I stroll past it, then slow.
Do something you’ve never done.
I walk backwards until I’m back in line with the sign-up sheet. Tomorrow the ship docks at Grand Turk, and it’s the final day for excursions. I scan through the list to see if any catch my eye.
Snorkeling... Glass-bottom boat... Kayak tour.... Historical walking tour...
I keep going, not feeling any of these options until I get to the bottom.
Cliff jumping at Gibbs Cay. Guided. All levels welcome.
I stare at it. My heart races at the mere thought of jumping off a cliff into beautiful ocean water.
Can I do it?
There's no Olivia on the other end of a text who secretly booked this for me. No Jonny at the side of the platform waiting for me to jump. No Zach to hold my hand as I fall.
It would all be on me.
Fuck it.
I snatch the paper off the board and head straight to the booking desk.
The woman behind the counter looks up. “Can I help you?”
“I'd like to book this one,” I say, pointing at the bottom of the sheet.
She glances at the paper, then gives me a smile. “Great. Is it just yourself?”
“Just myself,” I say.
She prints the ticket and slides it across the counter. I fold it in half and slide it into my pocket, right next to the ring box I've been carrying since Zach left.
I head back toward the stairs with the ticket pressed flat against my palm.
DoSomething your body has to be present for.
Tomorrow. I’m doing it tomorrow.
“So,” Dax says, leaning against the doorframe. “If you’re planning on living here permanently, you’re gonna have to start doing boyfriend chores like taking out the trash, pretending to listen when I talk about my feelings, and telling me I’m pretty when I leave the apartment.”
“Believe me, you don't want me as your boyfriend. I get a little obsessive,” I say, folding my freshly washed socks and putting them in my drawer.
He chuckles. “Wow. Living here three days and already gaslighting me because you’re emotionally unavailable. This relationship is moving fast.”
“That’s not on me,” I say. “You spent twenty minutes last night relaying your feelings about how the designated hitter rule ruined baseball.”
“Because that’s how I feel. I'm stillprocessingthe implications of it.” He puts a hand to his chest. “I have layers, Zach.”
I close the drawer and open the next one. He stays in the doorway, watching me unpack with the energy of a man who has absolutely nowhere to be and is at peace with that. I can’t be mad at him. Save for the accidental slip he had with Coach, he’s had my back the entire time I was away.
“Okay, real talk,” he says, taking a step into the guest room. He heads toward the bed, pushing aside two of my bags before making himself comfortable. “For a guy sitting on a forty-million-dollar contract, you're very committed to folding your own laundry in my guest room instead of looking for the fanciest pad Rome, Georgia has to offer.”
“Yeah, well, after getting yelled at by Coach for the better part of two hours after practice, I'm sure you can understand why I might not be in the mood to go searching for houses.”
He lets out a low whistle. I’m sure he heard the things Coach Masters said to me. I’m sure the entire team did.
“You think talent carries you? It doesn’t. Not when your head’s this far up your own ass. I’ve seen backups with more discipline than you, and we’re paying forty million dollars for this.”
