Page 42 of Hate Wrecked

It starts to drizzle as I reach for the lifeboat. Wasting no time, Riley and I carry our supplies to a building on Falcon Island bearing the signYacht Club. The irony of the name isn’t lost on us, given our current circumstances.

I glance at Riley as the rain falls, noting the weariness on her face. We’ve come a long way since the crash, both physically and emotionally. The radio being a dead end weighs heavy, but I see her looking around from time to time. Perhaps looking for the cat. Looking for hope.

As we enter the building, the interior reveals remnants of a past long gone—nautical décor, faded posters, and an abandoned bar. It’s a strange contrast to the personal feel of the building that Gerald made his quarters.

“We could set up our tent outside, maybe find a good spot,” I suggest as we at last secure all of our supplies, eyeing the space under a sturdy-looking lean-to attached to the side of the building.

Riley looks around, considering the options. “Yeah, that could work.”

“I bet all the spiders want to be inside,” I edge. “We can stay out there. Under cover, but not covered in spiders.”

She looks at me, her eyes conveying she knows I’m trying to cheer her up.

She nods and we get to work. The tent goes up under the lean-to, providing a sense of security against the elements.

As we work together, the process becomes a ritual, familiar as the sun begins its descent, casting long shadows across the Yacht Club. We sit together under our lean-to as the rain starts to come down in buckets. There’s more room in the tent now that it isn’t crammed with supplies we were afraid to lose.

The light outside begins to dim, and the intimacy of being this close to Riley again feels suffocating.

I could read my book or write down a plan, but I’m too tired to do either. So we lie together, breathing silently with the sound of the rain.

“I’m scared, Rowan,” Riley whispers. I barely hear her, but I do. And I don’t want to tell her that I’m scared too. Something pushed inside me as we crossed the sea, some ominous threat to my heart, our safety, this life we lead.

I should have asked the captain to turn back, but I had no reason other than a feeling.

Now, that feeling has us here, alone on an island known for taking lives.

How many have died here with no record?

Will we be those people?

THE LIGHT OF THE MOON

RILEY

As the rainpelts the ground, I sit and stare out the mouth of the tent into the green, just far enough back to avoid being pelted by the rain. I can’t hear anything over Mother Nature’s tears, but I try.

“Where do you think he is?” I ask, half whisper, half despair.

“He probably found a dry place to hole up,” Rowan says, running his hand over his chest when I glance back at him. He isn’t worried about the cat the way I am; he trusts survival instincts. He trusts the little guy’s natural ability to stay alive, which has kept him safe while no one has been here. But I worry. I can’t help it, and I don’t know where this anxiety comes from. I feel it at the base of my spine, moving up my back like a snake. Maybe it’s a desperate clinging to avoid what we discovered earlier today, or what we didn’t find—a way to radio home.

I turn around, the phantom feel of a hand on me, making me glare at Rowan.

“What?” he asks, genuinely curious. How foolish of me to think he would touch me now, to comfort me over a damn cat.

“I don’t know. I got a chill.” I turn back, running my hand over my arms over and over to warm myself.

“If he comes by, you’ll see him. He’s bright orange. You have to trust that. You need to close the door if you’re cold.”

Rowan shifts, and his legs come to rest against mine. Something he never lets happen unless he’s sleeping. I don’t look over or react; I’m afraid to scare him off.

“I’m not too cold,” I lie, a shiver taking over just as I shake again, my body calling me out.

Rowan chuckles, sitting up. He reaches for something on his side of the tent. I feel the soft brush of one of his shirts. I take my eyes briefly from the entrance of the tent and grab it.

“Thank you.” I don’t think about what I do next. I simply reach down and take the hem of my tank top, pulling it over my head. I want the feel of Rowan’s shirt on every part of me. I take my time after I’m topless, gently turning his shirt over, laying it in my lap. From the corner of my eye, I can see Rowan watching me. I know he can see my breast, the shadow of my nipple in the light of the moon. The cold has them hard, begging for some part of him to warm them. I lift the shirt up, stretching, and pull it over my body, my nudity gone in a flash, ending the moment. I can feel my heart racing, but I stay still, watching the entrance.

After a moment, Rowan lies back down, and I glance over as he covers his eyes with his hands, rubbing them. I want to say, “Oh, was that horrible to look at?” Or something else snarky, but I don’t. I just huddle into the warmth of his shirt, inhaling his scent lingering all over it.

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