Page 21 of A Not-So Holiday Paradise

I can only barely make out what he says, but I nod against his chest once I’ve figured it out. “Are you okay?” I say—or yell, more like.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Just stay where you are, please.”

I tilt my head up, so that my chin is resting on his chest instead of my whole face being squashed into it. “I can’t just let you take the brunt of this—”

“Yes, you can,” he says. His voice is tight, tense, his lips barely moving against my forehead as he speaks. “Now please stop talking. I can’t focus on conversation right now.”

That’s fair, I guess. My teeth are starting to chatter, anyway, making speaking difficult.

And something hazy starts happening with the world around us then. I’m awake, I’m aware, but it’s also like we’ve entered a weird new dimension where time passes both impossibly quickly and impossibly slowly. Like we’re stuck in one moment, a moment that drags out infinitely, and yet at the same time everything around us is hurtling by. Maybe this is the theory of relativity in action.

Or maybe I’m just really, really cold and really, really worried, and my brain has lost the capacity to compute anything but those two facts.

My hands are both pulled tightly to my chest, my wrists curled at awkward angles, and they’ve long since gone numb. Beckett’s drenched shirt is still wet against my face, but it’s not the cold kind of wet anymore, now that I’ve been pressed up against it—small mercies, I suppose, and the warmth his body exudes is more than welcome.

So I burrow in a bit more. And although Beckett tenses even further, it’s only for a second; I can feel the exact moment he gives in to what this situation calls for. Until now he’s had one hand at the back of my head, one on my shoulder; now, though, his whole body sags, and then his arms are wrapping tightly around me, holding me so close it’s almost hard to breathe. They band around my shoulders and my back, separating me from the brick wall.

And even though it’s stupid to feel this way, even though his actions mean nothing except that he doesn’t want me to die on his watch, I still can’t help the little smile that spreads over my face.

* * *

Time passes.

The wind roars.

The rain lashes.

We stay exactly where we are.

And we wait.

* * *

Maybe it’s notpossible to sleep while standing up in the middle of a tropical storm, but it is possible to doze fitfully if your body and your mind are so utterly spent that they have no alternative but to shut down. When I become more aware of what’s going on around me, I notice that although Beckett is still holding me close, both of us have slumped against the wall. He seems to be leaning on me pretty heavily, and in a strange way, I’m glad; I’m glad that I can dosomethingfor him, however inconsequential. If holding up his weight is all I can manage, I’ll do it happily.

I’m not sure if he’s awake or asleep or somewhere in between, but I get my answer a few short moments later, when Beckett’s arms loosen their grip.

It’s the change in volume, I realize, that caused me to snap back to what’s going on; the storm is finally dying down. The wind has lessened, and the rain that was painful before now feels more like a pleasant shower. He’s clearly realized the same thing; although he doesn’t let go of me completely, his hands come to rest on my shoulders, and he shuffles his feet, standing up straighter. I follow his lead, doing the same, not quite able to look up at him. This is a strangely intimate thing we’ve just lived through, and I’m not sure what to do with that yet.

“Beckett?” I breathe, because even though I’m not ready to look at him, I do need to know if he’s okay.

He grunts in response but doesn’t say anything else.

“Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he says.

He doesn’t sound fine. But I wouldn’t either, in his situation. I’m just glad he’s conscious and coherent.

“Okay,” I say. “Just checking.”

“I’m going to let go of you now,” he says gruffly. “I know it’s still raining, but I’ve been keeping an eye on the sky. I haven’t seen lightning for quite a while—”

“That’s fine,” I say quickly, because he’s done more than enough for me already. “I’m fine. I’ll be okay.”

I feel him nod, the last movement to touch me before he steps away, his arms falling limply to his sides. Now that we’re not pressed together, I can look him over; I avoid eye contact, but I let my greedy gaze take him in, searching for any injuries. I circle him like a shark circling its prey, and although he frowns at me, he doesn’t say anything about it.

The backs of his legs are red and splattered with mud, and every inch of his clothing is plastered to his body. I notice a few scratches on his legs and the back of his neck that might be new. There’s nothing life-threatening, though, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

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