“Guys, I swear it’s not a hangover,” Shiv joked.
They were all gathered in front of the hotel, the bus idling nearby with doors closed and AC presumably on. Ethan had missed a bit of what else Shiv had said, but the dude looked like crap, his eyes bloodshot and hair sweaty in a way that didn’t seem to be from the actual heat.
The upshot was apparently that only Clayton was accompanying them on their first full day of the tour—a boat trip out to the Great Barrier Reef. Apparently Clayton usually only dropped them off and picked them up at the end of the day trip, and as Shiv waved them off and disappeared back into the hotel, a little bubble of excitement filled Ethan’s chest. Which was stupid, but Clayton was hot, and Ethan was fucking desperate for distraction.
He took a seat in the middle of the bus, which he’d noticed held forty-eight according to a little strip of regulations up on the wall at the front. He counted nineteen guests including himself, so at least there was lots of room to spread out.
At the welcome dinner the night before at an aboriginal cultural center, Ethan had discovered everyone else was either from the UK or Canada, and he guessed that the youngest were new retirees in their sixties. They were all friendly and kind, no one seeming to care that he’d been set to marry another guy.
A Canadian man named Stan in his seventies wore hearing aids as well, although his were the smaller, inside-the-ear variety. Ethan had found he needed more power than that style could give. Still, Stan’s wife, Violet, was nice to talk to because she was used to dealing with hearing loss and enunciated crisply.
The others sitting near Ethan hadn’t seemed to mind repeating themselves as they’d eaten gamey kangaroo meat and other Australian dishes at a buffet following a show of dancing and cultural stories. Still, Ethan hadn’t often asked them to repeat anything, usually just trying to fill in the blanks himself, staying quiet and hoping that if anyone asked him a question he didn’t make a fool of himself by talking about something completely different. Restaurants were the worst. If he was talking one-on-one with someone in a quiet place, it was way less stressful.
Clayton only drove them a couple of blocks down to the pier before they were filing out again, using the door at the front and the one in the middle, which was handy. Ethan waited until the older people were off, so he fell into step with Clayton as they brought up the rear and ambled along the pier toward one of the big ferry-type boats.
“I’m surprised we didn’t just walk down,” Ethan said.
“Better to keep everyone together. And it can be harder for the older folks. Especially in this heat.”
“Oh, of course. Didn’t even think of that.” Stupid. Just keep your mouth shut. He was suddenly desperate to say something smart, or ask something smart, or—well, anything that wasn’t stupid. “Clayton, I was wondering—”
“Mumble fine.”
“Sorry?”
Clayton turned his face toward Ethan. “Said Clay’s fine. Shiv likes to stand on ceremony and call me Clayton since he once called me ‘Clinton’ all day until one of the guests spoke up. I was just waiting to see how long it would take him to get his head out of his arse.” He glanced around, but the others were several paces ahead.
Ethan felt a little beat of pleasure at the conspiratorial tone. “Okay. Clay.”
Clay smiled at him, his beautiful blue eyes crinkling around the corners and teeth flashing white. “You had a question?”
“Oh!” Ethan scrambled to think of a single intelligent thing to say. “Um… Is Shiv sick? I didn’t hear everything he said, but he looks terrible.”
“Yeah, claims it’s food poisoning, but I dunno. He might be chucking a sickie.”
Ethan wasn’t sure he heard properly and tried to make sense of the words. “You think he’s faking?”
Clay blinked in surprise, frowning. “No. I was only joking, mate. Shiv wouldn’t do that. He’s very good at his job. He’s definitely crook.” He sounded a bit offended.
“Oh, no! I’m sure he’s sick! I just wasn’t sure I understood what you were saying.” Ethan shoved his hands in the pockets of his khaki shorts. Great, now he thinks I’m an asshole. He tried to laugh off the sudden awkwardness while simultaneously wishing the endless wooden pier would open up and drop him into the depths below. Clay was being so nice, and Ethan had to ruin it.
Clay murmured something, and Ethan looked up from his feet and said, “Sorry, can you repeat that?”
“I just didn’t want you to think DL hires guides who aren’t committed to the work. This is actually the first time I’ve seen him miss a day.”
“Poor guy. Food poisoning’s the worst. Did you say… Does ‘crook’ mean sick?”
Clay smiled. “It does. Sorry, I forget there can be a bit of a learning curve. Especially for Americans. Canadians seem to understand our slang a bit more for whatever reason, and obviously the Brits do. We’ve got a lot in common.” His eyes twinkled. “Except during the Ashes.”
“Oh, right.” Ethan tried to guess from the context and came up blank. Had he heard the right words?
“You’ve got no bloody idea what I’m talking about, do ya?”
Ethan had to laugh, even as his face went hot. “Nope. Sorry, my hearing is crap.”
The rumble of Clay’s good-natured laughter was a comforting sound. “Nah, it’s not your fault at all, mate. I’m talking about cricket. Don’t think it’s very popular in America. I’ll fill you in later if you like.” They’d apparently reached the boat, and Clay clapped a big hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “But I can talk cricket all day, and I doubt you want to be bored shitless.”
He gave Ethan a smile before waving to a boat staff member and heading over to talk to him. Ethan watched as they looked intently at a clipboard, having a conversation about something, Clay pointing and shaking his head.
And for a moment, Ethan let himself enjoy the little thrill he’d felt from the weight of Clay’s hand touching him. Then the guilt rushed in. He was supposed to be married now. He shouldn’t be attracted to another guy, even if it was totally one-sided.
Why the hell not? Michael’s been fucking my best friend for two years. It’s over between us. Forever. Maybe a rebound fling is exactly what I need.
He laughed at himself. The dude had been nice to him for, like, five minutes, and Ethan had built it into a fling in his head already. He really was pathetic.
Soon they were boarding, and Ethan headed straight up for the top deck, along with a few others from the group and other passengers. The ferry held a few hundred, Ethan guessed, so there were quite a few other tours and individual travelers on board. He sat by the railing, putting on his sunglasses. It was mostly overcast, but still bright.
Clay noticed him and came over to sit, and fuck it. Why shouldn’t Ethan be happy about that? Clay was gorgeous, and looked nothing like Michael or Todd—Ethan braced as the images cartwheeled through his head—and what was wrong with enjoying the view? Besides, it distracted him from the exhausting cycle of hurt-fury-humiliation-despair, and it was nice to not feel completely alone.
“Did you bring a hat?” Clay asked, settling his own wide-brimmed brown leather hat on his head. It almost looked like a cowboy hat, and Ethan imagined Clay riding a horse through the outback, red dirt flying up.
“Hmm?” Ethan said, trying to refocus.
“Even when it’s overcast, the sun’s fiercer down here than in your hemisphere.” He squinted up at the sky, and Ethan followed his gaze. The sun was peeking through thick clouds that at least weren’t gray. Yet. Clay added, “Really have to watch myself being a bluey. Especially on the water. Oh, sorry. ‘Bluey’ means redhead.”
Ethan laughed. “I love how there’s a weird name for everything here. I mean, not weird, just different.”
“Oh, we Aussies are a strange lot. No offense taken. So, no hat?”
“Shit, no. I meant to buy one yesterday and I totally forgot.”
Clay ribbed him good-naturedly. “How do you come to Oz without a hat?”
Instead of doing what any normal person would do and joking back, Ethan blurted, “I had one, but my boyfriend got it for me for Christmas. Fiancé, I mean. Ex-fiancé. Ex-boyfriend. Ex-everything.” Shoot me now. He finished lamely, “I just didn’t want to bring anything associated with him.”
Clay nodded, his smile gone. He said something Ethan missed as a young couple laughed nearby. Ethan tried to think of something else to say. Clay seemed okay with the gay thing, which was a little surprising given the stereotypes of outback men, but he probably didn’t want to sit around talking about Ethan’s ex-boyfriend. Fiancé. Whatever. Then Ethan felt guilty for being surprised.
Why am I buying into stereotypes in the first place? If he’s not a homophobe, that shouldn’t be surprising! I guess he could be hiding it because this is his job, dealing with guests of all backgrounds and—no! Why am I being so suspicious? Why am I thinking the worst of him? Fuck, why am I overthinking this like EVERYTHING EVER? And why didn’t I overthink the thing that really mattered most? My relationship with Michael and our fucking doomed wedding?
Clay cleared his throat and said, “When we get back to the mainland later this arvo, I’ll show you where you can buy a good hat. Mumble mumble.”
Ethan didn’t ask him to repeat himself since he was pretty sure he’d gotten the important part. He hoped so, at least. “Thanks. That would be awesome.” Clay was surely only being friendly—only doing his job—but Ethan couldn’t help but smile. It was comforting to feel like at least one person cared about him here on the other side of the world. And if that person was sexy AF, a little fantasy never hurt anyone.
Like I haven’t been living in a fantasy world thinking me and Michael were going to live happily ever after when we should have broken up years ago.
“How did you enjoy the aboriginal center last night?”
Ethan jumped on the subject change. “It was really interesting! It’s cool that all the people working there are from the same tribe and they make the souvenirs instead of selling stuff made in China or wherever. I wish there was more written info, though. It was hard to hear some of the presentation, especially since it was dark. But the dancing and the fire stuff was really cool.” Am I saying “cool” too much? He added, “It helps if I can see people’s mouths when they’re talking.”
“Do you read lips, then?” Clay asked slowly, obviously making an effort to make sure Ethan could hear him.
“Not the way someone in the Deaf community would. But I’ve picked it up a bit with some words. Swear words especially. People tend to be more emphatic when they say those.”
Clay chuckled. “Makes sense.”
“It can fill in some gaps, but the thing that helps the most is if people speak clearly while they look at me—so the sound comes straight at me, you know what I mean? And not too fast.”
“Can you understand me all right?”
“Yeah, you’re awesome. Your voice is deep, so that helps. And you don’t get pissed when I ask you to repeat yourself. Well, so far,” he joked, laughing lamely. Memories of arguments with Michael flickered through his mind, familiar dread in his stomach. Followed by vibrant images of Michael and Todd fucking, so that was FUN.
Clay’s eyebrows shot up. “People get aggro with you?”
“Sometimes. I get it—it’s frustrating to have to repeat stuff. The worst is when people treat me like I’m stupid.”
“Huh.” He seemed to be pondering it. “They’re the drongos. Not you.” He smiled sheepishly. “Idiots, I mean. My dad used to call nearly everyone a ‘drongo.’ Not many people use that word anymore, but I can’t help it sometimes.”
Ethan smiled. “Thanks for explaining. And thanks for saying they’re the idiots.”
“Right idiots, I reckon. Wankers, wallys, dickheads. I could go on.”
The boat’s engines thrummed to life, and once they cleared the harbor and picked up speed, the vessel rocked on the choppy waves, and some people went back downstairs. One young woman standing near the bow almost went flying as she tried to take a selfie, the guy she was with barely catching her as the boat pitched side to side.
A pimply faced crew member in a red shirt and shorts came to the bow and yelled something Ethan couldn’t catch with the noise of the wind. Presumably it was that they’d have to go downstairs now that the sea had gotten too rough, and sure enough, other red-shirted crew arrived and helped people off the long benches and toward the exit.
The ferry really rocked in the waves, and a ripple of fear snaked down Ethan’s spine as he waited for the rows closer to the stairs to go. The young crew were walking the older people down and taking no chances, which was wise. As Ethan stood, the boat pitched, and he stumbled into Clay, who’d also gotten to his feet.
Spreading his legs, Clay stabilized them, his big, rough hands on Ethan’s shoulders. Although they were almost the same height—with Clay only an inch taller—where Ethan was lean, he was brawny. Ethan had flattened his hands on Clay’s chest, and through the cotton of his undershirt and DL uniform shirt, he could feel the muscle of his pecs. The ferry rocked violently again, but Clay kept them steady, his strong hands warm through Ethan’s tee.
There was a murmur of speaking, and Ethan turned to see a teenage boy standing a few feet away, his mouth pressed into an impatient line.
Ethan let go of Clay’s chest and was about to apologize, but Clay—keeping one hand firmly on Ethan’s shoulder—said, “Just catching our balance, mate.” He urged Ethan to go first, staying behind him, guiding him with his hand. He kept it there the whole way down the narrow stairs as they wobbled and pitched.
When they reached the enclosed lower deck, Clay let go and took off his hat. He said something Ethan didn’t hear, then walked away. Ethan watched as Clay went around the big room, checking on the rest of the group. The deck had tables for four people around the outside and two rows in the middle as well.
Some people were looking positively green, and crew members were passing out paper bags. Ethan realized with a sinking sensation that they were barf bags just as a woman hurled all over the floor nearby. He was just able to dance out of the way. He waited to make sure someone would look after her before finding an empty table on the far side.
As more and more people started being violently ill, Ethan turned off his hearing aids, the sounds of retching setting his own stomach churning. An old woman at the next table was sweating profusely, and before he could look away, she puked into her bag. Ethan squeezed his eyes shut.
Oh my God, how long is this boat ride?
It turned out it was really, really fucking long.
Ethan had never given it a ton of thought, but he’d imagined the Great Barrier Reef as being just off the coast in Cairns. In reality, it was a ninety-minute trip out, and in the rough seas, the cabin reeking of acrid puke, Ethan thought it would never end. He’d always had a strong stomach, but a low-grade nausea had settled in by the time they reached the massive concrete platform that was a permanent addition to the reef.
There were other sightseeing platforms in the distance as well, presumably owned by different companies. At least the platform was rock solid and drilled into the ocean floor, so it was wonderfully stable and not moving.
The weather had sadly not improved, the sky overcast and drizzly, no hint of sunshine remaining. There were different activities they could do, including scuba diving, snorkeling, a submarine ride, or a trip in a glass-bottomed boat. Scuba was out because Ethan was afraid of what the pressure might do to his ears. He’d planned on trying the snorkeling, although Michael had teased him, saying he’d chicken out because of his slightly irrational fear of sharks.
To be fair, Ethan thought it was a completely rational fear. Also, fuck Michael. He winced as the hurt and humiliation and fear whipped through him in sequence, landing on anger and clinging to that before he could spiral.
The main area of the covered rectangular platform was open on one long side, the ferry moored to the opposite side. On one end was the kitchen where the buffet lunch would be served, along with clusters of long tables.
With the rain, everyone from the ferry was now crowded on the platform instead of immediately going into the water to explore. Some people looked horribly sick, and Clive shouted to Ethan that there were even tourist helicopters coming to evacuate some of them—at a steep cost to the seasick.
The worst part was that they had a good five hours before the boat would take them back to the mainland. Ethan went down to a glass-sided underwater viewing room, which was cool. He checked his phone. He’d managed to kill about ten minutes.
He could still hear the annoying echoes of Michael’s teasing about how he’d punk out of snorkeling when the time came, and he wished he could shut off his stupid brain.
Fuck it. What do I have to lose? Aside from my life if a shark eats me.
Ethan laughed to himself a little hysterically, garnering side-eye from a nearby family who’d been watching purple fish swim by the glass wall.
Fuck it. Fuck Michael. I can do this.
He went back upstairs, determined. It had said in the brochure of activities that there were snorkeling lessons, and he figured it was a good idea. If nothing else, there’d be a few other people around for the sharks to eat first. But then the other shoe dropped.
Michael wasn’t with him to help translate.
Ethan’s hearing aids weren’t waterproof, so he’d be pretty fucking deaf out in the water without them. Maybe the instructors wouldn’t even want to take him. Humiliation trickled down his spine as his mind spun out a bunch of scenarios, each more crappy than the last.
Why did I even come on this trip? What was I thinking?
The nausea spiked, and he felt so small and ridiculous, standing there on the crowded platform by himself. A middle-aged woman with curly hair who was wearing a wetsuit stopped in front of him and said something. Of course he couldn’t make it out, and he hated himself as he had to ask, “Pardon?” He turned his head a bit, cupping his hand behind one ear.
She smiled and spoke louder and slower, thank God. “Just wondering if you’re doing okay? Look a bit lost, mate.”
“I…” What the hell. “I wanted to do a snorkeling lesson, but I’m not sure if I even can. I’d have to take off my hearing aids.”
“No worries! You’re talking to the right woman. I’m Steph, and I’m going to do a little lesson in ten. Let me tell you the basics now while you can hear me, and I’ll try to use gestures you can understand while we’re in the water. Sound good?”
It really did, and he nodded gratefully.
Ten minutes later in a narrow changing stall made of corrugated metal, Ethan strained to get his hand to the right angle behind him to zip up the wetsuit, but he managed. He felt like a bony idiot in the skintight material, but whatever.
It’s not like there’s anyone you know here to give a shit what you look like.
After tucking his hearing aids in their case, he zipped them into his backpack’s inner pocket, along with his phone and wallet. He exited the stall and looked around, suddenly realizing he needed a place to keep his bag—and since he was pathetically alone on this trip instead of with his new husband, there was no one to watch his shit.
He stood there gripping the backpack. Peering around the crowded platform, he tried to find someone from the group, but there were so many other tours there as well that he couldn’t spot anyone. Maybe they’d all gone out on the submersible tour.
Steph tapped him and motioned toward the side of the platform. Ethan looked at his bag, and she said something and pointed toward a bin where other bags were piled. Ethan stared at it in horror. Perhaps those people were more trusting than he was, but no one seemed to be guarding the purses and bags there, and sure, they were on a platform in the ocean and all had to go back on the same boat, but would that stop a thief from trying?
His throat went dry. As much as it would blow to lose his wallet and phone, the thought of losing his hearing aids made his knees actually tremble. He shook his head at Steph, who said something likely meant to be cajoling, smiling at him.
Suddenly Clay was there, his brows drawn together. Relief flooded Ethan. He was probably talking too loud, but he said, “I’m sorry to bug you, but could you just keep an eye on my bag? My hearing aids are in there. I really cannot lose them.”
Clay started to say something, but then seemed to think better of it and nodded. He took hold of one of the straps and clapped a big hand on Ethan’s shoulder, giving him a squeeze. Ethan forced his fingers to uncurl from the other strap, and he smiled his gratitude as Clay slung the pack over one shoulder and patted it, giving the silent reassurance that he’d keep it safe.
Ethan could finally exhale, and he smiled at Clay again, knowing he could trust him. Which was probably stupid since he barely knew the dude, but Clay just seemed so…capable. Maybe it was because he was older, but it was sexy in a whole different way than Ethan was used to.
On the side of the platform, there were metal steps leading down into the choppy water. Steph fitted Ethan with a mask, life vest, and flippers, and then took him and two old ladies into the water only a few feet from the side of the platform. There was a ring several feet in diameter that they held onto, their feet floating up behind them. Now in a circle, they could practice putting their faces in the water and breathing through the snorkels.
It was amazing how peaceful it looked underwater even though the ocean was rough. The blues and greens were shockingly vivid given how gray the day was, and Ethan watched in wonder as coral swayed and fish darted in and out. With his ears underwater, he could actually hear better than he could in the air, the sounds of movement louder. It was something about the sound going through bone rather than the nerves in his ears, but he rarely went swimming in New York.
Maybe I should join the Y when I get back. But I need to find an apartment and—
Ethan clamped down on his thoughts before they spun out of control. He was snorkeling on the Great Barrier Reef. He was going to be in the now if it freaking killed him.
Steph moved them a bit farther away from the platform, and Ethan kicked with his flippers, enjoying the sensation through the water as he watched some more colorful fish, now orange and yellow, swimming through the endless blue-green.
Then he saw a motherfucking jellyfish—no, three jellyfish!—and seized up, splashing his head up.
He said—okay, probably screamed—“Jellyfish!” but Steph only smiled. She pointed in the jellyfish’s amorphous direction and gave Ethan the universal “okay” symbol.
Right, they’d said something about the jellyfish around the area not being anything to worry about. Pulse still thrumming, Ethan gave her a weak smile and put his face back in, gripping the ring. He saw more jellyfish floating, their white bodies lit on the inside. As they pulsed and sailed gracefully through the water, Ethan decided they were actually beautiful. He was still avoiding the fuckers just in case, but they were cool to watch.
The lesson was over too quickly, and he decided he was good to stay out by himself, giving Steph a nod and smile. There were other people in the water now, all sticking close to the platform, and he kept accidentally kicking people with his flippers. After getting someone else’s flipper in the face, Ethan headed out farther, marveling at all the colors and shapes of the coral and plants that waved gently in the current.
When he surfaced, he realized with a seize of panic that he’d gotten farther away from the platform than he’d intended when he’d broken free from the cluster of others. Somehow, with his face in the water, it had seemed calmer, and he’d followed the bright schools of fish all the way near the edge of the snorkeling area, marked by lines of buoys. Here, the ocean swells were larger. A wave washed over his face, and he sputtered, kicking with his flippers and trying not to swallow the salt water.
Do the lifeguards know I’m here? What if they call to me and I can’t hear? I have my life vest. I can’t drown in that, can I? Will they come get me? That’s their job, isn’t it?
He squinted back at the platform, struggling to catch his breath, an iron band around his lungs. But then he spotted a man standing on the side of the platform by the railing. He wore navy uniform shorts, a white short-sleeved shirt, and a brown hat. Over his shoulder he carried a backpack with a distinctive red starburst on the rear pocket.
Clay lifted his arm in a wave, and Ethan looked behind him. But there was no one else there, just the buoys and open sea, another sightseeing platform rising in the distance, hazy and small. Ethan pivoted and waved back to Clay, who lifted his arm again. It looked like… A thumbs-up.
More swells rolled in, but with Clay watching, Ethan cleared his mask, secured his mouthpiece, and went back to the underwater world with impossibly vibrant colors, looking right and left at the coral and schools of fish. He saw a few other people from time to time, but none close by. For the most part he was alone with the sea—
And a motherfucking giant-ass sea turtle.
He’d been turning his head slowly when the large shape appeared in his right peripheral vision, sending a jolt of pure terror screaming through him. But after a moment he realized it wasn’t a shark or a stingray or anything terrible, but a huge sea turtle, which seemed completely unfazed by Ethan’s presence as it swam, moving at a steady, not particularly fast pace.
Ethan glanced around, but he was the only person there. Heart soaring, he kicked his flippers and followed along with the turtle, not getting too close, but still probably within six or seven feet. The turtle seemed fixated on a jellyfish that was pulsing by, getting closer and closer until—
Holy shitballs. It’s eating the jellyfish!
With a big chomp, the turtle went right for the jellyfish’s middle. He swallowed down the main part of the creature, the rest of it left to drift in the water, fish zooming in from out of nowhere to snap up the jellyfish crumbs. Now Ethan really regretted not buying one of the stupidly expensive underwater cameras as he watched the turtle go for another poor dumb jellyfish, who never saw it coming, what with having no eyes and no brain.
It was freaking awesome.
Ethan followed the turtle for a bit, but when he got water in his mask again and lifted his head to clear it, a wave hit him square in the face and he got a little freaked. Spitting out salt water, he paddled back to the platform. Really, nothing was going to top a sea turtle eating a jellyfish, so he might as well put an end to his snorkeling adventure before he got in over his head.
After depositing his flippers and mask in the right boxes, Ethan turned to find Clay there with a towel, Ethan’s sandals, and of course his backpack. “Thank you!” Ethan exclaimed, grinning like an idiot but feeling happier than he had in what seemed like a long time, even if it had only been days.
“I saw a sea turtle eat a jellyfish!” he told Clay, trying to modulate so he wasn’t yelling. Clay’s eyebrows shot up, and a grin spread over his handsome face, his cheeks creasing above his beard. He gave Ethan another thumbs-up.
Ethan was dripping and needed to change out of the wetsuit, and he took his pack from Clay gratefully. Ethan jerked his thumb behind him toward the changing stalls, and Clay nodded.
Ethan wasn’t really expecting him to be waiting, but when he came back out with his hearing aids in, the hum of activity and voices all around the platform jarring after the peace of the sea, Clay was still there, ready to listen as Ethan told him all about his adventure.
“Okay, everyone. We cannot leave until every person has reported back and had their name checked off the list. This is a safety issue. We’re looking for a Michael Wong, Lu Lee, Wenjing Han, Audrey Steinberg—”
Ethan stopped listening to the other names being announced on the boat’s loudspeaker, his heart thumping dully, Michael’s name repeating on a loop in his head. The announcement was then apparently read in Mandarin, and Ethan gazed around uneasily, as if Michael—and Todd—were suddenly going to appear.
Obviously they weren’t, and “Michael Wong” was not an uncommon name. Apparently there was another one on the boat who hadn’t followed the instructions to check in when they re-boarded.
Ethan flipped through a brochure, killing time as they all waited for the irresponsible passengers to get their names checked off so the boat could leave, safe in the knowledge they hadn’t abandoned anyone out in the middle of nowhere to be eaten by sharks. Although the platform was there, so it wasn’t like anyone would actually be left at sea.
Then the announcement came again with fewer names, but “Michael Wong” was repeated. Hearing the words aloud again was like salt in his wounds, but Ethan refused to take out his hearing aids. He could hear Michael’s stupid name and survive. He couldn’t let the terrorists win. Or something.
To distract himself, he watched Clay doing a round of the deck, checking in on all the tour members. Sure, Ethan was on his honeymoon alone, but at least he had eye candy. Clay was way hotter than the dude who’d played Crocodile Dundee, but he had a similar laid-back, confident vibe. Like he could manfully wrestle a crocodile no prob, but he had a sensitive side too.
As the minutes ticked by slowly, Clay talked to the other tour guests, smiling affably, his uniform shirt stretching across his broad shoulders as he leaned over to say something to Gwen, a nice Welsh lady in her seventies who’d been one of the people violently ill earlier. Clay spoke to her for a few minutes, and she beamed at him even though she still looked a little green.
When Clay reached Ethan, he took the seat across from him, and Ethan tried not to grin. He reminded himself Clay was only being kind, but he hadn’t sat with anyone else and Ethan couldn’t help but feel special.
I’m delusional, but fuck it. Fantasy FTW.
Clay asked, “Holding up all right, mate? I know today wasn’t as much fun as we’d have hoped with this weather.”
For some reason, Ethan wanted to reassure him. “Yeah. I’m good. It was great. I mean, I saw a sea turtle eat a jellyfish. No complaints here.”
Clay grinned. “I’m still jealous.”
A young staff member in red appeared in the middle of the deck and spoke into a bullhorn, making Ethan wince. “We are still looking for Michael Wong. Michael Wong, you must check in! We cannot leave until you do!”
As she repeated the message in Mandarin, Clay bolted straighter in his seat, saying something Ethan missed. He shook his head and sprang up, hurrying over to the young woman with the megaphone. They spoke for a minute, Clay’s expression serious. A few other staff members came over, including one with a clipboard. Clay turned to him, his jaw tightening. He seemed to speak sternly to the guy, who nodded a few times and then rubbed his face.
The other staff looked annoyed, and the girl with the megaphone seemed barely able to resist rolling her eyes as she stared daggers at the guy with the clipboard. They dispersed, and Clay came back to the table. As he sat, he met Ethan’s gaze. He seemed…sheepish?
Clay leaned forward across the table and carefully said, “I told them Michael wasn’t on this tour after all, and to take his name off the list. The wally with the clipboard apparently forgot.” He shook his head and said something else Ethan didn’t pick up, looking miserable, his mouth turning down.
In that moment, Ethan didn’t care about anything else but seeing Clay smile confidently again. “Oh, it’s okay. It’s not your fault!” A bolt of anger at goddamn Michael flashed through him, as irrational as it might have been.
Clay shook his head. “I should have clocked it as soon as they said his name.”
“How were you supposed to know? I didn’t figure it out either. It’s a common name.”
Clay rubbed his beard and muttered something. Ethan hesitated, but then tentatively asked, “Can you please say that again? When your hand’s near your mouth, it can distort the sound.”
Clay dropped his hand to the table between them like a rock. “Sorry. Should have realized.”
“It’s okay. I know it’s a huge pain.”
Clay frowned. “It’s not. If I forget, please remind me.”
Gratitude warmed Ethan’s chest. “Okay. Thanks. Um, anyway, hearing his name sucked, but it’s not like I’m not aware almost every second that he’s not here with me. I’m trying to distract myself, but…” He didn’t say how, his cheeks getting hot now as he thought of his growing crush. Good thing Clay couldn’t read his mind. “I need to get used to it. Him not being with me.”
Clay studied him carefully. “You will. Believe me. I’ve been there, and you get used to it. Life goes on. It even gets better, I think.” He quickly added, “Depending on the situation, of course.”
Ethan smiled softly. “That’s good to hear. Thank you.” He stared into Clay’s eyes, and he was probably imagining things, but he felt as though understanding passed between them. Ethan tried to think of something else to say, his heart thumping as the moment stretched out.
The boat finally started moving with a loud rumble of the engines, and Ethan and Clay both jumped a little before laughing awkwardly. Clay peered around. “You know, there’s a little deck out the back. Some fresh air might be good, and it shouldn’t be as bumpy as it was earlier given the tides.”
Nodding, Ethan followed his lead. Indeed, there was a little outside space at the rear of the main deck. The crew still wasn’t letting anyone up on the top deck, and there were no official seats, but Clay and Ethan were able to perch on a box containing life jackets, high enough that their feet dangled.
It was loud outside with the hum of the engine and the wind, but Clay seemed content to sit in silence. The sun reappeared, and they both put on their sunglasses, Clay’s sexy aviators making Ethan’s mouth go dry.
Maybe it should have been weird to hang out with a virtual stranger, but Clay seemed…different. Ethan stole glances at him as Clay leaned back against the wall behind them. Ethan could glimpse that his eyes were closed, and he admired the gleam of red in Clay’s beard, and the way faint freckles sprinkled his skin, even on the tip of his ear.
Ethan was probably losing it after what had happened, but Clay’s solid presence made him feel safe. Maybe it was that he was older and so completely unlike Michael. He probably didn’t give a shit about fashion or clubbing or what hashtags were trending.
Clay was a man—adult and solid. And hot, but it was the dependability and strength emanating from him that attracted Ethan the most. Someone to lean on, and you wouldn’t have to worry that it would be too much or that he’d flit off to some noisy fucking party to escape your neediness.
Okay, so maybe Ethan was really indulging in fantasy now, but it still felt good to be next to a man like Clay. Something to aspire to when he was healed from this shit with Michael. Because he would heal from it. He wasn’t going to let them win.
The ferry swayed on the waves, but it was definitely calmer now in the waning afternoon. As they rolled on a bigger swell, Ethan’s knee bumped into Clay’s muscular thigh, their legs pressing together. Ethan was about to apologize, but Clay had his eyes closed and didn’t seem bothered by it a bit.
They swayed back and forth, their arms brushing now too, the wiry hair on Clay’s sending goosebumps over Ethan’s skin. He’d never been with an older man, and hadn’t thought much about it aside from maybe lusting over Hugh Jackman and George Clooney sometimes, because who didn’t?
But Clay was very much flesh and blood next to him and not in a movie, and as Ethan leaned into him again as the boat rolled, he imagined what it would be like to feel the touch of his whole body. Naked, with Clay on top of him, that solid weight pressing him down, Clay between his legs…
Well, Ethan’s dick was certainly interested in the idea, and he bit his lip, inching away before he humiliated himself, grinning like an idiot as he looked out at the waves, shimmering blue in the snatches of sunlight. Shit, he’d forgotten how fun a crush could be.
Of course thoughts of Michael and Todd smashed back through his head, drenching him in virtual ice water. He inhaled the briny air deeply, reminded himself to be in the now. And if the boat kept nudging him and Clay against each other, it didn’t hurt anyone.
When they reached the hotel later, Ethan loitered as the other guests left and said goodnight to Clay, who stood by the bus and reminded them to have their suitcases outside their room door by six-fifteen in the morning for porterage.
Ethan pretended to look through his backpack for something, even though the other people on the tour wouldn’t think anything of him hanging back to talk to Clay. There was nothing to think about.
Still, he waited until they were gone to say, “What’s the name of that store? With the hats? I’m sure I can find it if you point me in the right direction.”
“I’ve got to go that way to grab some tucker anyway. If you wait while I park the bus, won’t mumble mumble.” He paused as Ethan squinted at him. Clay repeated, speaking more slowly, “Won’t take more than ten minutes.”
“Oh, sure. Yeah. Cool.”
So Ethan waited, pacing in the shade of the hotel’s entry, which had a high roof over the curved drive. The low-grade nausea he’d felt most of the day at sea had faded, but his stomach was jittery again. He was strangely excited to go hat shopping with Clay, which proved he was a dumbass, because Clay was only being nice to him.
He feels sorry for me because I’m alone. Not to mention a loser, not even bringing a hat to Australia for fuck’s sake. He’d take Violet to the hat store too if she needed one. But Violet planned ahead way better than I did. He’s just being generous. Of course he is, because what else would he be? It’s his job to be nice to dumbass tourists.
Clay appeared, and Ethan almost jumped out of his skin, suddenly full of nerves. He tried to laugh it off. “Hey. I was daydreaming.”
Clay’s lips hitched in a little smile, not like he was laughing at him, but with a sweetness and understanding that was probably completely fabricated in Ethan’s mess of a mind. Still, it felt as if he’d found a friend, and he realized Clay was the first new person he’d connected with in years. Years.
As Clay led the way down the street, he said, “We should just make it before they close.”
Ethan had checked his phone, and it wasn’t even five. “So early?”
“Yeah, most shops close by six at the latest. Except Thursdays. That’s late shopping. Open until nine.”
“Huh. I guess I’m used to a lot of stuff being twenty-four hours. You’re a little more laid-back down here. Understatement of the year.”
Clay laughed. “You’ll find more of that in Sydney, but Cairns is really a glorified small town.”
They quickly reached the shopping area. On each side of the wide street, the sidewalk was covered by a roof, and there were a variety of shops from jewelry to Ugg boots to a drugstore, grocery store, clothing stores, and even designer stuff in a fancy building across the way.
Clay led the way into a store selling surf gear and said to the girl inside, “Won’t take much of your time. Mumble mumble.”
She pointed them to a rack of what Ethan thought of as fishing hats, round with a brim and fitting close to the head. She said something Ethan missed, and then, “Fifty UPF.”
Ethan thanked her and picked a navy hat. He put it on, suddenly self-conscious of Clay watching, and checked it out in the mirror. It seemed to fit, and he looked super dorky, but when didn’t he? He’d look dorkier with a lobster burn. “I guess it’s good?”
“Looks great,” Clay said.
He said it with such confidence that Ethan wore it out of the store, the girl cutting off the tags for him after he bought it. “Thanks for your help,” Ethan said to Clay. “I feel like this is probably way above your pay grade.”
Clay only laughed with that low rumble. Ethan’s stomach flip-flopped, and it definitely wasn’t lingering seasickness.
