41. Scuttle
Chapter 41
Scuttle
Calvin
M y knuckles hurt like hell. I shake my hand out, trying to disperse the sting. Easton’s eyes blaze with a mix of anger and something else I can’t quite place. He comes at me, his feet tearing up the dirt trail. He’s fast, I’ll give him that, but not as fast as me. Ever since he stepped onto the Rock Candy , smug and self-assured, I’ve been itching for a reason to wipe that arrogance off his face. His smirks drive me fucking bonkers, like he’s flaunting everything he has that I don’t. I don’t give a shit about his gold medals.
But he’s easy to fight. I dodge him, and he goes flying past. “Did Daddy forget to teach you how to fight?”
“Fuck you.” He spits out some blood and runs at me headfirst. We’re close, and there’s no getting around him this time. I brace myself, but we still go sailing backward into the scrub next to the trail. Arms and legs flying, our bodies are snarled up together like two thorns on a bush, pulling at its own branches.
“Get off me, Swimmer Boy.” I shove at him, but he’s heavier than he looks. He gets up and stumbles back. But I don’t move. I need to not kill the fucker. Which right now is going to be one of the toughest things I’ve ever done. Marring his perfect face makes me fucking happy.
“What? Can’t get up? The giant is brought to his knees. How fitting. What’s Haley going to think?” He laughs, and killing him doesn’t seem like such a bad idea anymore.
I stand. “Fuck you.” He’s all talk, thinks he can have anything he wants, say anything he wants. But this time, he’s crossed a line. Talking about my brother, saying he doesn’t like me? Haley’s name on his breath is like a dagger to my soul. He doesn’t know a damn thing. The rage bubbles up inside me, a fiery torrent I can barely control.
I lunge forward, my fist connecting with his shoulder. I flinch at the impact—not from the pain but from the raw emotion that courses through me. The memory of my brother, his betrayal with my ex-girlfriend, their child—it’s all a tangled mess in my head, fueling my fury.
Easton stumbles back, his face contorted in surprise and pain. He’s not used to being on the receiving end. But he quickly regains his footing, his eyes narrowing. “Is that all you’ve got, you dumb oaf?” he sneers, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip.
The taunt hits me like a physical blow. My breath comes in short-sharp gasps. The surrounding jungle seems to close in, the air thick and heavy. I can hear the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore, a stark contrast to the chaos of our fight. But with Haley out of sight, I don’t care what I do to this silver-spooned asshole.
I charge again, driven by a mixture of pain and anger. Our bodies crash together, a tangle of limbs and raw emotion. His elbow jabs into my side. It stings even as I move for a better hold. We’re both grappling for dominance, but it’s about more than just physical strength. It’s about hurt, betrayal, and the unspoken words that hang heavy between us.
As we fight, the world fades away. It’s just him and me, our grunts and gasps the only sound in the dense jungle. Sweat and dirt build on our skin. We’re tromping down the path—the low ferns around us are flattened. The sweet smell of plants, dirt, and rain mix, reminding us of how far away from home we are.
Easton’s hand gets wrapped up in my shirt and the seam tears away, leaving my stomach exposed. He stares at it for a second, the cloth hanging down to my side. We’re evenly matched. I’m bigger, but he’s fucking fast. He weaves to the right. He lands a good punch to my gut. “Fuck.” I step back, and he gives me a second. We’re no longer trying to kill each other. No, this is now more about trying to get out some of our anger. “Good hit.”
“Henrick Schmidt.”
“What?” Did I hit him too hard? I’m confused.
“My dad didn’t teach me to fight. But mid-weight boxing silver medalist Henrick Schmidt did.”
I nod, catching my breath.
“Dad never had time to do anything with me. Henrick and I both had a week after our events were over until the closing ceremonies. I taught him how to control his breathing while swimming, and he gave me some boxing pointers.”
I nod again, looking down at my feet, and the next thing I know I’m on my ass, a sharp stump just an inch shy of my chest.
Both Easton and I stare at it. If either of us had landed on that, we’d be dead.
“Fuck.” Easton’s up, and while I could wrap my leg around his in a wrestling move and bring his face into the mud, I don’t. “He taught me about surprise too.”
My eyes flick over the muddy billionaire.
“You done?” He wipes his hand on his pants and runs his hand through his hair––smoothing it out of his face.
I stand and grunt at him.
“That’s your way of saying yes?” He cocks his head to the side.
“Yes. Fuck you.”
“Right.” He’s blocking the trail back to the beach and doesn’t move. His hands on his hips, he looks like a damn disappointed teacher. “No, you know what? I’m not done.”
I glare at him, but fuck this. If he wants to be pulverized into the ground, I’ll do it.
“Whoa, whoa, big guy. I’m done with my fists.” He throws his hands up. One of them smacks a palm frond, and a gallon of water pours over his head. His long bangs drip into his eyes, and it makes me laugh.
“Ha, ha.” He gets his hair out of his face again. “What’s up with you and your brother?”
“No.” I push it out. I don’t mean to shout it, but I do.
“No, what?”
“I’m not your friend. I’m not telling you shit.” He’s going to be lucky if I don’t smother his arrogant face with one of the cushions we have tonight. Although I can’t help smiling, he’s got a nice shiner coming on to match the bruise on his jaw.
“Fine.” He’s got his shoulders back. The fucker is resilient. I’ll give him that. Maybe his life hasn’t been as cushy as I thought.
“Good.” A loud clap of thunder shakes the surrounding jungle. Our necks swivel to the interior of the island.
“That was close.” Easton’s eyes are wide.
“It probably hit on the mountain. Up where I saw the goats.” I need to get back there and see if I can capture a goat. Haley would like that. What the fuck am I thinking? I need to kill it. We don’t have a way of feeding it. She’s making my brain go soft. Then I think about Haley and how much she hates storms.
Another smaller crack of lightning hits somewhere farther away. The rain is really coming down now.
“You just don’t like him, huh?”
“What the fuck, Rockwell? You’re not my friend, and you’re sure as fuck not my therapist.”
“No, I’m not. But I’ve got my own shitty family.” His lips are pursed, and he’s looking at me like I’m his personal project. Which I sure as fuck am not.
“Yeah, I feel really sorry for you. When you cry yourself to sleep at night, do you blow your nose into hundred-dollar bills?”
His chest inflates. His fucking stupid blue eyes blink at me. “I don’t know what happened between you and your brother. I’m sure it’s shit, but money doesn’t make people any different. If anything, it makes them worse.” He wipes the blood off the side of his mouth.
“People are just shit.” I touch my raw lip and take my hand away. I look back down the trail to the massive net I was carrying.
“Not all people.” He says it like he believes it. Like it might be real. It’s not.
“Yes, fucking all people. Every last one of us is a shit. If this were the Andes mountains and not an island, you be fucking looking to eat me.”
“No thanks, you’re not my type.” He smirks again, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He grabs the chair he had and some other things.
Talking to him is pointless. Hitting him? Hitting him helped a little. I’ll deal with the bruises.
I pick up the net, but it pushes on a bruise on my stomach. I was barely able to carry it earlier, before the rain and the fight. “I’ll come back for the net tomorrow.”
Easton nods. There’s an unspoken understanding between us, a ceasefire that’s as fragile as the peace the storm has brought us.
I gather the net up and push it under a palm frond. Then I find a few things that Zane dropped. A ladle, a little orange metal box, and some other cooking supplies. A few feet away, I find a small canvas tarp wrapped up with a small amount of rope, a machete handle sticking out between the folds. I tuck it under my arm.
“Right. Are you okay?” Easton has his arm looped through the chair, a bunch of other stuff under his other arm.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Your lip looks like shit. It’s going to swell.” I can see his medical background clicking in. Like he’s some sort of Florence Nightingale—junior prince of all nurses. He probably doesn’t even have basic first aid certification. I don’t give a flying fuck. He helped Dante. I mean, I’m glad Dante’s good, but I don’t think Easton had much to do with it.
“I’m good. We can’t use any of the medical supplies.”
“For this? I’ve had worse injuries from a light practice.” He turns and walks down the trail.
Ahead of him, I make out a figure coming at us at a quick pace. It’s not Haley, going by the way they’re racing toward us. Her leg is healing, but it’s not there yet.
“What the hell were you two blokes thinking?” Zane’s back. Alone. “Don’t answer that. You fucking weren’t. You weren’t thinking about anything other than your damn selves. Scaring the shit out of Haley?” His eyebrows shoot up. For a second, I think he’s going to hit me. “You’re supposed to be our bloody leader, Calvin.” His chin is up in my face. “Act like it.”
Easton pauses up ahead. “She’s okay with the storm?”
“I don’t know. I was almost to the stream when the ground shook. I took the long way around to keep from being out in the open too long.” He eyes us both. “Did you get everything?” He takes the tarp from my hand. In slow motion, the damn machete falls free from the tarp.
I drop the other things and reach for the handle of the machete, but I’m not fast enough. The damn thing slides out of the tarp. It lands tip down in Zane’s foot. It vibrates from side to side, like a cartoon. It even takes Zane a second, but then he’s screaming.
“Fucking shit,” Zane gasps. “Fuck, fuck bloody fuck.” He reaches for it, but Easton’s there to stop him.
“Don’t touch it.” Easton looks up at him, and then at me. From the look on his face, it’s not good. The chair is still looped through his arm. Easton frees himself from it and kneels at Zane’s foot. “Hold still. Let me take it out.”
“How the bloody hell do you want me to hold still? There’s a rusted cleaver sticking out of my foot.”
“Machete,” Easton and I say at the same time.
“For fuck’s sake. You two should have beaten each other unconscious.”