Page 2 of Shipwrecked

“When we broke up, you said you didn’t even want to go on the trip anymore. That it would just be awkward between us if you did,” Darren says.

“You’re the one who said that.”

“You should go. Book a different trip.” He catches sight of my expression and lets out a big sigh. “You’re making things awkward. Everyone here is more my friend than yours, tagging along like this… It’s pathetic, Jules. We’re over.”

“Pathetic? I—what in the—”

“Everyone aboard?” Seán calls.

When we broke up, Darren had a list detailing everything about me that was making him unhappy. It wasn’t flattering, but I ultimately agreed that our relationship, which had been a solid, happy two years, had spoiled over the last semester of college. Truthfully, I’d blamed it on many things. My focus had been on applying for jobs, working out what city had decent accommodation that I could afford, and getting through my exams with honours. I didn’t really blame Darren, even if I was hurt by his words.

That opinion is rewriting itself.

“Charles and Yasop are my friends from the team, and their girlfriends barely even know you,” Darren continues.

Until our breakup two weeks ago, there had been no divide between our friend groups. I mean, sure, Charles and Yasop play on the Gaelic football team with Darren so they’re more his friends, but—

“Cillian, right?” Darren catches Cillian’s attention as he strides towards the gangplank. “Jules isn’t coming, so don’t pull it in just yet. He’s not feeling well.”

Cillian looks from Darren to me. Our eyes meet. Whatever is in my expression makes him raise his brows. “Looks fine to me.” Cillian knocks the gangplank off the yacht with a firm shove. It lands perfectly in line with the edge of the pier, ready to be used again.

The muscle in Darren’s jaw that warns me when I’m getting on his nerves pulses. “I just said not to do that.”

Cillian turns back around. “If you want to get off, I’ll set it back up. If Jules wants to get off, he’ll tell me himself.” Cillian stares down Darren. It’s like Darren accidentally struck a bear with a rod, thinking it was a pile of furs. Cillian is more filled out than Darren. Broader shoulders, a bigger chest. Even the way he saunters off towards the maintenance door at the front of the yacht exudes power. A rumble starts in the back, the yacht’s engine roaring to life.

“I don’t think he likes being ordered around,” I say. “And funnily enough, neither do I.”

I leave Darren behind and duck into the cabin. Everyone is standing around the empty section of floor in the middle, chatting. Benches line the walls, and two doors lead below deck to bedrooms and a bathroom. The cockpit is directly above us, and I can hear the thump of footsteps as Seán guides us out of the bay.

“Have you been parasailing before?” Mathieu asks me. There’s nothing about him to suggest he thinks it’s weird that he’s turned up as a date to a guy who left a relationship two weeks ago, while his ex is also on the trip. His dark eyes focus fully on me, and warmth flurries in the pit of my stomach. Well, it’s not Mathieu’s fault…

“No. Have you?”

He shakes his head, rustling his perfect hair. “I’m a little nervous.”

“Don’t be,” Darren says warmly as he rejoins us. “Jules is going to be the hapless one anyway.” He laughs. “You should have seen him when we went rock-climbing. Got two feet up the wall and froze.”

The others laugh. That I don’t mind, but there’s something distinctly mean in Darren’s tone.

I smile. “Yes, I was almost as hapless as Darren when we went skiing last winter.” I press my shoulder into Mathieu’s, tilting my head towards him. “The instructor wouldn’t let us off the baby slope all week.”

“Really?” There’s a suggestion of dimples in Mathieu’s cheeks. I struggle to lift my gaze.

“I spent the entire week having little kids zip by me.”

That gets another laugh out of everyone, bar Darren. There’s a smile in place, but not a nice one. I reply with a not-so-nice smile of my own. How’s that for fake and tiresome optimism? I’ve been too laid-back in this breakup if Darren thinks I’m a pushover. I’m not one. I’ve been making it on my own since I turned eleven, and I’ve managed to get through university with not only an honours degree—I know I’ve nailed all my exams and assignments—but also with savings from working throughout it all.

“Beers in the fridge, guys.” I nod at Charles and Yasop, who are draped over their girlfriends. There’s a small kitchen, like one might find in a camper van, with each drawer secured with child locks.

I catch Mary’s and Willow’s attention, who are most certainly more my friends than Darren’s. He hasn’t the faintest idea that Mary has her own successful pottery studio or that Willow is organising the largest screenwriting competition in Ireland this year. I indicate the low ceiling. “For us, there’s a mixologist. Seán has a well-stocked bar inside that middle island there, and he’ll mix us up cocktails.”

“Brilliant,” Willow says.

“Sweet!” Mary adds enthusiastically. She has pottery dust smudged all over her shorts and is distractedly trying to wipe it off. “Did anyone pack a wet cloth?”

“You’re on a premium cruise,” Seán says, announcing his presence. He leans against the short doorframe. “That tap isn’t just for show.” Behind him, civilisation is disappearing into the open ocean.

Mary darts to the sink.