The thick heat that greeted us when we landed in Fiji has disappeared.
“I can’t believe you thought this was a vacation destination,” Cal grumbles.
“It is a vacation destination!”
“You know what I mean. Next time, check the weather.”
“I’ll check the weather and ask anyone who might be crazy enough to follow me around the world for their approval,” I promise.
Cal grins. “You know, The Maldives is supposed to be nice this time of year.”
“Oh yeah?”
“The optimal time to visit Fiji is in the summer,” Cal informs me.
“Fiji seemed far away.”
“It is far away.”
An awkward silence replaces our earlier laughter.
It’s no use calculating how many miles separate us from Boston. How many hours over uninterrupted ocean in a jet, before we reach the edge of the continental US.
No. I don’t want to think about it.
Absolutely no way.
I shift on the ground. It’s uncomfortable, but everything is. It’s not like skating is exactly a comfortable profession, no matter how fancy our seats are when we fly as a team on our jet.They have a full-time masseuse to take care of us. You don’t find that in insurance companies.
No, it’s the cold I hate the most. The cold reminds me we’re outside.
“This is why people built houses out of things besides leaves and branches.”
“Hey...” Cal says. “I’m glad you built this. I wasn’t going to. I would have been... wet.”
I shudder to imagine it, and pull him more tightly against me.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Cal
I wake up feeling like someone stuffed my stomach with sand and slimy fish. The shelter is dim, gray light filtering through the woven palm fronds, and for a moment I can’t remember where I am. Then Jason’s arm tightens around me, and it all comes flooding back—the island, the storm, the way he held me last night.
But something’s wrong. My stomach churns ominously.
“Jason,” I whisper, then immediately regret speaking as nausea rolls through me.
He’s awake instantly, athletic reflexes at work. “Hey. You okay?”
I try to sit up, and the world tilts sideways. “I don’t—” My stomach clenches, and I know I’m about to be sick.
“Shit.” Jason’s already moving, helping me scramble toward the shelter opening. I barely make it outside before I’m retching into the sand, bringing up what little coconut I had yesterday. My whole body shakes with the effort.
Jason’s hand is warm on my back, rubbing gentle circles. “It’s okay. Get it out.”
When I’m finally done, I slump back against him, exhausted. “Sorry. Fuck, that’s disgusting.”
“Hey.” He brushes my hair back from my forehead, and I can see the worry in his eyes. He presses his palm to my forehead, then my cheeks. “You’re burning up.”
