Page 40 of Hate Wrecked

“Sleeping in someone else’s bed in here?”

I shrug. “I mean, Gerald left. He returned to civilization. He did love it here, though, the captain said.” My voice falters at the mention. Too fresh. “This bed isn’t…he doesn’t live here anymore.”

Riley walks over to a wardrobe and opens it, finding nothing. “He didn’t leave much behind, did he?”

I ignore the sadness in her voice, pushing for something brighter. “No. But we can bring our stuff in here.”

“I don’t want to live here,” she says to the darkness of the wardrobe.

“You know what I mean. We can stay here after we radio home.”

Riley shuts the wardrobe and then walks to the door out of the cabin, leaving me alone.

I follow, stopping at the door just as my eyes snag on what we came to find. I look away, to Riley. “Are you okay?”

She looks back. “There was room. So much room.”

I know what she means, and I step down. “Yeah.”

She looks off into the jungle, past water, and shore, to Ironhold Island, where he rests. “It would have been perfect. It would have been okay. We could have had a nice vacation here. And the captain could have enjoyed it, too. We could have had fun.”

I want to rush down the steps and pull her into my arms. But I don’t. I can’t. Because if I do, I’m afraid I’ll break, too. “I know. We’re going to make it right. We’re going to make sure he gets home.”

Riley looks at me, her eyes far away, lost. “How?”

I look back toward the building where Gerald made a life. “I saw…I just saw the radio in there.”

Riley’s eyes go wide. “You…where? When? When did you see it? We can call home?”

I nod, though it feels like a lie. Like I’m lying to her—lying to myself.

I’m a stupid fucking man. Safety is my life, my business. And I took Riley with me on a boat I was never meant to step foot on, with a captain I just met.

We exist to no one.

I failed her.

Riley rushes over to me as I turn toward the building. We walk back inside, and I turn toward the radio.

I can hear Riley behind me. “Do you know how to use it?”

I turn back to her, meeting her gaze, the fear in her eyes.

In slow motion, I approach the radio, tuning it with uncertainty. Would there be static, a signal, or perhaps a friendly voice? There’s nothing—no sound, no sign of life. I try different frequencies, hoping for a response, yet the silence persists.

Taking a step back from the radio, I shift my focus to Riley. “Let’s check out back. See where the generator is that the captain mentioned.”

She nods and leads the way out of the cramped space. My heart echoes in my ears. After exiting the building, we circle around it. I try to count my breaths, an attempt to regain my composure. I need to be strong for her.

Riley halts, fixated on a disturbed patch of grass. Something was here. Her gaze rises to meet mine. “He took everything,” she states, her tone solemn and unwavering.

“Maybe he didn’t.”

“What do you mean?” Riley asks.

“Maybe he did leave things behind. But when he was no longer the manager of the island, it was empty. No one to guard it. No one to guard anything.”

My instinct is to reach for Riley’s hand, to offer comfort and reassurance. But I resist the urge. Instead, I turn away and head back in the direction of our supplies. There, at least, I can retreat into the tent and find a momentary reprieve.

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