He'd answer and explain everything he did in the letter. He wouldn't come back. I know Zach well enough to know that when he makes a decision, it's final.
He wants me to find myself before I find him.
So, I don't call him. Instead, I lock the phone and set it face down on the nightstand.
Then I sit there for a long moment, just me and the ring box in Zach's empty cabin with the sound of the ocean and the distant noise of the ship waking up around me.
Doors opening. Footsteps as people walk down the hall. Someone laughing in the corridor.
The world, apparently, continues even though mine has taken a massive shift.
I pick the box back up. Turn it over in my hands once. Twice.
He's been carrying this for years, waiting for me to become the version of myself that can accept it.
I’m not worthy yet, but maybe that’s where I start.
I close my fingers around the box, take my pile of clothes from the bed, and walk to the door. As I step out of the room, I take one final look at the rumpled sheets over my shoulder, determined more than ever to become someone worth loving.