Graeme’s shoulders slump as his chin falls into a heavy nod. “Okay then.” He walks out.

And I’m alone.

I’m still awake when Walsh stumbles into our cabin two hours later.

The tears have dried on my cheeks, leaving salty tracks in their wake. I roll over when she clicks on the desk lamp.

“Why are you here?” she asks. “Scratch that—why are you here alone? Where’s Graeme?”

“He left.” My voice is rougher than a nettle patch.

“Trouble in paradise?”

“It was never paradise. It was a mistake.”

“Please. Any straight man who can sing ABBA is a keeper,” she slurs. Something rattles in her hand—a glass filled with ice and clear liquid. Lurching as the ship pitches, she takes a swig before setting it on the edge of the desk along with her cell phone, which she fishes out of her cleavage. Fumbling with the cord, she plugs it in to charge.

“Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to work it out when we get back.” Grasping handfuls of her dress, she pulls it up and over her head and lets it fall on the floor on her way to the closet.

“How do you figure that?”

She exhales, her shoulders sinking. “I’m not going to live with you.”

I sit up higher in bed. “Where will you go?”

“Back to Boulder,” she says, pulling on an oversized T-shirt.

“I thought you were done with Boulder.”

“It’s like a velvet-lined pit. I try to climb out, but I slide back in.”

A warning buzzes in my brain, cutting through the tumbling grief. “What’s this about?”

She doesn’t answer me. Instead, she disappears into the bathroom.

I swing my legs out of bed. “Walsh,” I call. When I pass the desk, I pause. I can smell the booze from here. Lifting the glass, I sniff and take a tiny sip. Fire burns my throat and my face scrunches. “Holy shit.” It’s straight-up gin with maybe a splash of tonic. How much did she drink tonight?

Her phone lights up with a new text. Two more pop up in quick succession. All of them are from Bad News Bears. I pick up her phone with unsteady fingers.

Come on, baby. You know I’m the only one who appreciates you. I’ll always take care of you.

You just have to be nice to me. No more talking back and no more sneaking off to Seattle.

Come back and all will be forgiven. I promise.

I reread the texts three times, my stomach hollowing out. I try to swipe open her phone, but there’s a pass code. I tap out the code she set years ago, but it doesn’t work. She’s changed it.