“It was probably a normal boat.”
I blink. “Oh.”
“We’ll wait.”
“Right.” I try to nod, because I’m not showing Jason I’m crushed.
I don’t want him to be regaling his homophobic teammates about how he was stuck on a tropical island with an overly emotional gay guy.
I spread a smile onto my face, even though I feel like I’m tearing my face to put it on.
“It’s okay,” Jason says, but I’m not in the mood for any lies.
“You don’t have to comfort me. I’m an adult.”
“I know. I’m going to see if there’s any food. If cavemen used to survive, we can too.” He gives a harsh laugh.
He doesn’t add that there’s nothing else for us to do here or that’ll need to figure out a way to survive, but I’m sure he’s thinking it.
I am too.
Because we both know, we’re in big trouble.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jason
Cal blinks when I mention food, but I’m already headed to a coconut tree, tottering over the uneven sand. Palm fronds rustle and waves crash. I can’t believe people listen to tropical sounds on sound machines before bedtime and deem it relaxing.
I should’ve gotten food hours ago. I’ve been too focused on my own bruised ego to notice how pale he’s gotten. His blood sugar is probably going crazy.
Coconuts aren’t the best solution, but right now, I’ll take anything that gets some color back into Cal’s face.
Cal brushes sand from his clothes. His pants are too thick and tight for here. I bet they’re uncomfortable. “Is there a coconut season?”
“I don’t know.” I try to smile. “Let’s see if it’s edible.”
Cal tilts his head up. At least I’ve managed to distract him from the boat.
Angry Cal is better than sad Cal, and I’ll take curious Cal over them both.
“The coconuts are pretty high up,” Cal says.
He’s right. I scan the tree’s height and nod. “We’ll have to find a way to get them down.”
I go into the jungle until I find what I’m searching for. Then I head back, stick and rock in hand.
“Jason?” Cal asks.
I position the rock beneath the tree, then hold the stick high.
“Oh!” Cal looks around for a stick. He emerges with an even larger one. He strips the leaves from the branch.
I swing. Hard.
Nothing happens.
“That was a test shot,” I say.
