3. Eliza
Chapter three
Eliza
I didn’t see Corey the following morning at breakfast, even if, as much as it pains me to admit, that was the only reason I’d even bothered to drag myself out of bed early enough to be showered and ready for it.
It’s dumb, I know, to automatically assume that it’s because he’s avoiding me. Dumb to even think I take up that much of a place in his mind after a single day. But he invited me to drinks . No. He invited me to the bar, a public space that he knew would be crowded so I’d feel safe, to make sure I was okay after getting a faceful of cruise ship. And then he left last night, promptly after realizing I might be buzzed, but was not concussed.
I should be grateful. I know that. Corey stuck to his word—he made sure I was okay. That’s all.
But I guess after last night I was hoping we’d be friendly, at least. Even just for the duration of the cruise. Because, at breakfast, as I glanced around and pretended to just be admiring the pale blues and creamy whites that adorned the dining hall while searching for any sign of the tall, tanned, dark-haired man I’d quickly warmed to, I realized that everyone in there had someone with them but me. A group of friends, an elderly couple, a honeymooning couple. A family, even. Everywhere I looked, there were at least two at a table.
For everyone but me, anyway.
So maybe that’s where Corey had been. Maybe he was still in his room, with whoever he was here with. Maybe he wasn’t alone like I was. It was stupid, actually, to assume for even a moment that a man that looks like him, as kind as he was–even when he was being a bit assholey–would be here alone.
I tug on my brand new hiking boots with a frown. Great. I’d been looking forward to the idea of scenic hikes when I first booked this cruise.
Now I knew all I was going to be looking at was Corey and his lucky guest. No gorgeous waterfall and flower-covered valley could ever compare to the source of my envy, anyway. Hell, Corey looked like he could belong somewhere as beautiful as where we were going.
I try to shake him out of my thoughts. I’m here to put distance between me and my ex-fiance. I’m not here to try to wrangle up another one.
Though I really, really wouldn’t mind a little rebounding with Corey…
I’m not even sure it would be rebounding. I'm not sure I even need that kind of recovery after Adam. It's not that I wasn’t broken hearted at first. And not that I don’t miss him when I climb into bed alone—but I don’t know if it’s him that I miss or having someone at my side. I loved Adam, really, but I think a part of me always sort of understood that what we had wasn’t…. it wasn’t the true, passionate kind of love that books and movies promise you. It was the kind I had grown content with, but maybe not satisfied.
I wouldn’t mind if Corey satisfied me.
The second I think it, I flush and cover my face. What is wrong with me? Who gets out of a serious relationship one week and starts thinking about climbing into bed with another guy the next?
I’m the worst. I’m an awful human being and I deserve to be here alone.
I make sure I have everything I need, then double check, then tuck the keycard to my room and my cruise ticket in the zip-up pocket on the jacket I’m wearing before stepping out and heading to the deck. There’s still about ten minutes until we dock, but I want to at least get used to the weight of my shoes before charging into a three-hour long hike.
I’m not the only one waiting outside, either. When I make it to the dock, it looks like a majority of the ship is there. Some people look over the edge with their arms braced on the railing. Others look like they’re actively avoiding the edge of the ship, and I can’t help but wonder why they thought a cruise would be a good idea.
A woman with long brown hair curled into the side of a tall, jet-black haired man stands away from the rest of the crowd, content to stare off into the vast ocean with just each other for company. It makes me think of Adam—not because we used to be like that, but because we weren't . And that thought makes me wonder if maybe I should have been looking for that sort of love all along, rather than settling for someone who was safe.
I find myself somewhere in the middle, my eyes annoyingly searching the throng of people, hoping to catch sight of a familiar pair of near-black eyes. I tell myself that I’m just hoping to thank him and ignore the much more factual truth—I want to see him again. I want to see who he’s with just as much as I so badly want it to not be a girlfriend. Or worse, a wife. I don’t remember seeing a ring on his finger, but I also hadn’t been looking for one, either.
I’m just about to give up when I finally catch sight of jet black, wavy hair, and then him leaning against the railing on the fair side of the deck. But he’s not looking out at the ocean, or the approaching mass of land.
He’s looking at me.
Or at least, he was , until I made eye contact. And then he stiffened and turned his back to me, eyes now on the vivid blue water.
I cannot explain why this pisses me off so badly. I can also not explain why, after spending my whole life being someone who literally runs from confrontation, the very first thing I do when Corey spins away from me is glare and head right for him.
I squeeze my way through the throng of people and slot myself in the small space between him and some gray-haired woman clinging to her husband before I can even think about it. And, in the same vein, the words “Little bitch,” have left my mouth before whatever filter I usually possess can keep me from letting them out.
Corey’s jaw sets, but he doesn’t turn to look at me. He says, “Fair enough.”
I’m still glaring at him, even if he refuses to look at me. After a long, silent moment where he continues to avoid further acknowledging my existence, I scoff and go to turn away.
A warm hand catches my wrist just before it’s out of reach. Corey tugs me back toward him, gently enough to let me know it’s a question, not an order.
I hesitate for a moment, even if I already know what choice I’m going to make. To stay, or to walk away. If I wasn’t desperate, I’d walk away. I wouldn’t even have come over here in the first place.
But… I don’t want to be alone. And Corey, no matter how abruptly he left last night, and how big of a dick he was to turn away from me just now, is company.
“I’m sorry, alright?”
Carefully, I turn back toward the ocean. He releases my wrist only when both of my hands are resting gently on the railing. “You know, I wouldn’t even have been able to prove you’d been avoiding me all morning if you hadn’t turned away like that.”
“I’m surprised you wanted to see me again, anyway,” he answers, voice stiff. “Since you didn’t seem to even want to agree to meeting me at the bar yesterday.”
I swallow thickly, nodding. “Yeah, well. That was before we talked.”
“I impressed you that much?” He’s still stiff, but there’s a teasing undertone. I don’t bother laughing. I’m still too pissed—and unreasonably feeling too rejected—to bother acknowledging my mild amusement.
“No.” Quiet settles around us before I add, “But I realized after you left that I liked having someone to talk to. I’m not used to being alone like I am here.” And I thought that I’d appreciate the silence. And it is okay, sometimes. But I’d also liked pretending that I had a friend, too .
Corey swallows and finally turns to look at me. He says slowly, “I am used to it.” I take in the words. He’s here alone, then, too. But… he likes it that way, apparently.
“Oh.” Already I’m fighting the urge to retreat, to run away from the rejection.
“But,” he says, irises softening, “I liked having someone to talk to, too.”
“Then why’d you walk away? Why were you avoiding me?”
He shrugs, but it doesn’t do much to hide how his shoulders stiffen. “Look, Eliza. I don’t have a good reputation, okay? People don’t trust me. And you’re a doctor, right? Someone trying to be something? Trying to make a difference?”
I nod slowly. How he’d guessed, I didn’t know, and I didn’t particularly care. “So?”
“So I don’t want my name to tarnish your reputation, okay? It’s better if we aren’t involved with each other.”
Now I can’t help but laugh. “I don’t have a reputation.”
“But you want one. I don’t want to precede it.”
I stare at him for a long moment, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “And what do you mean, involved ?”
His lips press into a flat line. “I mean anything that happens between us. Us just interacting. Even in passing.”
“You think that me having you as a friend for a short, week-long cruise is going to tarnish my reputation in a few years, if my research works out? Is what you did that bad?”
Corey says, “It’s not what I did. It’s who I am.” But then his jaw tightens, as if he hadn’t meant to let that slip .
“Listen,” I say slowly. “Who you are and who I am have nothing to do with what my career could bring to the table. People will not care if I used to be friends with a murderer if it means I have done something worthy.” I pause, then add, “But you aren’t a murderer, are you?”
Despite himself, Corey laughs. “No,” he says. “Not a murderer.”
“Okay. Then maybe let me decide if I’m willing to possibly, maybe tarnish my reputation with you before you treat me like shit on the bottom of your shoe.”
“Tasteful,” he says, a wry smile curling his lips. Then, Corey nods. “Okay. Friends? For a week?”
I nod. “Friends.”
The hike is beautiful, and peaceful, and infinitely more enjoyable with someone to talk to at my side.
We follow a steep path that ends high above where we began, and overlooks the water. A lot of the older people gave up over an hour ago as the incline continued to steepen and headed back for the ship. The captain of the ship remains with us, though, despite his salt and pepper hair. He’s fit—he probably makes this climb a few times a year too.
Corey, I’ve come to realize, seems far more comfortable among nature than he did on the ship. Not that he’d seemed particularly un comfortable, but there was something so relaxed about him as we climbed. And now that we’re at the top, silently standing beside each other as we take in the view, I can’t imagine it’s possible for someone to look any more at ease.
It’s the most breathtaking view I’ve ever seen. Easily one of the best days of my life, even despite the rough start. That thought sinks in slowly, but it’s heavy as a boulder.
This is the best day of my life, and I’ve just had it with a near stranger. Not a single day of the two years I was with my fiance even comes close to comparing to this. Does it make me an awful person that I hardly feel any guilt at the revelation? Sure, maybe I didn’t try planning beautiful weekend getaways or week-long trips with Adam—but he never tried to plan them with me, either. We were both too focused on our degrees, and then on the paid internships we managed to land in the same building. Our relationship was always a secondary priority to our careers. I think maybe our relationship only survived so long because of our work.
I’m barely paying attention, too lost in my thoughts, when it’s time to turn back and head down the path. Paying such a small amount of attention, actually, that I don’t notice that the step I take is full of nothing but air for a good five hundred feet down.
One minute I feel my stomach begin to plummet at the realization of what I just did and where I’m about to end up.
And then Corey, who was steps behind me just a few moments ago, is suddenly there, pulling me up before gravity can push me down.
Impossible. He’d been too far away to keep me from falling—especially that quickly .
“Fuck’s sake, Eliza,” he grits out, wrapping a protective arm around me as he inhales a shaky breath. “Are you ever going to learn to watch where you’re going?”
“Yeah,” I rasp, the realization of my almost-death fully sinking into me. “Yeah, I think that did it for me.”
Corey pulls us to a stop until the remaining clusters of people are ahead of us. He looks into my eyes with genuine worry shining in his. “Are you okay?”
“Of course I’m okay. You’re the one who saved me,” I frown. “Somehow.”
“No—that’s not what I meant.”
“I swear to God, I’m not concussed. I just wasn’t paying enough attention.”
HIs mouth ticks up in the corner, but I can tell he’s still not quite over watching his cruise-buddy nearly plummet to her death. “Also not what I meant,” he murmurs softly. “Stop deflecting. Are you okay?”
My breaths are still shaky and so are my hands, and I can’t stop thinking about how close I came to having a funeral. Wouldn’t that really have stuck it to Adam, though? Having to be the guy who broke up with his fiance—and then, because of that, she died while on a vacation she only took to escape from him?
I laugh. I shouldn’t find that funny and I don’t think I do, really, but I almost fucking died and I’m allowed to laugh if I damn want to. “Yeah,” I get out between breathless laughter. “I’m okay.”
Corey blinks at me cautiously before breaking into restrained laughter himself. He uses the hold he still has on my waist to gently tug me over to his other side. Away from the overlook’s edge. “Just to be safe,” he says.
“I swear I know how to walk,” I reply .
“Sure,” he says doubtfully, more like he’s entertaining me than agreeing. “Better to play it safe though, yeah?”
“You asshole,” I say, though I have to try not to laugh through the words. “I’ll push you off.”
He shrugs. “I’d be okay.”
“You think you could survive that?”
The playfulness that was in his voice has been replaced with sincerity. “I’m sure I could.”
“How?”
Suddenly, Corey’s posture is rigid. He looks at me like he’s just remembered where he is. But then he smiles and tugs me along. “Come on,” he says. “We need to pick up our pace before they leave us behind.”
I want to insist he answer the question—but it’s a stupid question, isn’t it? Of course he wouldn’t survive that steep of a fall. No person could.
But then why did he answer so seriously? And why did he get so cagey when I asked how?
I shake my head and follow him down the hillside. Maybe I’m just reading into it. I probably just misinterpreted his tone, and he thought I was joking along with him or being stupid by asking how he’d survive the fall.
But still. It’s so easy to recall the look in his eyes, the sudden stiffness of his back…
I shake my head and let it go. Because it doesn’t matter. Or, at least, it shouldn’t matter. I refuse to let it. If he hadn’t been joking, I don’t want to know the answer, anyway. I don’t want to know what he’s done to be so sure he could walk away from such a brutal plummet. We’re cruise-ship friends only.
And the answer would probably be a hell of a lot more complicated than our dynamic allows for.