Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 128211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
“There are only two charters left, and frankly, I don’t have the time or the resources to replace you. And technically, you haven’t committed a fireable offense. But make no mistake — if things don’t change, if the tension continues, if the crew keeps turning on each other because of the two of you?”
He stepped forward, eyes sharp as broken glass.
“I won’t hesitate.”
Finn nodded beside me, stiff. I did the same, forcing my head to move even though my entire body felt frozen.
“Keep your heads down. Do your jobs. Make amends with who you can, and lead. Together.” He looked between us, that word heavy with expectation. “You don’t have to like each other, you don’t have to speak outside of what’s necessary. But I expect the interior to function like a well-oiled machine. I expect dinner service to run without a hiccup. I expect you both to act like the professionals I hired.”
The silence that followed his statement was heavy with that expectation.
“I don’t want to fire anyone,” Captain Gary said again, softer this time — but somehow even more dangerous. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t.”
We both nodded once more. My mouth was dry as sand, but I managed to croak out my biggest fear.
“What about after the season?”
His gaze snapped to mine.
I hadn’t meant for it to sound as broken as it did. But he knew what I was asking. Would this ruin me? Was I done? Captain had taken a chance on me this season. He’d given me my shot as chief stew.
Had I ruined it?
Captain’s jaw ticced, his lips pressing into a flat, unreadable line. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
He held my gaze, and something in his eyes flickered — not kindness, exactly. Maybe pity. Maybe frustration. Maybe a mix of the two.
“You’re both damn good at what you do. But professionalism is half the battle, if not more, in this career. And I’m not sure a glowing recommendation from me can overshadow drama that makes a whole crew melt down.”
I bit the inside of my cheek hard against the emotion threatening to overtake me from that little truth bomb. I knew he was right, but I’d hoped he could somehow reassure me that it would all be fine.
I hoped, somehow, this could all be fixed with the wave of a magical Captain wand.
“Dismissed,” he said, turning back to the helm. “Get to work.”
For a beat, Finn and I just sat there, like the lecture had stripped us of the ability to move, like our limbs no longer took commands from our brains.
Finn broke the spell first. He stood, slow and heavy, then waited for me to do the same.
We stepped out of the bridge, and the second we made it to the end of the hallway and paused at the stairs leading down to the crew quarters, my lungs turned to concrete.
It was a foreign sensation — and yet familiar all at once.
I’d been here before, this edge-of-a-cliff feeling. The moment when your body starts reacting before your brain can even label what’s happening. My pulse was a war drum, thudding in my ears, in my throat, in my wrists. My chest tightened like a vise, ribs constricting, lungs shrinking, the air around me too thick to breathe.
I couldn’t get a full breath. No matter how hard I tried, it wasn’t enough.
It felt like drowning.
My fingers tingled, then went numb. My knees threatened to buckle. My skin went cold, clammy, a sheen of sweat blooming across my back even though I was shivering. Every sound was muffled except the rush of my own blood roaring in my ears.
Too much. Too fast.
Can’t fix this. Can’t breathe.
My thoughts splintered. Logic left the room. All that was left was panic, clawing up my throat like a scream with no exit.
My feet carried me down the stairs like they belonged to someone else, like they were just trying to outrun whatever explosion was building inside me. Every breath came too fast, too shallow, scraping down my throat like I was breathing in broken glass.
The words kept echoing.
I don’t want to fire anyone. But that doesn’t mean I won’t.
Not sure a glowing recommendation can overshadow drama.
You’ve lost the trust of the crew.
I’d worked so hard.
I’d given everything to this job. Every late night, every impossible party theme, every tear I’d cried in a guest cabin while scrubbing a toilet — none of it mattered. I’d erased it all with a stupid, careless surrender to desire.
I felt so… human.
All of it — all the years of effort and sacrifice — were hanging by a thread now and fraying fast.
Because I couldn’t stay away from him, even when I knew this was a possibility.
I nearly laughed at our stupidity. I’ll set an alarm. We can sneak back to our cabins.