Page 7 of A Crush in the Storm
The rest of what he said, ‘someone as special as Sadie’, gives me hope that our friendship will survive for many years to come, wherever he may be.
I hope so, because I can’t imagine my life without Kai in it, despite having hidden my true feelings from him for longer than I can remember.
7
KAI
By midday, I reach the far side of the island. There’s a ramshackle cottage that I retreat to occasionally, my go-to place since I was a kid, that sits atop a rocky ledge almost at the sand’s edge.
Nobody ever comes here, and I like it that way. I keep it stocked with tinned mango nectar and baked beans, staples I could survive on if I ever got stranded. Silly, because I neverhave, but if the deaths of my dad and grandpa taught me anything, it’s to expect the unexpected.
Storm clouds gather on the distant horizon as I sit in the rickety rocking chair on the verandah. Grandpa made it. He made most of the furniture in the main house, and while we might not have had the closest relationship, I’m comforted by the memories of him everywhere.
I rock back and forth, ruminating over my conversation with West. It makes sense to sell the resort. The older we get, the less inclined any of us are to spend months at a time here running the place. It’s a responsibility rather than a joy, and having the cash injection means I won’t have to do menial jobs anymore. Who knows, I may even put down roots and open my own bar, a dream I’ve harboured for years?
It’s the best solution for all of us, but I can’t shake the niggle that in selling the family resort and leaving Ceto Island behind for good, I’ll lose a piece of myself.
Or maybe you’re worried about losing touch with Sadie?
Telling my inner voice to shut the fuck up, I close my eyes and inhale, the faintest frangipani fragrance wafting on the breeze. With those storm clouds gathering, the wind will pick up soon, but for now I’m content to clear my mind of endless scenarios I’d rather not contemplate; the biggie being never seeing Sadie again.
Every time I return to Ceto Island, it’s the same. Even though we avoid each other and don’t interact much, catching glimpses of her is enough to catapult me back to a time when we spent every spare second together, teens increasingly attracted to each other but neither of us daring to do anything about it.
The night I kissed her and asked her to leave the island with me is imprinted on my brain, despite happening ten years ago. She’d been into the kiss, but when I asked her to leave with me, she recoiled as if I slapped her. I’ve never forgotten it. Am I thatunlovable that the mere thought of sharing a life with me made her retreat, something she’s been doing ever since?
Dad and Grandpa didn’t give me much affection, my brothers tolerate me, and the one woman I thought I could depend on holds me at arm’s length. When so many people in my life prefer not to get too close, it’s a me problem, and the insidious loneliness I quell most days with women and booze creeps up, prodding me, hurting me.
I squeeze my eyes tighter. It does little to block out my insecurities, but I must fall asleep, because the next thing I know a palm frond slaps me in the face and I jolt awake. The wind is howling, the palm trees are almost horizontal, and lashings of rain fall from the charcoal-darkened sky. I must’ve been really out of it to miss a massive storm like this picking up, and as I stand to head into the cottage, I see Sadie dodging fallen palm fronds as she dashes between the trees.
I cup my hands to my mouth and yell, “Are you insane?” as I run towards her, the wind whipping away my words. She’s drenched when I reach her, and I try to avert my gaze from her white dress that’s now transparent.
“I came looking for you, but the storm intensified quicker than I expected,” she shouts, and I’m relieved when we stumble towards the shack and make it before flying debris injures us.
We enter, and the wind is so strong I can’t shut the door without both of us leaning our weight against it. With the door closed, it’s surprisingly quiet despite the storm raging outside. The place smells musty, but considering what the alternative is—battling the elements—it’s a welcome reprieve.
“What the hell were you thinking?” I shake my head. “You know better than to take a chance when there’s a storm brewing.”
“Says the Einstein who was sleeping in the middle of it without a clue.”
Her dry response makes me laugh, and some of my anger dissipates. “How did you know where to find me?”
Her eyebrows arch. “I know all your hiding spots. Have known them for years.” She rolls her eyes. “Who do you think keeps this place clean?”
I glance around the one-room shack and realise she’s right. The old dresser is neatly stacked with tins of soup, condensed milk, and stewed apples, alongside my usual supplies. The sofa bed has plumped cushions on it and folded towels, plus a new throw blanket covered in cutesy pineapples, and the water cooler has cardboard cups next to it.
“Why did you do this?” I gesture around.
“Because I come here to be on my own sometimes.” She shrugs. “You’re not the only one who needs time out now and then.”
She shivers, and I realise I’m an arsehole for not offering her a towel the moment we came inside rather than interrogating her. I pick up a towel from the sofa and hand it to her.
“Here. You'd better get out of those wet clothes.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she deadpans, and I chuckle. “Turn around.”
Wishing I didn’t have to, I do as she says, but when she murmurs, “Done,” and I swivel around to see the woman I’ve had a crush on forever standing in nothing but a towel, vulnerability shadowing her eyes, I know I’m in trouble.
8
