One Last Chance (3 page)

She rummaged around in one of the drawers on her side of the dresser and pulled out new panties and a matching bra. The drawers and her half of the miniscule closet were full of new clothes. Partly because of her weight gain but partly because, when she’d bitten the bullet and hit the send button to confirm the cruise, she knew she’d need new things. New clothes, a new hairstyle, a new everything. She deserved it. And, she told herself, if this was going to be the kick-in-the-ass she needed to get her life back on track, she’d better get off on the right foot. Even if it meant racking up charges on her credit card that she couldn’t afford.

“
It’s all yours.”

She looked up and her breath caught in her throat.

Griffin stood in the doorway between the bathroom and the main cabin, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. A very tiny white towel. His dark hair was wet and tousled, his tanned chest still beaded with drops of water.

“
Where are your clothes?” Her question came out as a whisper.

He grinned. “In there.” He motioned to the dresser she was standing next to and started toward her.

She lurched out of the way like a tsunami was heading in her direction.

“
I’m
…
I’m gonna take a shower,” she stammered.

“
OK.” It was his turn to look through drawers. “And hey—I like leopards.”

“
Excuse me?”

He motioned to the leopard-print lingerie she was holding. Her face colored and she hurried past him. She couldn’t believe Griffin Benson had just seen her underwear. And would know exactly what she’d have on under her dress that night. She stepped into the shower and blasted the hot water. She’d burn those thoughts right out of her head, even if she had to scald herself to do it.

Twenty minutes later, she was showered and dressed, and working on her hair. She’d stepped back into the main cabin for her make-up bag and found Griffin lounging on his bed, a laptop on his lap.

He glanced up at her. “Almost ready?”

His eyes roved the length of her dress and she knew what he was doing. She felt her cheeks color.

“
You don’t have to wait for me,” she snapped. “Remember? We’re just sharing a room. And stop looking at me like that.”

“
Who said I was waiting for you? I’m working.” He resumed typing. “All I did was ask if you were ready.”

She started to respond but he cut her off.

“
And the price tag is still on your dress.”

She resisted the urge to scream and retreated to the bathroom. He was right. On both counts. And he was infuriating.

She ripped the price tag out of the stretchy black fabric of her dress and tossed it in the trash. She raked the brush through her hair and clipped it up, scowling at her reflection in the mirror. She should have had more highlights done. She dabbed on foundation and dusted her eyelids with shadow and lined her eyelids. Who was she kidding? Even if she’d gotten more highlights, even with all of the make-up, she’d only ever be passably pretty. She sighed, took one last look in the mirror, and opened the bathroom door.

The stateroom was empty.

He hadn’t waited for her. She felt disappointment settle in her chest, disappointment that she had no right to feel. She pulled a clutch from the top drawer and smashed a lipstick and a container of hand sanitizer inside, seething. What had she expected? She’d been rude and insufferable since the moment their paths had crossed in the cruise line office. If it had been her stateroom and an ex-boyfriend was acting the way she’d been, she would have kicked him out hours ago. Either that or thrown him overboard.

I’ll behave better, she told herself as she slipped into a pair of black heels. I’ll be less like a viper and more like
…
a human.

She teetered in her heels, testing her balance. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn anything other than flip-flops or tennis shoes. Probably her wedding. She grimaced at the unpleasant memory.

The happy hour was in the Emerald Isle Bar on the Promenade deck. She opted for the elevator. The stairs were just as close but she wasn’t sure how well she’d fare on those with the three-inch heels strapped to her feet. She took deep breaths as the lift ascended, trying to steady her nerves.

The elevator door opened and the music hit her. The Backstreet Boys crooned I Want It That Way from inside the bar and she shuddered. She’d never liked The Backstreet Boys.

“
Claire,” Emily yelled. She lurched toward her, a grin plastered to her face and a margarita clutched in her hand. “Great dress.”

Claire glanced down at her simple black dress. “Thanks. You look great.”

And she did. Emily’s blond hair was piled into a soft chignon and the strappy white sundress she wore showed off her picture-perfect tan.

“
I know, right?” she squealed, taking a sip of her drink. “I weigh exactly the same as I did when we graduated.” She leaned close. “Trust me, I don’t think any other woman here can say that.”

Including me, Claire thought. She just nodded, her lips stretched into a thin smile.

“
You know,” Emily said, eyeing her as she took another drink. “I’m really glad you decided to come.”

Claire worked her way to the bar. “Oh? Why is that?”

Emily smiled. “Do you really want to know?”

A myriad of reasons played through Claire’s mind. Maybe she was dying of some rare disease and had decided to make amends with everyone she’d ever been mean to. Claire remembered Emily’s mocking laugh after the disastrous cheerleading try-outs. The whispers in the hallway as she’d walk by. It had lessened as the years went by but she knew Emily talked about her. Laughed about her.

Or maybe she’d turned over a new leaf. Maybe she’d gone all New-Agey and knew she needed to confront her past transgressions before progressing in her future. Claire knew more about that than she cared to admit.

She ordered a rum and Coke and looked at Emily. “Yes.”

She giggled. “You’re gonna think it’s crazy
…
”

The bartender slid her drink across the counter and Claire swallowed half of it in one mouthful.

“
Four dollars,” he told her.

Claire looked at him. “What?”

“
The drink. Sodas are free. Alcohol is not.”

She knew what was in the little purse she’d brought to the happy hour. And she knew what wasn’t. Cash.

He smiled. “We can put it on your tab. Just need your room card.”

But it wasn’t her room. It was Griffin’s.

“
I’d actually rather pay cash,” she said.

“
Sure.”

“
But I’ll need to run to the ATM.”

The bartender squinted at her. “Excuse me?”

Before Claire could say another word, Griffin slid in next to her.

And handed the bartender a room card. “She’s with me.”

The bartender hesitated, shrugged, then took the card and walked over to his register.

“
What are you doing?” Claire asked, irritated.

“
Getting you a drink,” Griffin said, tipping his own beer in her direction. “It was turning out to be a difficult task for you.”

“
I’m not
with
you,” she said because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“
I think that’s been well established.”

“
I don’t need you buying me drinks.”

“
We can turn the receipt into Susan,” he said, grinning at her. “Remember? She said she was going to try and make up for her error.”

“
And I don’t need you running interference for me,” Claire said.

“
Jesus Christ,” Griffin said. “It’s a four dollar drink. But whatever. Go to the ATM and get your cash and come pay me back.” He shook his head, killed his beer and signaled for another as the bartender returned his card. “I’ll make sure I’ve got correct change for you.”

Claire glanced over at Emily, who was watching them with unabashed glee. She wasn’t sure which one of them she wanted to punch harder.

“
I’ll be right back,” she spat at Griffin, who rolled his eyes and mumbled something she couldn’t understand.

She pivoted on her heel, took two hard, angry steps away from the bar and felt her ankle roll on the third. It buckled and she stumbled forward. She tried to catch her balance and did a superb impression of Superman as she slid across the marble floor.

Griffin was by her side instantly. “Are you alright?”

For once, he wasn’t smiling or grinning. He looked concerned, but that didn’t make her any happier.

She rolled over onto her back. “I’m fine.”

“
Claire, I think…”

“
I’m fine, Griffin,” she said, cutting him off as she tried to get her feet beneath her. “I’m just…”

Her ankle gave way again and she landed on her butt. The ankle throbbed like a bass amplifier.

“
Shit,” she whispered, reaching for it.

She knew Emily, and others, were now gathering around and she wished more than ever for Harry Potter’s cloak of invisibility.

“
It’s swelling,” Griffin said. “We should get you to the ship’s doc.”

“
No,” she said, her hand still wrapped around her ankle. “I’ll be fine. I’m going back to the room.”

“
What about his money?” Emily slurred.

Griffin shot her an annoyed look, but she missed it as she dissolved into a fit of giggles.

“
Can you walk on it?” Griffin asked.

“
Yes,” Claire said. She tried to push herself up again, but the ankle wouldn’t hold a single ounce of her weight and she sank back to the floor. “I mean, no.”

“
I got you,” Griffin said.

Before she could object, his arms were beneath her and he lifted her off the floor. He adjusted her in his arms and she had to resist the urge to curl into a ball against his chest. She remembered him picking her up one time in high school, but she couldn’t recall why he had done it. But she remembered how it made her feel.

Safe. Protected. Deliriously in love with him.

She didn’t like that she was able to remember that.

“
Ouch!”

“
Look, I’m barely touching it.” Griffin said.

“
The ice is freezing!”

“
It’s supposed to be.” But he adjusted the bag so it rested lighter on her ankle. “It’s water that has changed from a liquid to a solid. Via very cold temperatures.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Shut up.” She reached for the bottle of painkillers the ship’s doctor had given her and twisted the lid. She let the saliva pool in her mouth and then popped one of the pills and swallowed it down.

Despite her protests, Griffin had carried her straight from the bar into the elevator, and then into the ship’s clinic. The doctor, a dead ringer for George Hamilton, had rubbed and rolled her ankle and pronounced her fine.

“
A bit of a strain,” he said. “We can wrap it and you can ice it back in your stateroom.”

“
Can we do x-rays?” Griffin asked. “Just to be sure?”

Dr. George shrugged. “We could.”

“
No,” Claire said. “It’s fine.” She couldn’t imagine how much an x-ray would cost.

“
Claire
…
” Griffin began, but she stopped him.

“
It’s fine,” she repeated. She pushed herself off the exam table and put her foot on the floor. Slowly, she bore down on it. Pain pulsed through her ankle but she bit her lip and tried to smile. “See? Already feeling better.”

Dr. George flashed a grin, his teeth electric-white against his tanned skin. “You’re one tough lady.”

“
You have no idea,” Griffin said under his breath.

The doctor handed a bottle to Griffin and a pair of crutches to Claire. “Use these,” he told her. “At least to get back to the room. Take some ibuprofen for the swelling and make sure you ice it off and on for the rest of the night. I’m giving you a few painkillers—use them sparingly. If it’s not feeling better by tomorrow night, I want you back in here.”

She nodded.

“
And no water-skiing. No dancing. Rest it.”

“
I will.”

So she did. She’d hobbled back to the room, awkward on the crutches, with Griffin at her side.

“
You don’t need to babysit me,” she’d told him as he slid the room card into the slot. He opened the door. “I’ll be fine.”

“
I don’t intend to.”