Page 30 of Hate Wrecked

I open my eyes once more, staring at the top of the tent until shapes and muted colors begin to appear. I feel trapped. Claustrophobic. I can’t leave the tent without waking Rowan, and I don’t want to disrupt that. He needs sleep after the day we had yesterday. A damn nightmare.

We buried a man. Weburiedhim. He died taking us to this paradise, taking Rowan to his island, and taking me away from my life, from the trail of my mistakes.

My breathing picks up, and I clutch my chest. I can’t have a panic attack, I can’t, but I can feel it coming over me. Tears spill out, sliding down the side of my face, spilling onto the sleeping bag beneath me.

I clench my eyes and try to count, try to repeat a mantra. But I can’t remember the words. I can’t remember anything except how the boat jarred when we hit the reef, how I flew across the boat, hitting my head before Rowan rescued me, pulling me up, cradling my head to his chest.

I reach up, touching the tender spot on my head, wincing. It feels good to feel.

I’ve been numb since we held each other on the beach. Since Rowan put his arms around me. I’m not disillusioned enough to think it’ll happen again. He’s in survival mode now, and I need to be, too.

As soon as he wakes, we will crawl out of this tent, and we will find a way to get word back home. There will be people looking for us. Won’t there?

As far as the world knows, I got on that plane.

A grip of fear punches me in the chest, and I almost rustle Rowan awake, making him reassure me that it’ll all be okay,

But I don’t. It’s not the time for me to beg him to console me or to help me. I lost that privilege years ago—a lifetime ago. I don’t recognize him now. He is rigid and hard, grown and not the young man I knew with an open heart and eyes that traced over me.

Now, it’s all hard glances and scowls.

I turn on my side, staring at Rowan’s profile. I can see the shadow of his jaw and the slow movement of his chest.

His palm rests on his ribcage. I reach out, hesitating, and Rowan pulls in a loud breath, making me pull my hand back.

I want him to want me to touch him. I want the past, but I can’t have it, so I choose to lie on my side, facing him, watching his breathing. I only get a second or two before his voice surprises me, making me jump. “Go back to sleep, Riley.”

“I can’t.”

At this, Rowan’s eyes open, and I stare at the movement of his long eyelashes. “Yeah, me either.”

“What time do you think it is? Did I wake you up?”

“You didn’t wake me up, not really. I was…drifting in and out.”

“Oh, okay.”

“It might be, I don’t know, about five a.m.?” He looks over to the side of the tent. “Sun should be coming up over there soon.”

“Let’s get up then,” I say, pushing up.

Rowan doesn’t move. “I don’t want to. Not yet.”

A voice in my head whispers to me.He’s scared.Me too,I say back. Out loud, it seems.

“What?” Rowan asks, turning to me.

“Yeah, me too. I don’t wanna get up yet. I lie back down, studying his quizzical brow in the dim light.

He shakes his head, then looks away. After a moment, he talks again, low and sad. “We don’t have to talk about what we did. Not until it’s time to tell someone. But you and I, we don’t have to talk about it.”

My heart hurts, and I don’t know whether to hug him or shake him.Bury it?Should we talk about it? I don’t know. I need someone to tell me what to do here. My father. My mother. Anyone. I nod my head. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

“It’s what you want. Trust me.”

“Okay,” I say again, turning to lie on my back. I can’t look at him now; I can’t hear that gruff voice, that cracking. It’s too much like a warning.

My grief is thick in my throat, only to be pushed aside when I hear something outside our tent. I sit up, glancing at Rowan and noticing his wide eyes. He heard it, too.

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