One Last Chance (9 page)

“You look…incredible.”

Her eyes met his. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “No crutches?”

“They didn’t match the dress.”

“I should’ve painted them.”

“Yes. But you fell down on the job, so I’m just going to hobble around all night.”

He offered his arm. “You could hang onto me.”

She took his arm. “I’m not sure I’ve ever done the weird-linked arms thing. At least not since I was, like, six and played Red Rover in my backyard.”

He laughed. Beautiful. Funny. Smart. She was it. It all started and ended with her for him. How he’d known that ten years ago, he wasn’t sure. But maybe real life could sometimes be like it was in the movies.

“You actually aren’t walking that badly,” he said.

“Adrenaline. It’s gonna hurt like crazy tomorrow.”

“Adrenaline from what?”

“From going back in time,” she said. “And from seeing you there, waiting for me.”

“Why?”

“Just wondered if maybe you’d ditch me again.”

He winced. “I’m sorry.”

She smiled at him. “I know you are. But some things are hard to shake.”

Yes, they were, he thought. Yes, they were.

They made their way across the dining room to a table for two near the window.

“How?” Claire asked, her eyes wide. She knew the drill with cruises. The Captain’s Dinner was a big event, with round tables of eight usually set for the evening. There were tons of those, all filled with alumnae. In fact, there was only one table for two in the entire dining room. The one he was leading her to.

“I asked.”

Her lips twitched. “And Griffin Benson gets what Griffin Benson wants?”

Not always, he thought. But he was going to do his best to get what he wanted—what he needed—tonight. Her.

“Something like that,” he said.

The ocean shimmered down below, the small whitecaps gleaming in the moonlight. He helped her get settled in her chair and took the seat across from her. His heart was in his throat, but he didn’t know how to tell her that. It was like being back in junior high school, when he didn’t know how to talk to girls. She was doing things to him that he was not used to. He was used to being composed, in control, poised.

Claire was taking all of those things and turning them upside down.

“So, if this really was the Prom and it was ten years ago, what would we be doing right now?” she asked after their server took their drink orders.

“Hmmm,” he said, thinking. “Probably drinking beer in the back of a limo.”

She thought, then nodded. “Yeah, absolutely. And I’d be freaking out about spilling something on my dress at dinner. Thinking that if I got too buzzed, I’d splash food all over me.”

“And I’d just be thinking about going back to the hotel room with you after the dance.”

She blushed.

“I’d probably be trying to touch your leg or something, too,” he said. “Not under your dress, but you know. Getting the message across.”

“Yeah,” she said. “You never had a problem getting the message across.”

“No?”

“No. Loud and clear.”

The server brought the drinks. Another bourbon and Coke for him and a glass of red wine for her.

“And then I would’ve worried about dancing with you,” Griffin said.

“Dancing? Why?”

“Because I’m a hideous dancer.”

She smiled, sipping from the wine glass. “Oh, we are totally dancing tonight then.”

“For you, I’ll dance,” he said. “You can even make fun of me.”

“That’s a given. I hope you’re awful.”

He laughed. Such a wiseass. And so damn beautiful.

“So I would’ve been worried about that, which means I would’ve had a couple more beers,” he said. “Which means I probably would’ve been a little more brazen.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Probably would’ve tried to start making out with you in the limo.”

She stared at him over her wine glass. “I would’ve let you. Probably would’ve let you get your hand under that dress, too.”

It was his turn to blush. Not from embarrassment, but from desire, because if he’d had his choice, right at that moment, that’s what they would’ve been doing.

“Well, isn’t this sweet?” Emily appeared table-side, a vision in white. Dylan Mercado stood next to her, his arms folded over his chest.

“Hi, Em.” Griffin greeted her. “You look nice.”

She looked down at her dress, smoothing the almost-sheer fabric that clung to her hips. Griffin looked a little closer and was pretty certain the dress was the only thing she was wearing.

“I do, don’t I?” she said, smiling.

“Come on, Em.” Dylan tugged at her arm.

She pulled away, scowling. “Give me a minute.” She turned her attention back to Griffin and Claire. “How did you do this?”

Griffin sipped his drink. “Do what?”

“Hello? The table.”

He shrugged. “I asked.” He gave her the same response he’d given Claire but his tone was clipped, not playful.

“Sweet,” she repeated, her eyes narrowed. She turned her attention to Claire. “I’m surprised you came down for this.”

Claire shifted in her seat. “My ankle feels a lot better.”

Emily laughed. “Oh, I didn’t mean your ankle. I seriously doubt you even hurt it, to be honest.”

“Come on, Em.” Dylan scowled.

Her eyes shot daggers at him. “In a minute!” She put her hands on the table and leaned close to Claire, her eyes level with hers. “I’m talking about being here. At a dinner. And a dance. With him.”

Griffin felt Claire stiffen.

Emily’s laugh was full of malice. “You must be a sucker for punishment, Claire. Wasn’t one time enough? One time for him to let you think he was taking you to the dance and then make a fool out of you by breaking up with you?”

“That’s enough.” Griffin’s voice was calm but, inside, he wanted to throttle her.

“Oh, sorry,” Emily said, her face a mask of innocence. “Did I ruin the surprise?”

“There is no surprise,” Griffin snapped.

“The only surprise,” Claire spoke slowly, her eyes dark with anger, “belongs to you, Em. Finding out that Griffin isn’t interested in you. Doesn’t want you.”

Emily flushed scarlet.

“Geez, what a bitch,” Dylan said, glaring at Claire.

His words had a slight slur to them and Griffin noticed his blood shot eyes. Probably drinking since he woke up. But that didn’t give him an excuse to be an asshole.

“Watch your mouth, Mercado,” Griffin said, angling his eyes at him.

“I’m not watching anything,” Dylan said. “You wanna try and make me?”

Griffin looked at Claire. She shook her head, rolled her eyes. Her way of telling him to let it go. He didn’t want to, but he would. For her. This was supposed to be her night and he wasn’t go to upset her.

“You did always have that eye-roll thing down,” Emily said, smirking.

“And you always had that vapid, airhead thing down,” Claire shot back.

Griffin smiled. Emily was venturing into battle unarmed if she wanted to try and have a war of words with Claire. She’d end up mortally wounded.

“Let’s go,” Dylan said, pulling on Emily’s arm. “She’s an idiot.”

Griffin stood. “Feel like going for a swim, Mercado? Right over the side of the boat?”

Dylan puffed out his chest and stepped into Griffin. “Good luck trying, Benson.”

“Griffin,” Claire said. “Just let them go.”

Griffin turned to say something to her, but Dylan’s fist smashed into his jaw instead.

Griffin took a wobbly step backward, surprised, tasting blood in his mouth. He looked back at Dylan, just in time to duck the second sucker punch headed his way. He regained his balance, took two steps forward and tackled Dylan, taking him down to the ground. Dylan grunted beneath him, the air leaving his lungs as he landed on his back, Griffin’s weight pressing him to the floor. Griffin struggled to get his right arm free, then dropped his fist right into Dylan’s mouth. Blood immediately stained Dylan’s teeth and lips and his eyes glazed.

Emily screamed and hands pulled at Griffin’s arms and back and he was lifted off Dylan. Dylan stayed on his back, out of it. Griffin was breathing hard, his chest heaving, but his arms were pinned back and he couldn’t get to Dylan.

He took a look around and realized he was now the center of attention in the dining room, all eyes focused on the commotion. Several of the ship’s staff members helped Dylan off the floor, propping him against the wall so he didn’t fall again. Emily made a face at him, unsympathetic to his bloody mouth. He slurred something unintelligible and the staff helped walk him out of the dining room.

The arms on Griffin relaxed and his breathing started to return to normal.

“Are you alright, sir?” another staff member asked him, standing next to him.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry for the…disturbance.”

“It’s alright, sir,” the staffer said. “I was near the door. I saw that he swung first, when you weren’t looking. And he also reeked of alcohol.” The staffer paused. “But your mouth, sir.”

Griffin put a hand to his mouth, then pulled it away. His fingers came back crimson. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not,” Claire said, standing next to her chair.

His jaw throbbed and the blood continued sliding down his throat. But this wasn’t the night he had planned and he wasn’t going to let a moron like Dylan Mercado ruin it.

“I’d be happy to escort you to the ship’s doctor,” the staffer said.

“No, really. I’m fine.”

Claire sighed, exasperated. She stepped around the staffer and linked her arm with Griffin’s.

“Thank you,” she said to the staffer. “I’ll take him.”  She glanced at Griffin. “He’s going and we know the way.”

Griffin slouched on the examining table, rubbing his jaw. “I’m fine.”

Claire nodded. “I know. That’s what the doctor just said.”

“I mean, we don’t need to spend time here,” he said. “I’m a little banged up, not ready for the coffin.”

“Well, that’s not dramatic in any way.”

He frowned and the throbbing in his jaw grew. It did hurt, but other than a couple of cuts in his mouth and a very slight loose tooth, he was fine. He just felt stupid for getting into a fight at dinner. He shouldn’t have let Dylan bait him into the confrontation, but hearing him talk about Claire the way he had was more than he could take. He was more furious that the evening had been screwed up, though.

“Can we go?” Griffin asked.

“He said he was bringing pain meds,” Claire said.

“I could just use yours.”

“Maybe yours are stronger.”

“Ha.”

She smiled at him and he felt another disappointed pang. He’d wanted to give her the night he’d taken away from her a decade ago. Instead, he’d given her a low-rent boxing match and more time in the doctor’s office.

“Dylan did not look…good,” she said. “When they got him up.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve held my temper. It was stupid.”

“He sucker punched you,” she said. “Big time. I think he was stunned you didn’t go down, considering he had a clean shot and it didn’t work. He might’ve peed his pants a little when you didn’t fall.”

Griffin gave her a tired smile. “I doubt that. But I’m sorry I ruined the night. I didn’t want to do that.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.
Dylan
ruined it.”

“I guess. But we should be having dinner by the window rather than waiting on Percocet.”

“Well, we can still have dinner,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve taken care of it.”

“You what?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You think you’re the only one who can arrange surprises on this ship?”

He chuckled. “No.”

“Dinner has been arranged,” she said, smiling. “You’ll see.”

The doctor returned and handed him the small jar of pills. He gave Griffin some cursory instructions about taking the medication and rinsing his mouth to keep the cuts clean and sent them on their way.

“Car accident,” Claire said, as they walked toward their room.

“What?”

“I’m assuming that people will just look at us together and assume we were in a car accident,” she said. “Me with the limp, you with the busted up face.”

“Or, we’re really unskilled gymnasts.”

“Or, MMA fighters! That would be cool!”

“Or, just clumsy,” he said.

“Yeah, maybe that.”

They both laughed as they reached the door to the room.

“So are we just changing our clothes so we don’t look ridiculously overdressed for the buffet?” he asked.