38. Dylan
THIRTY-EIGHT
DYLAN
I’m sitting on the beach and going through my morning routine of aiming the signal mirror at the horizon over and over again when Adrian climbs out of the raft.
He’s shirtless, and when he stretches, I get a close-up look at his happy trail, all the dark blond hairs against his suntanned skin.
I avert my gaze and go back to the signal mirror.
It’s a good thing my own tan covers the fact that my cheeks get all flushed when he plops down next to me in the sand, bare shoulder against mine.
“Anything?” he asks like he does every morning. He doesn’t really expect an answer, because he goes on without waiting for my reply. “Did you eat?”
I shake my head and put the mirror down. “Haven’t gotten to it yet.”
It’s a weird feeling. I’m hungry because I’m always hungry these days, but I’ve almost learned to ignore that feeling because we almost never get to eat enough to feel truly full.
“What would you like for breakfast?” Adrian asks. “Can I interest you in some first-class coconut? Perhaps some mango? Or fish?”
I scrunch my nose, because none of it is appetizing after a year of fish and coconut and coconut and fish with a side of whatever else we can find that’s in season. So far it’s jackfruit, those spiky green things, and mangos.
I shouldn’t complain, because it’s food, but I’m just really sick of those options. I force a smile to my face, though.
“Coconut sounds fantastic.”
“Doesn’t it?” Adrian says with the same dry sarcasm before he gets up and pats me on the shoulder. “Sit tight. Breakfast will be served in five minutes.”
He goes to the coconut palm, and I turn my head to watch him.
He has to climb the tree, which is… Well, it’s really fucking hot because of all the athleticism involved.
He grabs the trunk, wipes the sand from the soles of his feet, and starts scaling the tree with practiced ease, muscles flexing in both his biceps and thighs.
And he’s still shirtless, so I get a prime view of his wide back as he goes.
Once he’s up there, he wraps his thighs around the trunk of the tree and knocks a couple of coconuts down.
He doesn’t climb down right after. First, he looks around at the ocean. The chances of seeing a ship are close to zero, but hope is hope.
I lick my lips and turn my gaze away when my heart starts beating just a bit too fast, and my dick perks up just a bit too eagerly. I have to leave myself a kind of buffer zone to hide my body’s reaction before he climbs down.
I take the signal mirror back to the life raft. Just as I’m about to put it away, I hear a shout. My head snaps up just as the shout is followed by a dull thud.
I’m out of the raft in a second, looking around wildly.
Then I take off running and land on my knees next to Adrian. He’s lying crumpled at the base of the tree. Sand clings to his skin, and his breaths come out in shallow pants.
“Oh shit! Adrian?” My voice is pure panic. “Adrian!”
I resist the urge to shake him while a film reel of all the possible horror scenarios speeds through my brain.
Broken leg? Broken arm? Broken back? Broken neck? Broken skull? By the time I’ve cycled through all the possible bones, I’m close to vomiting out of sheer panic.
Adrian gasps and seems to struggle to breathe in for a few seconds before he gasps again.
My hands shake like crazy while I carefully slide my palm up his arm.
“Adrian?” I repeat in an equally shaky voice.
He blinks at the sky before his gaze finds me.
“Ah, fuck,” he says. “Who are you?”
I gape at him, and my mouth opens and closes with no sound coming out.
“Dyl, I’m kidding,” he says almost immediately. “Sorry.” He winces. “That was a shitty joke.”
“I’m gonna punch you.”
“If at all possible, anywhere but my shoulder would be my preference.”
“Which one?” I ask, alert when he winces again. “Don’t sit up!”
He rolls onto his back despite my protest. By the time he’s done, drops of sweat have appeared on his forehead from the effort.
“Left one,” he says. “I think I might’ve broken something.”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit!
“Okay. Where exactly does it?—”
I tilt my head to the side. His shoulder isn’t… round anymore.
I very gently touch it with the tips of my fingers and try to look reassuring while I do. No worries here. I know what I’m doing.
“I think… I think you’ve dislocated it?” I lick my dry lips. “What happened?”
“It’s stupid,” he says. “Just lost my grip when I started to climb down.”
I nod, blow out a big breath, and try to calm down enough to think rationally.
“Right,” I say with pretend confidence, and just to be clear, I don’t feel any at all. “Right. I guess… I guess we need to, sort of…”
I make some sort of nondescript motion with my hand. A mix of a wave and a jerk.
That’s all I’ve got.
“Let it rest,” I finish.
I try to remember if I’ve ever heard or read anything about first aid for a dislocated shoulder. Not much comes to mind, other than a faint image of a person with their arm in a sling. I don’t know where I saw that. Probably some kind of pamphlet is my best guess.
“I’m going to help you up,” I say.
We move slowly, and Adrian doesn’t make a single sound, but it’s clear he’s in pain. I help him over and sit him down next to the raft. He leans his back against the trunk of a tree and sucks in a breath.
“Okay,” he says. “I’m ready.”
I stare at him.
“Ready for what?”
“You have to pop it back in,” he says.
“I… Excuse me?”
“Pop it back in.”
“Me?”
“Well, you know, I’d go to the ER, but I feel like we can really bond over this experience.” He motions between the two of us with his good hand. “Let’s keep this special moment in the family.”
“Hah.” I grimace. “No, yeah, I can totally do that. To you. I’ll pop that sucker right back in. No worries at all.”
I feel queasy already.
He squeezes his eyes shut, his breathing getting labored.
“I believe in you,” he pants.
He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.
“With good reason,” I say with all the confidence I don’t feel. “Just out of curiosity, we should probably exchange notes on how we’re thinking of doing this? I obviously have a plan, but I could be persuaded to hear what you’ve got.”
He snorts out a laugh and a whimper escapes right after.
“Pull?” he suggests hoarsely. “That’s my best guess.”
“Totally.” I let out a nervous laugh. “That was my plan too. Great minds.” I give him a double thumbs-up. “We’re on the same page, then. Incidentally, would you say?—”
“Dyl?”
“Uh-huh?”
“Just do it. I trust you.”
I breathe in deeply and nod.
He lies on the ground and stretches his arm out at his side. I wrap my fingers around his forearm.
“Slow and steady or fast and hard?” I ask.
“No fucking idea,” he grits out. “Slow and steady,” he says right after. “Let’s do slow and steady. A controlled burn instead of an inferno.”
I have to be going insane, because that sort of made sense. Also, I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing, but I start to pull his arm anyway.
His face screws into a grimace, and he grits his teeth. His breathing gets faster and faster with each passing second.
What do I do here? Continue pulling? Stop? Uh… yank?
His shoulder makes a loud cracking sound, and he lets out an equally loud string of curses that echo around the island.
There’s a second of silence, and then he starts to laugh like a fucking maniac.
I stare at him.
“Did I break your brain?” I ask hesitantly.
It takes him a moment to calm down.
“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s the fucking adrenaline and the relief. That hurt like a motherfucker.”
I grab my sweater from inside the raft. I take it outside and consider the piece of fabric for a bit while I figure out how best to use it.
“Fold it into a triangle.” Adrian lets out a shaky breath as he adjusts his position. “And then tie the sleeves at the back of my neck. That should do it.”
I let out a shaky breath of my own and nod. “There’s more to you than just a pretty face, huh?”
“I keep telling you, but you always sound surprised anyway.” He makes a face. “Sorry.”
I look up in his eyes. “For what?”
“This is the last thing we need.”
“Unless you were trying to dislocate your shoulder on purpose, you can’t apologize for an accident.”
He takes a handful of sand in his good hand and lets it slowly run out from between his fingers.
“I thought I saw something,” he says in a voice so low it’s barely audible over the noise of the waves.
I digest that bit of information for a second. “Another ship?”
He shakes his head. “A contrail. It was stupid. If it leaves a trail, it’s a passenger jet so high there’s no way they’ll ever see us.”
“Small planes can leave trails too, I bet.”
He looks down at his hands and picks up more sand. “They don’t. Besides, it was just clouds.”
I position his arm in the sling and tie the sleeves behind his neck.
“All good?” I ask.
He nods.
I sit down next to him, and for a while, we’re both silent in our shared disappointment. It’s stupid. Why even be disappointed when there wasn’t anything there in the first place? I am anyway.
“I know we’re supposed to have hope,” Adrian says, “but it’s exhausting.”
“I know,” I say softly.
He drags the fingers of his good hand through his hair. “I keep thinking… Maybe it’d be easier to just accept that this is it. We’re here. This is where we live now.”
“Maybe.”
I’d make a joke to lighten the mood, but right now, I have nothing to give.
Neither does Adrian, it seems.
So we just sit in silence.
In our new home.