Page 18 of Hate Wrecked

“I’m going to swim back out to the boat and grab the tent. We need to lay it out as well if we want to sleep in it tonight. I don’t imagine you want to sleep out in the open?”

“No,” I reply, my eyes pulled back to where the captain lies in the sand. Rowan follows my gaze.

“We’ll find a place for him. Just until rescue shows up.”

“Okay,” I say.

“Are you going to beokaywhile I’m out there?” he asks, his voice softening.

“Yes.”

“Please, stay here. Don’t explore or do anything. I can’t focus on getting that tent if I look back here and don’t see you.”

I nod in response.

“I couldn’t disconnect the lifeboat,” he confesses, his gaze locking with mine. “We’ll have to swim out together and try again later.” My eyes dart between Rowan and the vast ocean before us. The thought of swimming out, away from the safety of the shore, feels daunting.

I swallow. “We’ll do it together.”

Rowan nods, then walks to the shore. I watch him as the ocean gently swallows him until he gets smaller.

I drop down in the sand and hug my knees tight. My body feels wrecked, spent, still coming down from the pills and the liquor and the jet lag and the seasickness.

And now, the death of a man. I stand on shaky legs, then walk to the water, sitting closer to Rowan, farther from the captain.

I watch Rowan reach the boat and pull himself aboard. How long will it stay above the surface? He enters the belly of the boat, and I hold my breath and count in my head. I practice the breathing exercises my psychiatrist taught me to cope with my panic attacks. Her tactics normally work, but right now, I’m not coming down quickly enough. So I pinch my arm and close my eyes as the pain takes over. I’m here now, in this moment.I’m here. Here with Rowan. I’m okay.

After what feels like an eternity, Rowan jumps into the water with the tent. I stand, pacing the shore, the waves pulling the sand around my feet.

When Rowan makes it to the shore, I rush to him, grabbing the tent from his hands, turning around, then rushing away. I need busyness. I need my hands to be busy so my mind can focus on anything but the doom I feel creeping in.

I drop the tent down close to the tree line. Rowan appears beside me. “Let me.”

“No. It’s either me or both of us. I can’t…I need to do something.”

He nods, dropping down beside me as I undo the zipper.

We make quick work of spreading the tent out. Rowan rushes to the trees and collects heavy rocks to secure it at the corners.

When we’re done, I survey all of our belongings, spread out, absorbing the sun. With my hands on my hips, I turn to Rowan, who is staring at the captain.

“What now?” I always looked to Rowan for guidance when things got murky. He is steady and calm. Strong and steadfast.

When he pulls his eyes away from the captain, he stares into the trees.

“We need to find a place to take him. And find any buildings we can. I think there are some bunkers on this island or the next. The sun will be going down in a few hours. Hopefully, this will be dry enough for our first night. We should also start a fire.”

His voice unnerves me—monotone—his accent dulled, his eyes lifeless.

I’ve been the strong one before. With my sisters. Always with my sisters. I’m the oldest, the protector, the one they look to. I’ve led; I’ve been steady. I can be that now.

I can be that for Rowan.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

THEN

ROWAN

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