Page 28 of Hate Wrecked

She looks me in the eye, and I see her sorrow—the shock of it all. I want to anchor her, so I walk to her, wrapping my arms around her—a small truce in our fragile relationship. “I’m sorry. You didn’t have to help with this.”

“It was my stupid fucking idea.” Her voice is muffled, her mouth close to my chest.

I rub her back for a second, then let her go. She looks wounded, but I can’t linger in physical touch with her. No matter what. “Let me finish it.”

Riley wipes her eyes and then smiles, a grim thing. “Okay. I’ll…I’m going to head back.” She hooks her thumb over her shoulder, and I nod, watch her retreating form, and only when she’s on the shore do I begin.

One clump of dirt at a time, I bury the captain. I say prayers for his life, for the people who loved him. Orlovehim. He said it himself; he loved the sea more than anything. And it wasn’t the sea that took him. His heart that loved the water, it betrayed him.

And though it’s a different beast, I won’t let my heart betray me here with Riley.

When the grave has been covered, I toss the shovel aside and grab my discarded T-shirt. I wipe my brow and glance up at the birds watching before leaving the shelter of the trees and stepping onto the sand. At first, I don’t see Riley; when I do spot her, she’s in the water, up to her knees, with the rain pelting her as she washes her hands in the salty water.

I join her, glancing at her profile briefly before staring out into the ocean where the darkness of the storm moves closer and closer, the rain just a tease. I sink down into the water with her, trying to wash the death away.

When I straighten, she speaks again. “I’m ready to leave this island.”

“I know,” I say. “We will find a way.”

“No, I mean this one. This one with him here. I can’t be here any longer.”

“Tomorrow. We can tomorrow. We can’t move everything in the lifeboat in this.”

She turns to the shore, her hand grazing my own as she passes. On purpose? I don’t know. I never know with her. Maybe she wanted to grab it. To offer me comfort the way I offered her comfort in the trees.

But I don’t need it.

“We did what we could,” she says softly, and I nod, a shared understanding passing between us. The captain’s resting place is marked by the sounds of the rain, a natural song for a journey cut short on this forgotten island.

Slowly, hands swinging close—but never touching—we return to the bunker.

THE END OF A SONG

RILEY

Becareful what you wish for. I wanted to be close to him again, in a confined space, breathing his air.

And now I’m in a tent on an island with Rowan Finn, and my heart isn’t racing, but aching. I want to numb it or let it free.

But I can do neither.

He crawls in after me, the fire just outside the entrance of the bunker burning low. There’s space between our sleeping bags, but it doesn’t feel like it. I can hear him breathing, the movement of his body as he rustles against the tent, the floor, and the fabric of his sleeping bag.

I’m facing his sleeping bag on my side, slightly angled toward the tent’s opening so I can see out.

When Rowan lies down, he lets out a breath. “I’m a light sleeper, Riley. You don’t have to watch the door. We’ll be fine.”

“I have a hard time sleeping anywhere that isn’t home.”

Rowan sighs. “With all your travel, I don’t think that’s good.”

“It isn’t good, but that’s the reality. What would you suggest? A stiff drink to take the edge off? Some pills? I know how you feel about those.”

“Alcohol doesn’t help you sleep”—Rowan says in a holier than thou tone that I somehow find comforting—“contrary to what you believe.”

I decide to bait him as a distraction from my dark thoughts. “I don’t know. I pass out pretty quickly after a few,” I remark, though he knows.

“Passing out and sleeping are not the same thing.”

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