Chapter Seven
“I think I’ll try fishing on the other end of the island.
See if we get anything different over there.
” Brian picked up the basket he’d woven from breadfruit leaves, along with the stick they used as a fishing pole.
His belly was still full with—what else—a coconut, breadfruit, papaya, and fish lunch.
He could nap, but the lure of alone time beckoned sweetly.
“Cool. Good idea.” Troy took a swig of water and hopped to his feet. He squinted down the beach, holding his hand over his eyes. “We should bring extra water.”
Brian’s heart sank. He tried to stay casual. “I was thinking I’d just go myself. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”
“Oh.” Troy dropped his hand. “You don’t want me to come?”
“It’s not that. I just…” He attempted a laugh.
“Aren’t you sick of me? It’s been weeks.
” Twenty days, to be exact, each one a line scratched into the surface of what he thought of as the time rock.
Twenty days of not really being alone for more than the time it took to shit.
The exception had been the night and day when Troy had retreated into his shell, but he’d been okay again since, much to Brian’s relief.
Their routine of fishing, gathering, wood sawing, and fire building now included shaving every few days to alleviate the boredom and keep their faces cool in the unrelenting heat.
The shaving soap went remarkably far, but they’d run out eventually and have to find a substitute, which would be a good project.
And then there was basket weaving. Brian was literally basket weaving. He needed to change things up and get some space.
But there was no mistaking the hurt that flickered over Troy’s face. “No, I’m not sick of you. But clearly the feeling isn’t mutual.” He hitched his shoulder in a shrug and was suddenly very interested in cracking open a fresh coconut, even though he had to be full.
Shit. “Look, don’t take it personally. You could be anyone. I just get a little stir crazy if I can’t be alone sometimes.”
Troy wouldn’t look at him. “No, I get it. Cool.” He smiled tightly. “Have fun!”
Guilt and irritation curdled into a sludge in Brian’s gut. “Well, you don’t have to be passive-aggressive about it.” He shoved a bottle of water into the pocket of his cargo shorts and slapped on his hat.
“What?” Troy stared up from where he crouched. “I’m not. Look, I said have fun.”
“Somehow I don’t think you meant it,” Brian snapped. “I told you not to take it personally.” Ugh, he was being a dick, but he couldn’t seem to stop biting out the words. This was what happened when he didn’t get the chance to be alone.
Troy went back to bashing the fruit. “Why would I take it personally that you don’t want to be in my presence?”
“It’s not about you. I just want to be alone for a little while.”
“And I said okay.” Troy was still focused on the coconut. “Whatever, dude. Go do your thing.”
With effort, Brian bit back his response about not needing permission and stalked off down the hot sand. The soles of his feet were rougher every day, and the uncomfortable burning sensation fueled his stride.
Was it such a sin to want a few hours to himself?
He’d kill for a good book. He could spend all day reading and walking and not feel lonely at all.
Since rescue certainly didn’t appear imminent, he had to start getting time to himself or he’d go nuts.
God, he’d certainly be sick of himself, so he had no idea why Troy wasn’t.
As he marched along, he sighed. Probably because Troy was an extrovert who generally didn’t experience the bone-deep urge to be by himself and recharge the batteries—his temporary retreat the week before notwithstanding.
Brian and Alicia had had a variation of this snappish fight a thousand times in their doomed marriage, no matter how much he tried to explain.
Brian’s steps faltered, the sand uncomfortably scorching between his toes.
He should go back and explain properly. He’d been a jerk.
Glancing over his shoulder, he was surprised by how far he’d come.
Troy was small by their camp in the distance, and Brian couldn’t tell if he was still fiddling with the coconut.
He didn’t want to hurt Troy’s feelings, and telling someone not to take something personally was generally a guarantee that they would get their back up.
Sweat trickled down his spine. It was fine; he’d apologize later, hopefully with some fresh fish in hand.
First, he needed to take himself in hand.
He was unaccountably horny, something he hadn’t felt in…
wow. Months, probably. He’d always jerked off when he couldn’t sleep, but that was routine.
This was the first time he’d felt truly pent up in ages. It was high time to get off.
Which meant of course that he couldn’t.
Well out of sight near the other end of the island, Brian jerked himself, spitting into his palm and stroking roughly. Imagining two women licking each other’s tits and pussies, he got hard. That’s it. That’s it…
He leaned against a palm tree, the bark rough against his back and ass, his legs spread and discarded cargo shorts caught around one ankle. His hat rode up where he restlessly rolled his head back and forth, and he tossed it to the sand.
He wanted this. He needed this. Come on, come on…
Troy invaded his mind, and Brian’s hand faltered. No, he had to stop worrying about their stupid fight and come already. This was way overdue. Closing his eyes, he bit his lip and tried to think of the women again, their breathy moans and—
“Fuck!”
He snapped open his eyes. Why was he thinking about Troy and the flash of his white teeth when he smiled? God, this was exactly why Brian had wanted alone time. He was around Troy so much he couldn’t even jerk off without thinking about him.
After another minute of concerted effort, his dick started to chafe. Brian gave up, tension in his limbs and a headache brewing as he tugged his shorts back on, muttering to himself. “Might as well go fish. At least that’ll be productive.”
A couple hours later, he splashed through the shallows of the retreating tide to avoid the burning sand, head down and hat pulled low. He willed the sun to sink below the horizon and bring some relief. Muscles sore, he plodded on, the pole over his shoulder with the empty basket dangling from it.
He’d caught a few little ones, but realized that they could spoil in the sun before he made it back. It wasn’t worth the risk, and the whole endeavor had been pointless. If anything, he was more keyed up than when he left.
Lifting his head, Brian squinted toward their camp. Troy must have been napping or going to the bathroom. He snorted. Bathroom. It was ridiculous that he still thought of it that way when they were crapping in holes in the ground. Or maybe Troy was jerking off. Brian hoped he had more success.
After putting the pole and basket in their places, Brian took off his hat and wiped his sweaty brow with his arm.
Unzipping the suitcase, he refilled his bottle.
They were getting low, so he hoped it rained again that night.
The warm water was somehow refreshing as he gulped it down, although he would have killed for the glory of an ice cube or five.
He stuck his head into the teepee. Empty. Whatever Troy was up to, he’d be back soon. Brian eyed the tide. In the meantime, he should catch dinner.
He fished for the next twenty minutes as the afternoon waned, glancing over his shoulder every so often with a frown. He finally snagged a nice big fish and hurried back to the beach. At the edge of the jungle, he squinted. “Troy! Everything okay in there?”
Silence. Well, silence but for the opening strains of the chorus of insects that serenaded them each night.
He’d stopped wearing his watch but was pretty sure it was just past six.
The sun was on its way to the horizon, a ball of fire that sent pink waves over the few clouds scattered in the sky. It would be dark soon.
Brian’s heart thumped dully. He cupped his hands to his mouth. “Troy!”
Only the low hum of insects answered.
“It’s fine. I’m sure he’s fine.” And now Brian was talking to himself. Even if Troy was pissed, he surely wouldn’t go exploring the dense expanse of jungle as night fell. They’d avoided exploring too far past the beach for a reason.
Pacing back to the smoldering signal fire, Brian threw on a few fresh logs and prodded until they were ablaze.
He hadn’t noticed the fire had gotten so low.
How long had Troy been gone? The nag of worry swelled, flooding his belly with acid as he stared at the shadowy tangle of the jungle, willing Troy to appear.
The setting sun cast the trees in a fiery glow. Brian found himself at the edge of the trees again. “Troy!”
As his pulse thrummed, he peered down the beach to make sure Troy hadn’t come out of the jungle farther down. The sand remained empty.
He was alone.
“Careful what you wish for,” he muttered, grabbing the flashlight from the teepee. The beam was solid and bright, and he’d have to hope the batteries would last.
At the tree line, he paused, listening. The distant crackle of the signal fire joined the insects’ harmony. “Troy!” Could he be hiding close by? Trying to prove some point?
No. Troy wouldn’t do that. Brian had only known the guy for twenty days, which seemed utterly impossible, but it didn’t seem like something Troy would do.
Not given how dangerous it could be in the jungle at night.
And how frankly terrifying. The fact that Troy hadn’t taken the flashlight indicated he hadn’t planned to be in the jungle this long.
Brian’s mind raced. Could Troy have gone the other way around the island and be on the opposite side? No, the cliff face and treacherous rocks made passing around this end treacherous unless you swam and—