12. I’m the Captain Now…
12
I’m the Captain Now…
Paige
“What?” he asks, scrambling to his feet.
“A … cottttaaggge,” I say, speaking slowly in lieu of yelling it at him, which is what I want to do. “Directly around the corner from where we crashed.”
I adjust the focus, taking in the sight of a small white house with a red clay roof that has been fitted with solar panels. It’s sitting on the beach with an extremely inviting hammock strung between two palm trees. Letting out a puff of frustrated air, I hand him the binoculars, then narrow my eyes at the idyllic scene that suddenly seems impossibly far away.
Mac looks at it, remaining perfectly still. For one brief second, I imagine him pretending he knew it was there all along. I think I’d deck him if he did that. Honestly. Not that I’ve ever decked anyone before, but I swear to God, I would punch him right in his gorgeous face.
Finally, he lets out the tiniest sound, somewhere between a gulp and a groan. “Well, fuck me, New York. You were right. There is a house down there.”
“Yeah, no. Not going to fuck you,” I tell him, even though it’s been on my mind since I first laid eyes on him. “If you had listened to me, we’d be rescued by now.”
“I doubt it,” he answers, peering through the binoculars some more. “I don’t think anyone is there.”
“You doubt it?! Mr. Totally-Wrong-But-Thinks-He’s-Right-About-Everything doubts it,” I say, fury flowing through my veins.
“I have very good reason for what I’m saying.”
“Of course you do,” I say, laying the sarcasm on thick. Okay, Paige, calm down. Getting all wound up will do you no good. I glance back at the tiny house, my rage returning instantly at the thought of being down there in the shade of those palm trees rather than boiling hot up here in the sun after a five-hour hike to nowhere. “I forgot you’re Superman , which means you must have x-ray vision. You can obviously see through the roof that no one’s home.”
He gives me a deadpan look. “No, I can see very clearly what’s on the outside of the house. Or rather, what’s not out there. A boat or a plane, meaning whoever was here is now gone.”
No. That can’t be true. There has to be someone there. Someone who can save me from being with this horrible, awful, stupidly handsome man. Maybe a couple of nice women who got so sick to death of mansplaining that they built a house way out here and are living in harmony on the shores of the Caribbean. Sounds delightful to me. If that’s the case, maybe I’ll leave the world behind and join them. “You don’t know that for sure,” I say. “Maybe they got dropped off.”
Shaking his head, he says, “All these private island guys have their own means of transportation. ”
“Well, maybe this one doesn’t. Maybe they have someone they hitch a ride with.” My ladies would totally hitch a ride to avoid things they’re sick of dealing with, like boat insurance and buying gasoline.
He stares at me for a second, and I can tell he’s trying to decide whether to let me have it straight or let me go on believing an idea that is sounding more and more far-fetched by the second. Finally, he gives me a quick nod. “Yeah, maybe.”
“So? Let’s go then. The daylight is burning.” Oh, the daylight is burning . That was good. Totally sounds like something a survivor-type person would say. Something those fabulous independent, don’t-need-no-men women down there would say if they were stuck up here with a total jackass that convinced them to climb a damn mountain in the blistering heat instead of taking a short stroll to civilization. Okay, I’m reaching here, but between the heat and the exhaustion and the heat exhaustion and missing my sister’s wedding and being stranded with someone I wouldn’t want to share an elevator up one floor with, I’ve reached the end of my rope. The very end. It’s frayed and about to snap, as am I.
I turn to start back the way we came but he stops me with his voice. “Hang on. I think we should rest up a bit and refuel. It’s a long way and it’s the hottest part of the day.”
“Or we could hurry up and be rescued today.”
“A few minutes won’t make any difference,” he says, digging around in his backpack. He takes out a couple of protein bars, a star fruit and a knife. “Let’s go sit under that tree.”
My shoulders drop while I watch him make his way over to a tall cypress tree. He’s right about this. I know he is, but I don’t want him to be right. Or reasonable and calm. I want him to be filled with self-blame for the situation we’re in. I want him to be sheepish and deferent. I want him to tell me he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing and he’s just winging it and that he doesn’t know anything about anything. I guess he did tell me I was right about the house, but still, I need more than that little admission to be ready to absolve him of the sin of not listening to my ideas. I drag my feet while I walk over to join him, wishing like hell I had my own backpack with my own snacks because having to rely on Mac Gamble is about as appealing as finding a hair ball in your oatmeal.
Taking one of the protein bars from him, I offer him a quick and unenthusiastic thank you, then scarf it down to show I mean to get going as soon as humanly possible. He watches me for a second with one eyebrow raised before returning to the task of cutting up the star fruit into sections. An uncomfortably tense silence fills the mountain top while we eat. As soon as we finish, I stand up, wiping my hands on my pants.
I wait for him to get up, but instead he stretches out his legs and lays down, using his backpack to prop up his head. Crossing his arms over his chest, he closes his eyes.
“Are you … napping?” I ask.
“I’m certainly not doing my taxes.”
My entire body tenses up and I make a silent growly face at him while miming strangling him. Forcing myself to use a calm voice, I say, “We don’t have time to nap. We need to get down there and find the person or people who will save us!”
Whoops, that didn’t come out quite as calm as I hoped.
“There’s nobody there. A nap is the best choice because we’ll have more energy and will be able to move faster on the way back down. ”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I say, “Is this one of your old man rules? A nap a day keeps the doctor away?”
“Yup. You should try it. It would improve your mood,” he says without opening his eyes.
Improve my mood? My head is literally going to explode. “You know what’ll improve my mood? A hot shower. A proper meal. Getting to my family who could very well be presuming I’m dead and are planning my funeral right now.”
He opens one eye. “I thought you said they’ll assume you’re still back in the US.”
“Yes, they will, but at some point, they’re going to realize I’m not, and I just can’t lay here napping while they’re all freaking out or starting the grieving process.”
“Trust me. The nap will actually save time.”
I fold my arms. “Never in history has it been written that a nap saved anyone any time.” Putting on an announcer voice, I say, “Ted would’ve won that marathon but then Bob had a big nap in the middle and somehow magically passed him by.” Going back to my normal, or should I say ragey, tone, I add, “That’s not how it works! Naps are a massive time waster. That’s why people invented coffee and … and … cocaine.”
He gives me a smirk that causes me to boil inside. “Since we don’t have either of those things, I’m going to nap.” He pauses, then says, “Unless… You don’t happen to have some coke on you?”
“No, I obviously don’t have any cocaine.”
“All right. In that case, I’m going to sleep. You can either do the same or stand around stomping your feet while you wait.”
“You know what? I’m going to start walking down the mountain.”
“Terrible idea. ”
“Why? I’ll just go along the same path we came.”
“You’ll get lost. Google maps doesn’t work out here.”
“I don’t need Google maps. I’m not an idiot,” I tell him. “See you at the cottage. Or not, if I get rescued before you get there.”
With that, I turn and start toward the path, expecting him to get up and follow me. Only he doesn’t. When I get to the clearing in the trees, I look back, only to see him still laying there as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. The truth is, he doesn’t. He has no one waiting for him and no responsibilities, which means he could stay on this stupid island for years and it wouldn’t matter a bit.
A weird feeling stabs at my chest. Is that … jealousy? Can’t be. I’m sure it’s just heartburn from that star fruit.
I hurry down the path as quickly as I can on these tired feet, intending to get such a head start on him that he won’t be able to catch me. I pick up the pace so I’m half-ass jogging, but that only lasts for about ten seconds before I realize it’s a very bad idea on account of the extra pounding on my joints and the fact that the air sacs in my lungs feel like they’ve each been lit on fire by teeny tiny matches.
Yes, I will get there before him. And I can tell those survivor women all about this last horrid week of my life. They’ll serve me cocktails and feed me tacos and say, “Poor, poor Paige. Well, don’t worry. We’ll take care of you.”
It’s that thought that has me propelling down the hill for the next who-knows-how-long on my own. Honestly, I’m starting to get a little delirious and, as it turns out, without my phone or a watch, I literally have no concept of time. For all I know, it could be one in the afternoon or six in the evening. But it doesn’t matter. I’m a woman on a mission, and I’m determined to get there before Mac .
I hear a crack of a branch behind me, and look back over my shoulder, only to see there’s no one there. And … I probably should’ve been watching where I was going because I just tripped on a root and am now screaming while somersaulting down the mountain.
Tuck and roll! Tuck and roll! “Ouch!”
Oh God, that hurts. Stop tucking! Stop rolling! Just stop! “Oof!”
And … I just slammed into a tree.
Mother fucker. Trees should be softer.
Tears prick my eyes and my ankle is throbbing so hard, I’m afraid to look at it. My knee is stinging like a thousand wasps are attacking.
I lie splayed out on the ground, staring up at the blue sky peeking at me through the jungle canopy. Is this rock bottom? This seems like rock bottom. I’m in so, so much pain.
Around me, the chorus of birds and insects goes deadly silent for a few seconds, then they start up, mocking me in my moment of pain and humiliation. At least no one was here to film it. If I had taken a header like that on the subway stairs, some dipshit would’ve gotten it on video and it would be going viral in about four minutes. I let out a whimper of pain, the kind of pitiful sound you can only allow yourself to make when you’re truly alone in this world. Like when you’re in the shower when you’ve been freshly dumped by the guy you were so sure was ‘the one.’ “Why me? Why me?” I whine, hating myself for doing it. “I’ve been a good person. Mostly.”
Mac’s face appears above mine. “It’s not a problem with your character. It’s because you weren’t watching where you were going.”
Jackass! “You’re supposed to be napping with the rest of the octogenarians.”
“I got in a good half hour. I feel very refreshed. ”
“Oh, do you?” I ask, wincing at the pain coming from my left ankle. “Good for you.”
“Yup. I’ve been following you for a couple of hours now. I figured you’d rather have your privacy.” He crouches down to survey the damage to my knee. Letting out a low whistle, he says, “That’s one deep cut, New York. You okay?”
I lift myself onto my elbows and take my first peek. “Never better.”
Blech. Peeking was a bad idea.
Sliding his backpack off, Mac unzips it and takes out a first aid kit. “Let’s get that cleaned up. You don’t want to get an infection.”
I’m tempted to grab the kit from him and tell him I’d prefer to do it myself, only I really wouldn’t prefer to do it myself. In fact, the sight of all that blood mixed with dirt and debris I picked up while I was somersaulting has me feeling a little queasy. I watch as he squirts some hand sanitizer onto his hands, rubs it in thoroughly, then pulls on some gloves. He opens a bottle of some sort of antiseptic liquid, then takes a syringe out of the packaging and draws out enough of the liquid to fill the syringe. “This won’t feel good.”
“Why would it? Nothing else has gone right since I left home.” I turn my gaze up to the sky to avoid watching, only to feel a searing pain spreading across my knee along with a cool liquid. He fills the syringe and irrigates the wound twice more, each time making me wince and grit my teeth to stop myself from whining. I refuse to whine in front of this man. Well, any more than I already have.
A few minutes later, he’s got the entire thing wrapped in a pressurized dressing to stop the bleeding. “You think you can walk on it?”
“This? No problem.” I wave off his concern even though the chances that I’ll be able to hike the rest of the way on what I’m sure is a sprained ankle aren’t all that great. He holds out his big manly hand and I take it, allowing him to help me up. As soon as I try putting pressure on my left foot, pain rips through my ankle, causing my leg to buckle.
Mac catches me with his hands on my waist and holds me up, and I don’t know whether to feel annoyed, embarrassed, or turned on.
“Whoa, what just happened there?” he asks.
“I think I may have injured my left ankle.”
He helps me over to a fallen log, where I sit down, then he crouches in front of me to take a closer look. “Whoa, that’s already starting to swell up.”
“Yeah, it’s not ideal.” I let out a sigh, wishing with everything in me that I could go back five minutes and not trip this time. Actually, if I could have a time machine, I’d go back several days, tell Guy to suck it, and take my original flight. I’d be jobless, but at least I wouldn’t be stranded and injured.
Mac unties my shoelaces and gently removes my runner. “I don’t have ice or a compression wrap, but I can use what we’ve got to wrap it.”
“You don’t have to fuss. I’m sure I’ll be able to walk on it in a few minutes.”
He raises one eyebrow at me. “Now’s not the time to be low-maintenance. We need to get you healed up as fast as possible for both of our sakes.”
We stare at each other for a second longer than would be considered polite, then I clear my throat and glance down, remembering how much I can’t stand this man. “Okay, yeah. That makes sense.”
I watch him while he removes my sock, my cheeks going hot at the thought that my foot might not exactly be spring daisy-fresh at the moment. He works quickly, wrapping the sock around my ankle, then, much to my surprise (and delight of my dormant lady bits), he places both hands on the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head, leaving his upper body in plain view of my very greedy eyes.
Oh my! Oh my, oh my . That is one manly set of arms leading to one muscular … everything. The sight of that is almost enough to erase how rude he is, as pathetic as that sounds. I gaze shamelessly while he quickly folds the shirt lengthwise, then carefully wraps it around my ankle. “Sorry about the sweat,” he mutters.
“Oh no, that’s fine,” I answer with a ridiculously breathy voice I don’t recognize. “We have to make do with what we’ve got, right?”
Am I touching my collar bone with my fingertips? Come on, New York, get it together. Oh my God, now he’s got me calling myself New York. I seriously must have heatstroke. Only it’s not from the sun. It’s from the heat coming off this man.
He glances up at me. “How does that feel?”
“Great. I mean, good, yeah. It … should do the trick.”
He lets out the tiniest smirk, then says, “It should feel fairly snug without it causing you to lose the circulation in your toes.”
I give my toes a little wiggle, glad I went for that pedicure before the trip. “I can definitely feel them.”
“Good. Let me know if that changes and I’ll rewrap it.” He stands up and puts the backpack on again, which on any other man would look ridiculous—a backpack with no shirt. But on him, wow, yum. He holds out one hand and pulls me up to my feet, then says, “All right. Let’s go.”
Let’s go? There’s no way I can walk on this thing. I’m just about to tell him as much when he reaches behind me and lifts me into the air so he’s carrying me bridegroom-over-the-threshold-style, and starts down the path.
My entire body flames with lust and embarrassment and I let out a little “Ooh!” followed by, “Well, then … okay.”
Not knowing what to do with my hands, I fold them neatly on my lap. “No, wait. Listen, I can’t let you carry me all this way.”
“Sure you can.”
“Nope, I can’t. I’m an adult human. We’re not light. Well, some women are, I suppose. You know, those tiny waif women, like Lisa Loeb. I met her once. Very nice. She’s so little I wanted to pick her up and put her in my pocket. If you were stranded with Lisa Loeb, I’d say no problem to the carrying thing. But I’m not Lisa Loeb. I’m much sturdier. And taller, for that matter.”
He narrows his eyes a little and shakes his head. “I think you’re grossly overestimating how big you are.”
“I know exactly how big I am,” I answer, feeling somewhat indignant even though it’s possible he’s trying to compliment me. “I know the measurements of every part of my body. Well, the ones you need to order clothes online, anyway. And I’m not small. At some stores, I’m not even medium. I’m large .”
“Well, those stores are stupid,” he says, shifting me a little in his arms.
Okay, so he really might be trying to compliment me. That felt nice, actually. “They are stupid. I only shop at them when things are heavily discounted.”
“That’ll show ‘em.”
We get to a steeper part of the trail and he turns to the side, grips me tighter, and slows down a little.
I stare down at the path ahead, noticing that we’re about to come to a particularly difficult area. “Listen, maybe I can try to walk down this bit on my own. I’d hate for you to lose your balance because of me. I could scootch.”
He gives me an amused look. “Scootch?”
“Yes, on my bum. You know.”
“I can picture it, and in my mind it’s really slow.”
“What if I hop?”
He grunts a little, then says, “I don’t think hopping down it is going to be possible.”
Okay, he’s probably right about that. Dammit. His skin is hot against my arm and he smells like cedar after the rain. How can he smell this good when he’s been hiking all day in the jungle? I know for a fact I’ve got a little alphabet soup-level B.O. going on. The thought of it makes me desperate to get out of his arms. “I haven’t tried. Maybe I should hop. I used to skip a lot as a child. I played a lot of hopscotch with my sister. It’s worth a shot.”
“It’ll be fine. I promise not to drop you.”
“That’s not what I meant. I just … don’t want you to get hurt too.”
“I won’t.”
Well, that settles it then. He won’t. Simple as that. There’s no use trying to change his mind. He’s going to carry me all the way to that house while I just lay here in his arms. God, those survivor women that live there are going to think me so pathetic. Feeling completely useless, I stare around at the trees as they pass by. Then after a few minutes, I risk a glance at him up close like this, noticing that he’s got a tiny scar on his cheekbone. I can’t help but wonder what it’s from. Probably some woman with a big ring punched him when he broke it off with her. Oooh, maybe he cheated and that’s why she hit him! Only he doesn’t seem like the cheating type. The type to make you completely insane on a daily basis, but cheating? I can’t see it.
Mac’s eyes dart to mine and I immediately look away even though it’s too late. He saw me staring.
Oh God, this is so embarrassing.
And wonderful.
And just totally GAH!
I clasp my hands together to stop myself from wrapping my arms around his neck and leaning my head against his collar bone, but wow, do I ever want to do those things. Which is why I need to get him to put me down. I’ll be a complete mess by the time we get to the beach. A completely hot and bothered, wild and free sex maniac, even with the injuries. Not that he’s likely to reciprocate with a sweaty orange leech of a person who can’t even manage to walk downhill without screwing it up.
No, I have to get away from him. Now. “What about this? You could leave me here until I can walk again. I should be fine in a couple of hours, no?” I say, even though I know for a fact I won’t be able to walk on this ankle for days. Not far, anyway.
“That may not be the most realistic timeline. Besides, I thought you were in a big hurry.”
“I am, but there’s no way you can carry me all that way. It’s still really far and it’s too much for me to ask.”
“You didn’t ask. I just picked you up.”
He’s right. He did. He just picked me right up off the ground like I was a sack of spray-tanned potatoes. As if I didn’t have a choice in the matter. “Yeah, speaking of that, you should probably ask before you just, swoop a woman off her feet.”
“It’s not exactly a habit of mine,” he answers, his breathing growing a little harder now .
“Good. Because you can’t get away with acting like a caveman anymore.”
He chuckles a little. “Caveman? If anything, I’m acting like a fireman. Except now that I think about it, maybe I should’ve thrown you over my shoulder. That way, you could be complaining to my backside right now.”
A flash of having an up-close view of his ass renders my brain useless for a second, then I manage to set it aside. “I’m not complaining,” I tell him, letting my arm rest a little more on his very nice chest than required. “I’m just saying that in polite society, you need to ask permission before you … do things with a woman’s body.”
“Yeah, well, in polite society, I would ask permission, but you’re not all that polite.” He stares ahead while a smirk crosses his face.
It’s the sort of irritating, cocky, smug-as-fuck smirk that makes me want to scramble out of his arms and kiss him hard on the mouth at the same time. My mind short circuits and I’m unable to come up with a fast retort. Finally, I manage to say, “God, you’re infuriating.”
“Is that New York for thank you?”
“You know what?”
“We should stop talking?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Sounds glorious.”