Page 62 of Hate Wrecked

When Riley returns, she looks at our fishing spot. “I’ll go back. I’ll catch something for tonight.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m ready to go again,” I argue. A minor flesh wound won’t keep me from doing my duty.

“No. If you impale yourself again, I’ll jump in that fucking ocean and drown myself. I didn’t like that.” She waves at my shin. “Just relax here. Let me do it.”

I grunt, shaking my head, and she cocks her own. “Don’t be all manly and shit on me right now. Just sit here, please. You said you would let me take care of you.”

“I’ll go get coconuts,” I compromise.

Riley nods, walking to her pole.

I could go with her, but I have a feeling my presence will just make her jittery, and when she wants to be alone, I let her be alone. It’s just us and the damn cat out here, so when the silence calls us, we have to listen to it.

I pack up the toolbox and a few other supplies, making my way toward our home. After securing my items, I walk into the jungle, eyeing the jungle floor for fresh coconuts.

* * *

Later that afternoon, after I’ve gathered coconuts and rested my leg, I head toward our fishing spot to check on Riley. When I reach the beach, Riley comes out of the water, hands full and her smile wide. “Look!” she bellows, and I run over, the ocean splashing around my feet.

“What?”

“We can eat these, right? Please tell me we can eat these.” She has clams in her hands; a couple fall out, and I drop to my knees, grabbing them in the shallow.

I laugh. “Yes. Yes, we can eat these,” I reply, pulling the clams close to my chest as we walk to the shore.

“I’m going to eat them all,” Riley explains. “Until my belly is like this,” she pushes her belly out, and I laugh.

“Let’s take it slow. You don’t want to get sick,” I chastise, dropping the clams into a pile on the shore.

Riley dumps her score into the pile I made. “No, you don’t get it. I don’t even care. I’m going to eat the shit out of those clams.” She jumps up and down like a kid, pulling me into her excitement.

Before I can stop myself, I wrap my hand around her wrist, pull her close, pressing my lips to hers. Her excitement is palpable and contagious. She opens up to me, and when I feel her tongue, I pull away. Her eyes are wide, and she looks hurt. All the happiness gone in an instant. “I’m sorry,” I rush out. “You were just so excited, and I wanted… I don’t know,” I say as I drop her hand, stepping back to the other side of the pile of clams. “I’m sorry. I won’t do that again.”

She shakes her head.

“I promise.”

“Don’t make promises I don’t want you to make,” she throws out, walking toward her pole.

I’m a fucking idiot. A big fucking idiot. Just when we find some common ground or an impasse, I hurt her or make her mad. I watch her walk away for a moment before I gather the clams in one of our bags, and run after her to our campsite. “How do you want to eat them?” I ask, hoping she’ll pretend the kiss didn’t happen.

“Raw. That’s how I always ate them,” she says noncommittally.

“Not over the fire?”

“Is that how you want to eat them? Don’t have the palate for raw clams?”

I scrunch up my nose. “I suppose I could try.”

“You can have fish on standby. If you’re not tired of them.”

“I’m tired of them. But it’s all we’ve had until now.” I step close to her, setting the bag down. “Riley. Thank you.” She looks me in the eyes, and I see some of the hurt fall away. “Really, thank you. It’s not just about eating the same thing over and over. It’s about…”

“Spirit. It’s about spirit, I know.”

“That’s what you do for me,” I admit, crossing my arms.

“What?”

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