Chapter 15
COLTON
I exhale, breathing out the stress of the day, and soak in the scene around me as I toss another log of wood onto our campfire.
Other than Missy, Silver, and Tearjerker, everyone remaining in the game huddles around the fire, sitting on logs or on top of the “luggage” boxes the show placed on the beach before we’d arrived.
The sun is no longer in the sky; instead, a blanket of stars hangs above us while a symphony of insects hums from the depths of the jungle.
Grabbing a stick, I reposition some kindling that fell to the outskirts of the fire and watch it go up in satisfying flames.
I need to get outdoors more when I get home.
Something about being out in nature feels grounding amidst the chaos of life.
And even though my hands are streaked in soot and dirt, I find I don’t mind.
Nature germs are not the same as human germs—or at least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself to justify saving my hand sanitizer for the bathroom.
I drop the stick and stretch out my hands in front of me.
On second thought, maybe a good hand wash with some water would go a long way.
Once the fire burns steady, I shift off my haunches and take a seat on the rough exterior of a nearby log before finding my water bottle in my backpack.
I feel worlds better after washing off the chalky layer coating my skin.
Now able to fully relax, I lean forward, placing my elbows on my knees, taking in the comforting smell of campfire and the sounds of laughter from my fellow contestants.
Despite not winning the Reward Challenge this morning, today has been one of my favorite days on the island—I scaled a banana tree for the first time, played baseball with my hero, and watched Missy make her first home run.
A smile comes easily to my lips, remembering the way we’d teased each other today and the way she’d fit so perfectly between my arms and the way we’d traded our sharpened swords for smooth words and soft glances.
To my surprise, flirting with Missy is easier than I imagined—dare I say it’s even fun?
But as soon as the thought crosses my mind, worry snakes through me, making me wonder what Dad will think of the spectacle I made on live television.
While Missy and I weren’t making out for all to see, showing any public displays of affection in front of the media was greatly frowned upon in my family.
The sound of shifting sand pulls my attention behind me. Missy’s gaze glows warm gold against the firelight, and her long blonde hair is twisted in one braid over her shoulder, tied at the end with our team bandana. For some reason, I feel a strange sensation burn in my chest with her arrival.
Ever since seeing her tears at our team interview, it’s like I’m viewing her from a new vantage point.
She’d broken down in front of me. Perfect Miss had bawled.
Sure, she has her bad days, just like everyone does, but she doesn’t break down.
Or at least, she doesn’t around me. But then at the interview, seeing the woman that is usually sharper than a battle axe turn to something soft and vulnerable in my arms—I wasn’t used to it.
Missy holds up her hands, offering me part of a plant.
“Is this aloe vera? I didn’t know that grew here,” I say, taking it from her.
“It does if you plant it. Fortunately for us, I’ve seen several of them around Sabotage Island.” Missy sits next to me on the log and takes off her backpack, placing it next to her leg. “It’s for your neck and back.”
Oh. My sunburn. She had noticed.
I finger the thick leaf. While I enjoy the outdoors, I’ve never really lived off the land before and am unsure what I’m supposed to do with it.
I must look out of my depth because Missy reaches for the plant and opens the thick leaf that’s already been sliced from top to bottom as one would filet a fish, exposing the clear and gelatinous meat inside.
Missy hands it back to me. “Maria let me borrow the machete to open it, so now you just rub the insides of the leaf against your sunburn, and that should help hydrate your skin and give you a little relief.”
I send her a grateful smile. She really is dedicated to this new role we’re playing, and my back is thanking her for it. Ever since fishing yesterday morning, my bright-red skin has been tight and painful to the touch.
I hike my shirt over my head, exposing my sunburn. Missy inhales sharply. “Oh, Colton, that looks awful.”
“It’s fine,” I reassure her.
With the opened plant in my hand, I gently rub the cool, gel-like substance on my neck and shoulders before making an awkward attempt to reach my upper back in order to lather the remainder of my tomato-red skin.
“Here, let me help.” Missy takes the aloe vera plant from me. She slides a finger down the inside of the plant, pressing its juices onto her hand.
Resigned to my inadequacies, I face away from her, giving her access to my sunburn.
Missy’s fingers softly touch my skin, sending a shiver through my body. Every inch of the plant’s soothing gel brings a welcome relief, making me wonder where I can go to get more of this plant and how to thank Missy for her kindness.
“This is bad, Colton. You didn’t have to get those fish for me, you know,” she says quietly, adding on another layer of aloe vera.
My lips curve and I crane my head toward her, remembering the way she’d lit up when she saw the bag of fish. “Some things are worth it, Missy Jean.”
Our eyes meet for the briefest of moments.
Like glimpsing a blue moon, I catch something rare as I look at her.
Her eyes dance in the firelight, and in them I see something shy and unguarded, just like I’d seen after the interview.
But too soon, her gaze pulls away from me, the phenomenon vanishing and her walls reappearing.
Missy quickly busies herself with applying the rest of the plant, and then I pull my shirt back on, the fabric latching onto my sticky skin.
For the next several minutes, Missy and I sit next to each other, joining the other competitors as we all talk and laugh and appreciate a night where we’re not scheming or sabotaging.
It’s not long before the endless starry sky and the crackling fire work its magic, lulling us all into a reflective mood.
Maria asks Joseph about his professional baseball career, in which I find myself wholly consumed.
He gives some insight into MLB life—how he tripped on the turf the first time he ran out on the field in the pros, how his World Series ring is so big that he never wears it but instead has it in a dusty drawer at home, how he taught Tyrone to throw his first curveball at the ripe old age of three, and how he’d felt becoming one of the most famous baseball players of his generation.
Next to me, Missy’s head bumps into my shoulder. I look over to find her eyelids half closed. “You good?”
Missy nods, her sleepy little eyes reminding me of a newborn puppy. It pulls a smile from my lips. But when her head leans on my shoulder again, I put my arm around her and steer her head onto my lap. She doesn’t protest; instead, she nestles her head until she finds the most comfortable position.
“If you were so successful, why’d you quit?” Heartbreaker asks Joseph with all the tact of a preschooler.
Joseph chuckles, but sadness tugs at his features. “I left the pros because I had to, not because I wanted to.”
Joseph doesn’t add more, but I don’t need him to tell me what happened. It was all over the news. He was forced to retire early after allegedly gambling on his own game. Come to find out, years later, that he didn’t and his name was cleared, but by that point, his career was over.
“I just hope my son will never have to leave his career the way I had to. I might be his dad, but I’d say he has a long and promising career ahead of him.
” Joseph pats his son on the shoulder, and Tyrone grows three feet under the praise.
“Anyway, enough about me, what about the former Olympians? Maria, I know you played singles in tennis at two Olympic Games. But Bill, I don’t think I heard what year you went.
Or did you go multiple years like Maria? ”
Maria stands up and kisses her husband’s head. “I’m going to use the restroom. Just let me know when you’re ready to go on our stroll.”
“What? You don’t want to hear this story for the hundredth time?” Bill says.
“I love you, Mi Amor,” Maria coos.
Bill chuckles and gives her hand a gentle squeeze. “Love you. I’ll come meet you for our walk soon.”
Maria gives us a parting wave and heads toward the plane.
Suddenly, I hear something crunch. I look down to spy the culprit—Missy’s yellowing bracelet.
It’s one of many trinkets she’s made from fallen palm leaves, but this specific one is now squished between her head and my lap as she tries to use her hand as a pillow.
Careful not to wake her, I wrap my hand around her small wrist and gently tug her bracelet out of harm’s way, knowing how attached she gets to little knickknacks like these.
But just as I think I’ve successfully saved her bracelet while managing not to wake her, Missy moans, her head flipping uncomfortably back and forth before settling once more.
“Missy?” I ask.
She snores in response, fast asleep. Between the long days of sun exposure and the constant rustling of our plastic-covered mattresses at night, I know all too well how tired she is.
With all of her position changes, her hair’s broken free from its braid, and soft golden waves spill across my lap.
A tendril brushes my hand, making me wonder what it would feel like to run my hand through it.
I twist the smallest bit of her hair between my thumb and forefinger.
It’s soft and makes me think of the strawberry-scented shampoo she uses when we’re at home.