Chapter 3
Of course my drunk ass booked a nonrefundable cruise ticket.
While I could cancel the trip and eat the money—I wasn’t hurting in that department after a decade in the NHL—I just didn’t want to.
Each time my thumb hovered over the cancel button on my phone, I couldn’t bring myself to actually click it.
Because deep down, I wanted to go.
I told myself I deserved this little vacation after a hard-fought season. But really, all I wanted was to go see Ali. Kappy’s words at the party—him telling me how he regretted not going to Piper sooner—still echoed in my head. This little ticket was the final push I needed to go to her.
The cruise left from Charleston, so the morning of my flight out to the East Coast, I shot off a text to Colt and Kappy telling them that I was visiting my dad in Michigan for a bit, then I took off for the airport.
I hated lying to them, but at the same time, I wouldn’t be able to take their disappointment on top of my own if Ali didn’t want to see me.
And if she didn’t want me on her ship, I’d get off as soon as possible.
I’d catch the next flight home and never speak of this ever again.
After my flight landed just outside of Charleston, I grabbed a cab to head into the historic downtown.
As I stared out of the backseat window, it was hard not to marvel at the colorful buildings and palm trees lining the streets.
I drove through Charleston one other time about a decade ago.
At the time, I promised myself I’d make it back here to explore one day, but I never had.
Probably because Hans was right—I hadn’t taken a vacation or spent any time away from the rink in a very long time.
After being dropped off on Broad Street, I walked into a swanky looking Italian cafe for a coffee, then walked along the uneven bluestone sidewalks to the start of the Battery—the seawall that stretched along East Bay Street.
With historic mansions on my right and the harbor to my left, it was a beautiful scene.
But all I could focus on was the massive cruise liner docked straight up ahead, looming large over the rest of the boats and yachts.
I finished my coffee as I power-walked to the pier, which was probably a mistake considering the adrenaline rush I was already feeling.
As soon as I stepped into line on the black ramp leading up to the ship, my heart pounded with anxiety.
This was it.
Ali was somewhere on this ship.
For the first time in years, we would be face-to-face.
When it was my turn to hand over my ticket and passport, my hands shook as I fumbled with my stuff. I had steady hands all through our playoff run, including during the overtime in our last championship game, but the prospect of seeing her had my whole body trembling.
_________
After finding my small shoebox of a room for the week, I threw my suitcase on the bed and stood there for a second.
Now that my nerves had worn off and I was here, this whole thing felt a little…lame.
Fuck. I flopped down on the bed. Why was I always doing stupid things when it came to this girl?
Blowing out a sigh, I rubbed my eyes. What did I think was going to happen? I’d walk on the ship and she’d be waiting for me? This was a massive cruise with over 6,000 people aboard. How the hell was I supposed to find her? Where would I even start looking?
Feeling like a loser, I changed into my swimsuit and wandered up to the deck. If anything, at least I’d come home with a baby tan.
As I scanned the deck for her familiar blonde hair, regret weighed heavy on my chest. Because maybe my being here was weird? Maybe I was ambushing her?
God, no. I hoped she wouldn’t think that. I didn’t want to scare her. That was the absolute last thing I ever wanted to do to her.
Pressing the heel of my palms into my eyes, I suddenly majorly regretted not asking her permission to come aboard. This was her home. Her safe place. And I was the trespasser. I clearly did not think this through enough.
Taking out my phone, I clicked the contact I never let myself even look at, then started typing with shaky fingers.
After hitting send, the familiar blue line appeared at the top, but it struggled to fully cross the screen.
I held my breath, waiting for the text to fully send, but after a couple minutes, it failed.
No service.
Shit.
I dropped my phone at my feet and hung my head.
Well, there was nothing I could do about it now unless I wanted to swim with the sharks. I was locked on this ship.
Fuck me.
And fuck Kappy for putting these thoughts in my head while I was blacked the fuck out.
_________
After wandering the ship for a couple hours by myself, I was really looking forward to dinner.
Apparently the dining room had assigned seating, so I was hoping to be at a table with some decent conversation.
I wasn’t used to having a whole day pass by with no human interaction.
Whenever I felt a hint of loneliness in Chicago, I’d just head over to the rink to chat with Hans or drive to Colt’s house where something was always going on.
In the dining room, I was the first to arrive at my six-top table. I sat there in my polo and slacks all by myself, waiting for someone, anyone, to come sit down.
But as the minutes passed by, I watched the rest of the dining room fill up, and not a single soul wandered over to my table. When my salad was delivered, I had to accept that I’d be dining alone.
With nothing else to do while eating, I started people-watching. It was clear my waitress, a college-aged kid with long dark hair and large brown eyes, had a crush on the waiter with surfer boy hair across the room. Her eyes were glued to him as she read me the dessert options for the night.
“You like him, eh?” I asked with a chuckle.
“W-what?” Her eyes snapped to mine and a blush stained her cheeks.
I rubbed my mouth with a napkin to cover my laugh. “Yeah, the guy over there? With the surfer boy hair?”
She stood straighter. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered, but her eyes quickly darted to him once more.
I pointed to him. “That guy, right over there.”
Her eyes bugged out. “Don’t point,” she whispered harshly. “Oh my God. You’re embarrassing me.”
I laughed harder. I couldn't wait until Lucy was a teenager so we could call her out like this. “You should go talk to him. Tell him how you feel.”
“Oh, like that’s so easy,” she snapped sarcastically. “I don’t see you sitting here with anyone, Mr. Loner Boy.”
I coughed into my napkin, a little shocked at the insult.
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God, that was harsh. I’m sorry.” Now her face was really turning red.
I snorted a laugh. “It’s all good…” I tried to read her name tag.
“Camila,” she supplied.
“It’s all good, Camila. I do look like a loner, but I’m not. I mean, not really, anyway.” I shrugged.
She cringed. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. There’s nothing wrong with eating alone.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I waved her off. “All good. I chirped you first,” I said with a grin.
“Chirped?” She looked me up and down. “I’m from Minnesota. You must be a hockey guy.”
I lifted my water glass toward her, acknowledging that she was correct.
She twisted her lips and adjusted the metal serving tray on her hip. “A hockey guy all by his lonesome? Seems unlikely. Aren’t you always surrounded by teammates or girls? Wait, did you piss off your girlfriend or something?”
“No.” I laughed. “No girlfriend.”
She raised an eyebrow. “So, you came on this cruise all by yourself?”
“Is that a problem?” I smirked. “Is there a rule against it? No vacations if you’re single?”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, no, but it is a little weird.”
A laugh popped out of me. “Wow, first I’m Mr. Loner Boy, now I’m weird?”
She rolled her lips together, struggling to keep in a laugh. “Well, maybe you should—”
“Camila!” someone called out from behind her, making her body go rigid.
“Ugh, I need to keep moving. Don’t leave yet, I have more questions,” Camila said before speeding away to deliver desserts to the tables around me.
A few minutes later, she smoothed a brownie with ice cream in front of me, then sat two chairs down from me with a crème br?lée for herself.
“So, who’s the girl?” she asked, shoving a spoonful of dessert in her mouth.
“Hmm?” I asked with my mouth full.
“There’s gotta be a girl.” She twirled her spoon in the air. “She was supposed to be here, but she broke up with you?” she guessed.
A grin tugged at my lips as I shook my head.
“Hmm…” She twisted her lips in thought. “You’re a workaholic in your everyday life, but now you’re trying to slow down and find a girl?”
I laughed into my dessert. “I guess I'm a bit of a workaholic,” I admitted.
She gave a satisfied smile. “So you are looking for a girl. Okay, I’ll help.” She shifted her gaze around the room.
“She’s not here. I already checked.” I shrugged.
Her brown eyes flew back to mine. “Oh my God, you’re a stalker,” she announced, slapping the table. “Are you a stalker? Wait, why would you tell me?” She shook her head and pointed her spoon at me in accusation. “You are so a stalker!”
My face cracked in confusion. “What? No.” I lifted my hands in innocence. “I promise I’m not. Nothing like that.” I rubbed my jaw. “Can you keep a secret?”
Eyeing me suspiciously, she shifted her chair further away from me. “Depends on what it is.”
“I am not stalking anyone,” I said dryly, shaking my head. Taking a deep breath, I said, “The girl I’ve been in love with since I was sixteen is a figure skater on this cruise ship.”
Her face instantly melted. “Wait, that’s so romantic. Well, where is she? Does she know you’re here?”
I shook my head.