Page 58 of Hate Wrecked

“I’m sorry,” I offered, closing my eyes.

I hoped Riley never felt like she had to change herself for someone. I hoped she would find someone who saw all the beautiful things in her—the protector.

“It’s a good thing you’re…you,” Riley said, turning toward me.

I opened my eyes, turning to my side to face her. “What do you mean?”

“There was a bodyguard in the beginning. When he and my mom first started dating. I remember him. Young, close to Asa’s age. He was close with Asa and his costars on the show he was doing at the time. He fell in with them”—she hesitated, looking away—“with all the stuff back at the house. Then he hooked up with Asa’s co-star, and I think there was something there between them, because Asa fired him. He always talks bad about him. It’s like he set him up for failure. Or maybe he was just jealous, I don’t know.”

“Because of who he hooked up with?”

“Yeah.”

I stored the information away. Wondering if it would be helpful later. Hoping I was wrong.

Riley reached out then, placing her palm over my knuckles. A simple act, but a line crossed, nonetheless. It would be the first of many. I didn’t pull away—the first of many opportunities I had to create boundaries between us.

“I’m sorry. I need to touch someone. Please don’t pull away,” she said, low, her dark eyes boring into me.

“Okay.” I sealed my fate right then and there. I would do anything to protect her. I would try to be a shield between her and her family when I could. In that moment, I didn’t care about my job, my reputation, or my heart. And it fucked me over.

But I didn’t know it then. So I moved my hand, turning it over, threading my fingers with hers.

“I want you to know that I’ll take care of you. I know I work for him, but I’m here. If you need me to be.” And when I saidI’ll take care of you, I meant that every morning I went into my job my sole focus was on seeing her. Being near her. Wanting to see how she was and if she was okay.

I was in over my head. Fucked.

But I was holding her hand with clear eyes. No ill intentions in my heart. No aim to take advantage of her. If she pushed for more in that moment, I would pull away. I would set that boundary. I would be different than my father in actions if not in heart.

“Okay,” she said, her voice a whisper

“Okay?”

“Okay, Rowan Finn. I believe you. You can take care of me.”

LIKE YOU WANT ME

RILEY

Timeon the island seems to move at its own languid pace, indifferent to the world beyond its shores. Days blur into one another, marked only by the rising and setting of the sun. Yet, amidst the monotony, moments of significance emerge—small victories, unexpected discoveries—that serve as beacons in the vast expanse of our isolation.

I explore the island alone more and more now. Rowan trusts me not to fall into the ocean or twist my ankle while searching for coconuts on the jungle floor. The quiet is nice, but I also like his company from time to time.

There is so much ruin on the island. Years of neglect and the war’s presence linger.

I walk ahead, my walking stick in my hand, lost in my wondering. Each day, I wonder when someone will come to rescue us. It’s inevitable, so we try not to fall into despair that no one is coming, saving those hysterics for desperate moments. But not knowing when or wondering if something will happen before plagues us.

Garfield stalks ahead, his keen eyes searching for his next meal.

“Me too, buddy,” I joke, my eyes searching for coconuts. I’m tired of the taste and texture. I’m tired of fish—sometimes. I’m tired of lukewarm water and the scent of smoke. The island’s climate is unforgiving, especially with the relentless downpours and stifling humidity that envelop every inch of this place. Adapting to this environment requires more than just physical endurance; it demands a mental adjustment as well. Each day feels like a battle against the elements, a constant struggle to find comfort amid the unyielding dampness. But with time, I’ve learned to navigate it, embracing the rhythm of the rain and finding solace in the fleeting moments of relief from the oppressive heat.

Up ahead, I see the Hilton as I break through the trees. I laugh again at the name and make my way to the entrance. Inside, the dust moves as I enter, making way for me. I’ve been in this building countless times, but life out here is one of repetition. Maybe I’ll find something new for us? Maybe I’ll find a treasure? Rowan told me there were rumors and tales of treasure buried on this island in the jungle. I don’t believe it, but who knows? Maybe that’s why people gravitate to this paradise and why they perish here.

I don’t want to perish here.

I kick a rock in the room, listening to it echo off the wall and into one of the mattresses.

My voice cracks a little when I start to sing. It’s been unused, save for the song I sang for Rowan the other night, but the sound builds in my throat as I turn in circles. I have only Rowan and Garfield to talk to out here. And I talk to the cat more than the man some days. I close my eyes as I spin, my voice filling the space, perhaps bleeding out of the windows.

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