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Never noticed his father's eyes in that angry reflection.

Alex lifted the glass in a toast to no one. "I hope you're in hell, old man."

The scotch was downed in one swallow, but the reflection remained, clinking up against the sides of an empty glass. Alex caught the eye of a waitress and motioned for a refill. The burning in his throat was perfectly appropriate, considering his mood, and he'd just decided a good hangover might do the trick. Drinking to excess might not ever solve a problem, but the pain it would cause the next morning would lend justice to his rotten mood.

Right now he wanted to brood. He wanted to sit there and contemplate the fact that -- sometime between last night and five hours ago -- fate had, for no good reason, kicked him in the ass. Or was it destiny? He could never quite figure out which one hated him so much. It was most likely a conspiracy.

"Here you are, sir. I'll just charge it to your cabin." The waitress deposited the fresh drink and paused, touching the bottle on her tray with a question in her raised eyebrows.

Alex nodded, neatly avoiding eye contact. She left the bottle on his table and vanished quickly into the small crowd, muttering something about tips and attitudes. He was working up a great reputation. A mere two hours into the trip and already on his second waitress.

No matter. Casual conversation wasn't something he wanted to tolerate right now. He could barely stand his own company as it was.

Alex looked at the ice again, wondering why the angry man looking back at him didn't just go drink in his room and leave these good people alone to enjoy their cruise.

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