Anchored

by Rachael Wade

  “He did?”

  “She did,” he corrects me, nodding his head. “A Miss Simmons?”

  “Ah. Of course.” I bite my lip and look down at my bare feet.

  “I was just hoping…wondering if we could start over. I know you said you weren’t available, and I have to say, I do appreciate you being straightforward with me, but I’d really like the chance to get to know you. And I figured since we’re both here for another sailing, well…”

  My eyes close and I smile wryly. When my lids open, I find his molten, brown eyes watching, waiting patiently. He’s so handsome, and his eagerness is adorable, but I cannot toy with this boy. Because toys are for boys. Not men.

  And I need a man, not a boy.

  “Jonah, it’s so incredibly sweet of you to think of me. And under any other circumstance, I would totally take you up on your offer. But I’m actually aboard this sailing for something work related.” I gesture over my shoulder to the heap of papers on the window seat. “I’m knee-deep in the assignment right now, actually. So it’s not a good time. But again, maybe someday…maybe back in Florida, if our paths cross again?”

  Disappointment colors his face for a moment, but he quickly works to disguise it, pulling a hand from his pocket to run his fingers through his thick, wavy hair. “Of course. Okay, I understand. I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask. Hey, enjoy the rest of the sailing, okay?” He pats the side of the door frame and turns to start down the hall. “And good luck with the work thing.”

  My head tilts as I take a semi-step outside to follow him, my mouth agape. I’m not sure what else to say. It’s never easy to turn someone down, especially someone as easygoing and kind as Jonah. At least there’s honesty in my words. Under entirely different circumstances, I really would love to spend time with him. But this is not an alternative universe. This is the real deal, the one staring me right in the face. And it includes a very real Tanner Christensen, Jade Simmons, and a feature that needs to be written for a demanding, persistent boss.

  “Thanks, you too.” I wave half-heartedly and duck back into the cabin, locking the door behind me. If one more thing breaks my concentration while I’m trying to finish this draft, I’m going to be in serious trouble. I glance at my work space and decide to pack up. Maybe it’s time to retreat elsewhere on the ship to get some work done. Somewhere no one will find me. Somewhere no one knows my name or my cabin number. I’m not sure where this place is yet, but I’m willing to search for it if that means making some more progress on this piece.

  I stuff my bag with my laptop and Bernhard’s file and then I’m out the door.

  ***

  The key feels foreign in my hand. I shouldn’t have it, but I do. Tanner left it in my bedside drawer with an invitation to use it anytime I wanted. It’s a copy of the key that accesses his private room below, his own little sanctuary, or as I see it, his father’s tomb. I’d remembered it just as I’d left the cabin, quickly racing back to retrieve it. Only Tanner has access to this place, and he offered me, of all people, the extra key. I should feel honored, but I only feel like an intruder as I embark on such a personal space.

  The entry is so secluded, I feel contently tucked away from the world the minute I breach the doorway. I quietly close the door behind me and step into the dimly lit space, searching for the lamp switch. As soon as I’m fully inside, I take a deep breath and set my bag down, eyeing the chaise lounge. I’m ready to cozy up and resume my work, but my curiosity gets the best of me, and I suddenly want to snoop. I skim the spines of Tanner’s father’s books, studying the brittle yet well-preserved literature as I make my way from one end of the shelf to the other.

  I resist the urge to rifle through the antique desk’s drawers and instead opt to settle into the chaise cushions, where I retrieve my laptop from my bag. I pull a throw blanket over my lap and pop open the computer to fire up the document. I stare blankly at the screen, absorbing the quiet space. No Jade, no Margaret, no Ted, and no Jonah knocking on my door or calling me incessantly. No Tanner.

  No Tanner.

  My head rolls back onto the chair’s arch and I sigh, cursing the fact that I miss him. No amount of work, no matter how hard I pour myself into it, can eliminate the emptiness I feel when I think of him. The idea of never seeing him again after I leave the Trident Voyager is too much for my brain and heart to process right now, so I shut the thoughts down and throw myself back into writing the feature anyway. It might not be the answer, the ultimate solution, but it will have to do for now.

  Somewhere along the way, I lose track of time. The room’s darkness is disorienting. My eyelids grow heavy and I drift off, feeling every part of me surrender to the need for deep sleep. Visions of Zoe being swept away by thunderous waves engulf me, followed by glimpses of my very first panic attack aboard the ship. Even then, Tanner’s presence was comforting. From the very beginning, something about his nearness made me feel safer, despite the instinct that told me his player ways were a danger.

  A soft tickling brushes my shoulders and I stiffen. My eyes shoot open wide, and I realize I’m no longer curled up on the chaise. I’m now resting on a cloud, plopped onto a pile of bright, fluffy white sheets. My legs are tangled in a thick, heavenly comforter, and my head is buried beneath the softest pillows I’ve ever felt in my life. I groan and roll over when I realize exactly where I am.

  “No,” I mumble into the sheets. “Damn it.”

  “You were snoring.” Tanner’s voice pierces the quiet, and my lids flutter open. “Quite loudly, might I add.”

  “I do not snore.”

  “So says the Snoring Princess.”

  I chuck a pillow in his direction and push myself to sit up. “Tanner,” I whine, “I’m not supposed to be here. Why am I here?”

  “I was worried about you. You slept all day. Must’ve needed the rest.”

  “There’s nothing to be worried about. I’m a grown woman. I can take care of myself.”

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d caught word of the weather forecast. I figured you’d be locked up in your cabin working. I wanted to check on you.”

  “Check on me? What’s the forecast?” I push my hair from my eyes and wrap my arms around my knees.

  Tanner walks to the curtains and slides them open, revealing a dark, ominous skyline. He glances at me and then gestures to the bedside table. “I’ve set some water there, next to your pills. I searched your bag for them. I wanted you to feel safe.”

  My brain is fuzzy from my sleepy state. I look at the clear glass and the pill bottle. My groggy voice is almost unrecognizable. “Well, you guessed right.” I clear my throat. “I’ve been tucked away. Checking the weather forecast has been the last thing on my mind.”

  “The ship streams it on the cabin television, but I had to be sure. I had to come see you.”

  “Tanner.”

  “Don’t.” He holds up a hand and sips his drink. I can smell it from here. Whiskey, I think. “Just because you called things off and gave into Jade and my mother’s asinine bully tactic doesn’t mean I stop caring for you.”

  The words and the edge in the tone behind them wake me up. I straighten my back and drop my hands, planting my palms face down on the mattress. “Giving in? That’s what you think I’m doing here?”

  “Of course it is.”

  “You’re the one giving in, Tanner. At any moment, you have the power to say no, to pull out of this mess. But I don’t want you to. I know what you’ll lose, and it’s not worth it. I’m just making it easier for you, just taking the pressure off of everyone.”

  “How can you say that?” He chucks back the remainder of his drink and sets the glass down on the dresser. “That it’s not worth it? How do you know?”

  I rise from the bed and stand across from him. His eyes flare with heat as they travel down my body, then back up. He undressed me before placing me in bed. I’m not surprised. “Are you drunk?”

  “What does it matter?” he mumbles, looking away. He pulls at his tie a
nd runs a finger along the rim of the glass.

  I wave an arm in the direction of the windows. “Because the sun’s not even down yet. You don’t drink like this. Don’t swim in this pool of anger. Or despair. Or whatever the hell it is. Just don’t. Do something constructive with the energy. Go run your damn ship, and hold your head high while you do.” I take strong, deliberate steps forward and grab his face, forcing him to look down at me. He smells of whiskey and his body radiates with heartbreak. “You’re Tanner Christensen, owner of Trident Voyager.”

  “About to be co-owner.”

  I close my eyes, pushing out visions of Jade’s face. “Stop.”

  “What was he doing in your room?” His hands find my hips, and I instinctually lean into them. I missed those hands. Missed their warmth and the way they demand my attention.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Junior. He came to your cabin.”

  “You were spying on me?”

  “I was on my way to see you. I saw him from the end of the hall.”

  “You were spying on me.”

  “I was on my way to visit you, Anya.”

  My lips quirk with a smile. I don’t want to smile. I don’t want to be here, in his home, with his hands gripping my waist. It means I’m seconds away from giving in and going back, to saying to hell with my agreement with Margaret. “Fine. You were just stalking me.”

  “Don’t dodge the question.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you while you’re drunk.”

  “Who said we’re arguing?” His fingers clamp down harder, and his neck cranes, his mouth lowering, closer and closer to mine. “I want to know why he’s still here and why he was in your cabin.”

  My head drifts back, but my eyes fall to his lips. They’re glistening with liquor, but I still want them. “He was never in my cabin. He decided to do a back-to-back sailing. He’s a student; he’s on break right now. Nothing happened. You honestly think I’m in the right frame of mind right now to get involved with anyone else?”

  “I don’t know what to think. I’m all messed up, Anya.”

  “Clearly.”

  “Be nice.”

  “I don’t want to. I’m pissed off. Can’t I just be pissed off?”

  “No. Not when I’m here. Not when my hands are on you. I can’t have you mad, or crying, or scared, or anything other than safe and at peace. That’s my job now. I’m not just responsible for running this ship. I’m responsible for you. I want to care for you, want to make you happy.”

  “Tanner, you’re drunk.”

  “I mean what I say.”

  “I know you do. You do make me happy. But this—this has to stop. The cruise will be over before we know it. We just have to get through the next few days, okay? Please, try and leave this alone.”

  Just as I attempt to step back, to move from out of his reach, his hands slide up over my hips and glide over the sides of my torso. His thumbs graze the delicate curves of my breasts. I inhale sharply, wishing like hell he hadn’t exposed me like this. My will power is on the verge of crumbling. My eyes drop to his movements, then quickly bounce back up. When I peer into his baby blue gaze, something slams hard into my chest.

  Pain.

  His eyes are glassy, and the sight levels me. “I can’t. A ship can never just let go of its anchor.”

  My voice is a whisper. “You have a lot going on right now. So many changes. You’re just overwhelmed. You’ll feel better when I’m gone. I promise.” I’ve never claimed to be a good liar. In fact, I’m pretty certain I’m a terrible one. But right now, in this very moment, it’s critical that I lie to this man. He’s wrapped up in us, and I completely understand. He has my empathy. I’m just as entangled. But I can see the bigger picture, here. I can see where this all leads, can see where it’s already lead. My best friend placed her own ass on the line in the mere hope that she could somehow contribute to the possibility of Tanner and me making this thing work.

  “Tanner,” I speak a little louder, “sometimes the anchor holds the ship back.”

  “That’s not what this is.” His head moves slightly, the motion almost imperceptible.

  “We docked in Nassau this morning, right?”

  “What?”

  “We docked there this morning, didn’t we?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “I’m going to go work somewhere in town. You stay here, on the ship. Sleep this off and go back to work tomorrow. We need to keep our distance until the sailing ends. It’s the only way to get through this. Besides, isn’t Jade staying here with you? How could you bring me here? The tension is already high.”

  “She has her own cabin. We can’t…we can’t be near one another right now. It’s volatile.”

  “Sleep this off,” I repeat, pushing off his chest. His eyes follow me the entire way, watching as I search for my clothes. He doesn’t make a move to help me.

  “You’re so beautiful.” His glassy, intoxicated gaze is filled with sadness, and all I want to do is run back into his arms and comfort him. But I know I can’t.

  “It was kind of you to want to warn me about the weather.” I swipe up my pills from the bedside table and locate my blouse and skirt in the process. “I have these,” I tap the bottle, “so I’ll be fine. I’m not afraid anymore. Not the way I used to be.”

  “Please don’t go. Wait until the storm passes.”

  I slide into my clothes and fluff my hair, then bend to collect my bag in silence. We both know this is one storm that won’t simply pass. Not yet. “Take care of yourself, Tanner.” As I move hastily for the door, I whisper beneath my breath. “I love you.” The moment I’m in the hallway, I walk as fast as I can down the corridor toward the elevators. Panic begins to rise, begins to choke me, and it has nothing to do with the oncoming storm. Once again, I need to get off this ship, and I can’t make it happen soon enough.

  I bump shoulders with strangers as I rush to pass them in the hall. My heart is doing jumping jacks in my chest. My mind briefly entertains the idea of going back to the cabin, where I can dive under the covers and run from this whole mess, but it dismisses the idea just as quickly. I keep up a fast, frantic pace, bobbing and weaving around people until I’m safely off the ship. Someone says something to me about the weather as I step onto the dock, but their words barely register. My mind doesn’t calm, doesn’t begin to think clearly again until I am fully away from the hustle and bustle of the main ship landing.

  Heavenly, exotic mochas and caramel scents waft toward me, mixing with the chatter from the market—vendors closing down shop to prepare for the storm. I weave through the throngs of people scrambling to find cover and make their final purchases. I dart into the first shop I see. It’s a hat shop, filled with colorful straw hats and other random, touristy trinkets. A woman approaches me, asking me what I’m looking for, and I simply smile shyly and point outside at the looming, grey clouds.

  She points to my laptop bag. “You here working?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Hhhmm,” she groans and scratches her temple, waving me toward the door behind the register. “You need place to work? Until the rain stops?”

  My smile brightens. “Yes! Yes, I really do.”

  “Here.” She points a skinny finger at the cement-clad space. It’s not much to look at, but it’s quiet, isolated, and gives me shelter from the rain. “Then maybe after, you buy a hat.” Her eyebrows wiggle playfully and she gives me a toothy grin.

  I gently touch her shoulder in gratitude and nod. “Sounds fair,” I giggle, sliding past her into the tiny office space. The moment I close the curtain behind me, I exhale in relief. Once again, I’ve merely dodged the storm raging back on the Trident Voyager—and the very real storm outside—but it’s a reprieve I need. Some solace to soak up my thoughts and finish this feature. I dive into my work, listening to the rain beat the roof. A secret desire to run out into the rain hits me. I can’t remember the last time I’ve done such a thing. It feels like on
ly yesterday I was alive and vibrant, lit up by the spark that Tanner’s love ignited. Now it feels as if I’m just existing, trudging through the hours in survival mode.

  I power through the last bits of research and pour myself into the feature. A weight lifts—one unlike any other I’ve ever felt—the minute I tack the period to the very last sentence. I save the document and close the laptop, grazing my hand over the black, shiny top. I’m still lost in reflection when the door’s purple curtain slides to the side, and the woman from the shop peeks her head in.

  “Storm over,” she says, gesturing over her shoulder. “You buy hat now!”

  I laugh, even though I realize she’s not joking. “Yes, okay. Give me just a moment.” I pack up my bag and retrieve some cash from my wallet as she shuffles back out into the store, no doubt awaiting my return with open hand. I slip past the curtain and stroll around the rack closest to the door. A bright yellow sun hat catches my eye and I reach for it, pressing it over my head. I do a little check in a nearby mirror and nod, approving the selection.

  “I’ll take this one.” I hand the woman my cash and tell her to keep the change. She’s pleased with my choice, hurrying over to the cash register to add the money to the till. “It was nice doing business with you.” I wave and start for the exit, and she nods gratefully, wishing me well. When I step out into sun, the humidity swamps me. Much like Florida, this tropical paradise drowns you in a downpour one moment, and then bathes you in unbearable sunshine the next. The storms never last very long, and when they do, you’re swamped in something akin to a sauna.

  I take my time strolling through the market, along the shop walkway. Sweat trickles down my back, but my new hat thankfully guards me from the harsh sun. My fingers itch to reach for my cell phone, to call Lana and Brie, to see if my service is any good here. I haven’t had any voice messages since Aruba. I need something, someone to fill up the quiet, to extinguish the space in my head and heart. But no one can fill the hole. The quiet is the only answer. It’s all within.