Jay leans forward, banging his head on the sticky surface of the table. “Don’t tell me there’s skydiving on board.”
Talon pulls back, like it’s the most preposterous thing he’s ever heard, but I think I see three different waterparks dotting the deck of the ship from here. “No, but there is a skating rink.”
Jay lifts his head, making a show of rolling his eyes before he drinks the rest of Talon’s beer and slumps in his chair. “Oh, great. The thing we’re”—he gestures between us sharply, gold rings on his fingers glinting under the sun—“paid to do. That you just retired from, that we’re supposed to be—”
He cuts himself off before he can go any further, tossing me what’s supposed to be an apologetic look but really just makes him look uncomfortable.
“Shit.” He scrubs his face before pushing his sunglasses up, taking the strands of black hair hanging across his forehead with them. “Sorry, Bohdan. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him, trying to force a smile, but I think it snags on something. Probably the shitty taste and heavy weight of the stupid word—retirement—hanging heavy in the air around us.
Talon retired because he wanted to.
I retired because my bleeding brain said I had to.
Talon smacks both hands against the table. “No. No. That’s not how we’re starting the Retirement River Cruise.”
“Not a river cruise,” I correct.
“It sounded better—” He pushes into the table, standing so he can lean closer, the rims of all the empty pint glasses brushing against the pale blue of his button-up shirt, but he doesn’t seem to care, because he shifts forward again, pointing at us. “You know what? It’s becoming abundantly clear neither of you read the itinerary I sent you, and you just told me to book your travel for you. If you had, you’d know, or at least Rock Boy with his infinite wisdom and knowledge of all things Mother Earth would know, that we weren’t going to places joined by rivers.”
I shrug. “Well, some of them might be joined by rivers. I wouldn’t know, because as you’ve pointed out, I clearly didn’t read the itinerary.”
Talon says nothing, but his fingers tap against the table before a grin stretches across his face. Who knows what he’s about to say, but his phone starts buzzing against the table. His mouth moves as he reads whatever text lights up his screen.
Looking back up to Jay and me, he practically jumps backward, grabbing the handle of his luggage. “My sister just got here, and she says she has a surprise for me. We can go meet her down at the gangway.”
Jay pulls his wallet from the pocket of his shorts, tossing a stack of euros down on the table before standing and grabbing our bags from where they sat beside Talon’s. “What could possibly be a bigger surprise than an upgrade from a small boat to a giant-ass ship?”
Talon doesn’t bother to answer, and he doesn’t bother to wait for us, his eyes glued to his phone as he navigates his way to his sister.
“What’s the big deal? Worried someone in the significantly larger passenger count will recognize you?” I hoist my bag over my shoulder and pull my sunglasses from the neck of my shirt. “Maybe comment on Philadelphia’s abysmal run this year?”
Jay cuts me a sideways look, tipping his own sunglasses down before we start weaving after Talon through the throngs of photograph-taking tourists. He’s practically at the ship already.
“Yes.” Jay shakes his head, tugging on his chain again like it’s a nervous habit he’s developed since I last saw him. “Philly fans can be mean, man. Passionate, sure, and that feels great when we’re winning. But when we’re having a bad season ... someone told me I sucked in the grocery store the other day, and then their fucking ten-year-old kid repeated it.”
“No one ever told me I sucked.”
He gives me a flat look. “That’s because Seattle fans are a bunch of New Age, crunchy hippies.”
“Maybe it’s because I didn’t suck.”
“Ha-ha.” Jay rolls his eyes before he stops to look at me—really look at me—and I know what he’s going to say next when his gaze flicks up to my temple, to the scar I’ve purposely tried to hide by letting my hair grow a bit longer. “Aren’t you worried? That someone might recognize you? It hasn’t been that long.”
I give a noncommittal shrug, raising a hand in the air to let Talon know we see him where he’s standing by the gangway, like he’s the first kid in line waiting to be let onto a rollercoaster.
It’s a painful thought, that someone might recognize me for the person I used to be—who I was supposed to be—when it’s been nice to just try being the person I am now, whoever that is, for the last few days with Talon and Jay.
But it’s not as painful as it is to see Sloan again for the first time.
Sloan
Talon spins me in the air, arms wrapped around my stomach, the crowd of people just a blur, and it’s on the second whirl around that I see him.
I still feel a bit like I’m spinning when Talon sets me on the ground.
And it’s not from the centripetal motion of being spun around by a freshly retired professional athlete still in his prime with more power in his quads than some cars.
