9. Nine
He woke up the next morning, groggy from lack of sleep and lack of a bed. This entire situation was killing his spine. He’d be living at his chiropractor’s office if they ever made it back.
For hours he had listened to the sound of waves on the beach, and animals rustling the trees while she slept. The calm rhythm of her breathing was the only sign that she was even alive. She didn’t move once, proving to West how tired she was. Guilt had taken over as he thought about the things he had said, the way he had treated her, and the fact she had been on her own caring for him the past few days. He was an utter ass, and if they hadn’t been stuck on an island together, he wouldn’t blame her if she wanted nothing to do with him.
He had made her cry. He cared about her. It might have been this situation they were in, or maybe he had always cared but had refused to admit it to himself. Watching that lone tear roll down Kat’s cheek had made something hurt in his chest.
She had saved his life, and yet he couldn’t admit to her why he had left the music business. She pushed him, pushed him to be better, to open up and talk about what was on his mind, and he’d told her more than he’d wanted. He’d told her all the thoughts that had been swirling around in there and it had made him angry.
West had told no one about the pressures he felt daily, what it felt like to be him. Now, to top it all off, he was stuck on an island with a woman he would love to fuck, but shouldn’t. If he did he might develop feelings for her, and that wouldn’t bode well for him because he didn’t know what to do with a woman like that. A woman who wanted more from him than a physical relationship.
Toward the east, the first beams of sun were appearing over the horizon, telling him it was still early. He had never been so in tune with the sun’s position in the sky in his life, but now it had become integral to figuring out what time of day it was. Looking around, he realized Kat was nowhere in sight.
Shit.
Rubbing his hands through his hair he groaned, cursing his stupidity. He had chased her off. She thought him an asshole, and she had every right to. It was imperative for him to find her and apologize.
One of the coconuts they had filled with water had disappeared. He didn’t know if that meant she had gone to get more water, or if she was walking far away from him, and would need a drink. He hoped it was the former. Grabbing his own coconut, he took a drink and headed to the stream they had been filling from. She wasn’t there, but he filled up his water, keeping his eyes peeled for snakes. Mostly, Kat had been the one to fill up their coconuts since she had shoes. West was paranoid and didn”t want to tempt fate again.
He couldn’t fathom where she would have gone without telling him. Even if she was mad at him, it wasn’t like she could get away from him. He made his way across the rockier part of the beach, cursing his lack of footwear once again. If he ever made it home, he would never go barefoot again.
West replayed the words she had said to him about his “daddy issues” in his head. She was right, but that hadn’t been the point. He hadn’t wanted to talk about being a walking rich kid cliché with daddy issues. She didn’t know the first thing about growing up with a famous father, the expectations to be just as talented, just as famous—the idea of doing anything different hadn’t even been possible. Even worse, there was the worry of wanting to be like his dad but not being half as good. Sure, his label was done with him, but this movie deal was also a chance for him to prove that he could do something besides make music, do something outside of his father’s shadow. To not fail at something.
She had asked if he was any good, and that was a question he asked himself all the time. He believed he had done quite well during his auditions. He was constantly training with his trainer, toning his body to perfection to play a CIA agent. Looking the part was half the battle, and he’d succeeded in that. Self-doubt crept in as he contemplated failing at another career.
When she had called him talented, it had taken everything within him not to ask her what she meant. Everyone had always attributed his talent to his father, not to his hard work or dedication to the craft. Kat on the other hand, saw him for his own person, saw his talent. Throughout all their years together he finally saw that she challenged him because he knew he had the potential to be better. Her love of music was clear, and he could see how much she hated that West was leaving it. It had been unclear to him whether her reasoning was because of their professional connection or her personal gain. He realized his foolishness for contemplating the former; his hurtful words had been uncalled for. He needed to find her and beg for forgiveness. She could be everything and more without him if only she’d take a chance on herself.
Coming around the corner he saw a shadow in the distance, silhouetted against the sun, and he realized it was Kat. Relief swept over him faster than the waves lapping at the beach. She stood on the flat part of the beach where there were no rocks. At first, he almost called to her, but then realized she was concentrating on doing yoga, dancing, or some kind of movement, soaking up the first rays of the sun.
Rather than interrupt her, he watched, mesmerized by the movement in her arms, waist, and hips. Her eyes were closed, and he could see her take deep breaths, exhaling in time with the waves. He wondered what she focused on. Her hair was down and flowing. She had been braiding it since they had been on the island, which gave him thoroughly lewd thoughts of roping them around his hands and yanking her to him, but now it was down and equally alluring as it fell across her back and shoulders.
He wanted to run his fingers through it. Her hips moved back and forth in time to the waves, her arms straight out to her sides now swinging side-to-side. A slight smile was on her face, and she looked so serene. West couldn’t believe she was the same woman he’d known for almost a decade. Here in this space, she looked like a goddess soaking up the sun.
The rising sun had warmed her skin as she made her way to the flat part of the beach. Whenever they could on tour, Kat, Lydia, and Cher would have a morning yoga session. This morning, Kat had woken up and decided that sunrise yoga was just what her weary soul needed. But it had devolved more into a dance. She had started with meditation, but all she could think about was West.
His perfect eyes sparkled cobalt blue, and his perfect jaw that could cut glass was now sporting the most perfect stubble that she wanted to rub her hands through, and his stupid perfect hair that was graying on the sides making him all kinds of sexy, rather than appearing old, all called out to her. Then she hated herself for her excessive use of the word perfect when describing him. Never mind she was supposed to be mad at him for being a complete moron to her the night before.
It had been impossible to focus and meditate, so she had gotten up and tried some yoga poses and vinyasa flows, but she needed some music because she kept getting distracted with that too. West consumed her thoughts when she was supposed to be clearing her mind.
“Get it together, Katrina,” she said to the vast ocean before her.
She sat staring out into the blue water, listening to the waves as they lapped in front of her and thought of a technique she had learned at one of the tribal gatherings called grounding. It was similar to grounding in yoga, but Native culture focused on the act of healing through nature, something she desperately needed if she was to survive their time on this island. Her shoes were already off, and she sank her feet into the sand, closing her eyes and facing the sun.
She emptied her mind of all thoughts, and with her arms hanging loosely by her side, she focused only on her senses, starting with the warmth of the early sun on her face and the coolness of the sand on her feet. Then she listened to the magic of nature around her: the waves gently sloshing against the beach in a rhythmic pattern; the breeze rushing through the leaves; the birds chirping in the trees, louder and more of them than she’d realized; the rustling in the treetops, from the macaques, perhaps. The sounds worked together in harmony, and soon she found music within them.
The vibrations through the ground moved through her feet and her body, causing her to move, and before she knew it, she was swaying to the music of nature. She started humming the tune she heard, and the music came to life. It was one of the most magical moments she had ever experienced, and she hoped she never forgot the music in her head that came from the beauty of this place.
She felt connected to the island and all its inhabitants. She could feel it pulsing through her. She breathed in the fresh air, and wished this moment would never end, that she never had to leave this place. She loved city life, but there was something so restorative about becoming one with the earth, despite the lack of comforts.
She felt a warm hand at the small of her back and a deep voice in her ear. “Don’t stop, it’s just me.”
Kat should’ve stopped. She should have felt embarrassed—he been watching her dancing and singing in the breeze, with no actual music playing, for who knew how long. She probably looked like a crazy person, but she couldn’t muster any embarrassment. She felt too calm, too at peace, and his touch sent further ripples of awareness through her. Her movements slowed and he grabbed her wrists, raising her arms back to where they had been.
“Don’t stop moving.” His lips grazed the shell of her ear. “What are you doing?” he asked, his breath fanning her neck, sending shivers down her spine.
She continued her movements, and behind her, his hands moved up her back and down her arms, holding onto her hands and allowing her to choose the movement as he moved with her. She backed against him, feeling every hard inch of him. Her senses had already been on high alert, but now his scent and touch overwhelmed her. His hand came around her middle, pulling her hips into his.
“Natives, like many ancient cultures, have a tradition of grounding,” she started, her voice more breathless than she wanted to sound. “We use our connection with the earth to heal our bodies or souls. We are just one small infinitesimal speck in the universe. As humans, we try to control nature, but in reality, we are beholden to it. Being on this island has reminded me of how true that is. I tried to focus, but it devolved into me hearing the music of the island and dancing to it . . . Listen.”
She placed one hand on top of his where it rested against her stomach, and he reached out to hold her other outstretched hand. They moved together in silence, listening to the sounds of the island, her back tucked tightly against him. She felt his breath on her nape, and she felt the electric current it sent all the way to her toes as they curled in the sand.
“This might be the sexiest image I’ve ever woken up to,” he whispered in her ear.
Her eyes snapped open, the ocean coming into focus as they adjusted to the light. He didn’t mean it, he couldn’t. This man woke up next to models, actresses, and pop stars. Plain old Kat dancing to the ocean breeze was not a sexy picture. She was also still mad at him for what he said last night.
Right?
“I think the snake venom is rotting your brain.”
He spun her around as if they were slow dancing at a school dance, and Kat’s heart flipped.
“I mean it, Kat. You look so free and at peace. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone be so alive before. The way your hips move, the way you hear sounds and feel the island as if it’s alive.”
Well, she couldn’t stay mad if he said things like that.
“It is alive. This island is full of life.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck as they swayed to nature’s song—the music that only they heard made by the waves, the rustling of the trees, and the songs of the island’s birds. It was their song.
“Do you hear music in your head a lot?”
She shook her head, looking out to the ocean. “No, not in a long time.” She tried to hide the emotion in her voice but failed.
“When did you first fall in love with music?” he asked.
“When did you?” She tilted her head back, and gazed up at him.
“Now who’s deflecting?” His hands moved up and down her back as they continued to sway. Kat thought back to her senior prom with Archie Llewellyn, the once thespian now finance guy for some hedge fund. Her first boyfriend, and the first guy to break her heart. The one who taught her it was easier to be alone. West probably never did pedestrian things like going to a high school prom. What would prom have been like with him if he had?
“Kat?” he asked, bringing her back to the moment.
“I don’t think I have a single instance. It’s always been a part of me. It controls my moods, it creates my memories, and it’s the soundtrack for each stage of my life. I can go back and listen to different playlists from times in my life and it brings back memories as if they were yesterday. Music is just a part of who I am. I went to a”—she smirked at him—“Fall Out Boy concert when I was fourteen, and I decided that’s what I wanted to do.”
“What? Be in a band?”
“Yeah, make music for a living. Have people singing my music back at me. Make art, make a difference through that art.”
His brow furrowed, and the look only enhanced his appearance. Kat needed to back away. “You never struck me as the rock type,” he said.
She laughed, pulling away from him, her hand gliding along his arm before they broke contact. “Are you kidding? I was such an emo kid. Fall Out Boy, My Chem, AFI, Taking Back Sunday . . . the list goes on forever.”
“That’s not even close to the type of music you play.”
“I won’t lie and say I didn’t have Something Corporate, Prince, Tori Amos and even Billy Joel on repeat too. I have eclectic tastes. I was even in an emo band with some friends for quite a while. I played the piano and sang backing vocals.”
He pulled her closer again, his hands coming to rest on her hips, a confused look on his face. A look that was entirely too cute on him. Her heart flipped. “You are not meant to be playing keys in someone else’s emo band.”
She laughed, shaking her head at the irony of his statement. “I learned to play the piano at six, then I learned the flute and saxophone. I tried the guitar, but it was an epic failure, so fronting a rock band was a little out of the question.”
“Guitar isn’t that hard; you just have to stick with it.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re amazing at it.”
“That’s what four-hour music lessons a day will do for you.”
“Was it all that bad though? You’re an amazing musician. You have a talent people would kill for.”
He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply. “How do you still smell so good? We’ve been on an island for like—what is this, our fifth day now?”
She pulled away, looking up at him, disentangling her hands from his neck. “Now you’re deflecting again.” He refused to let his armor down with her, and while it shouldn’t annoy her, it did. He couldn’t be the sweet man with the sweet words who danced and caressed her, and then turned cold whenever she asked him anything personal.
He ran his hand through his too-long hair, frustration written on his face. “What do you want me to say, Kat? That I didn’t have a typical childhood? Of course I didn’t. My dad was traveling all over the world. Tutors taught me everything from music theory to reading, writing, and history. But I barely know half the book smart shit everyone else knows, so I hope to never get recruited to Celebrity Jeopardy!.”
“I wish my parents could have afforded all those music lessons.” They’d worked hard just to get her piano lessons.
“You think I’m not aware of that privilege? All I wanted was a normal life. I wanted to go to school, play sports, and have normal friends.”
Kat blinked, processing that information. She’d placed West in a box with the rest of the Beverly Hills scene he hung out with, but he continued to surprise her at every turn.
“Is that why you’re giving it all up? Do you think acting is going to make you feel better or be different? It won’t be a normal life, you know?”
“At least I won’t be on the road seven to eight months of the year.” He walked away from her into the water, letting the waves wash up onto his feet.
“You’re the one who chose to go on these world tours like every other year. Even the band kept saying you needed to slow down, but you never stopped. It was like you were running from something. What was it, West? What have you been running from?”
He turned, glaring at her. “All of it. My dad, the label, the fans! Fuck!” He kicked an incoming wave. His tone softened. “We were talking about you, not me. Why are you so stuck on this topic of me retiring from my music career?”
“Because you love it.” She didn’t know how to convey to him that she still couldn’t believe he would give it all up. She walked up to him, putting her hand on his chest, on his heart. “Right here, I know you do. For years, night after night, I’ve watched you play that guitar, watched you get lost in the moment. You leave your body, and your soul gets lost in the music. Your fingers move up and down of their own volition, they own the music, and you bend it to your will. I see it in your face. It’s your one true love.” She took a deep breath. “And it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
His eyes softened, and before she knew it, his arms wrapped around her, his mouth inches away from hers. She had just revealed one of her deepest secrets, and rather than running for the other side of the island, he was holding her, their breaths mingling, with nothing but the sound of the ocean and the breeze in the trees surrounding them.
He bent his head, his mouth grazing the shell of her ear. “I never knew you were watching me.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know,” she said, her breath coming in short bursts.
His eyes darkened. “Clearly.”
For a moment she froze. His eyes held hers, a promise that he would close that distance if she allowed it. And other than self-preservation, which was crumbling quickly, she had no reason to push him away.
She forgot everything else—the music, the tours, the lonely years of watching West pour his soul into his guitar. All that mattered was the way he held her, the way her body crackled through every nerve ending. His head lowered and she could feel the heat of his warm lips as they gently touched hers, but just as quickly as she had felt him, they were gone. Before she could be upset, recognition set in.
“Oh my god, West that’s . . .”
“A motor,” he finished.
He released her and they ran down the rocky beach.
She had fallen behind slightly, and West grabbed her hand to help her keep up. Instantly, she thought about what they had just been about to do, and she couldn’t help thinking that if they were rescued she would never know how his lips would have felt on hers after all these years.
She was being ridiculous. Weston Monroe was not for her. He didn’t do actual relationships, didn’t do long-term, and for as much as he said he had wanted normal, she knew he would be bored. He didn’t know what normal was. Normal was a novelty to a man like him.
As they rounded the corner, her heart nearly stopped. Two speedboats were racing toward them. The foam of their wakes sparkled in the sunlight, and for a moment it seemed like salvation, but it soon appeared they were going around the island.
“They’re not coming this way,” he said, his disappointment evident.
He started to yell and jump up and down, waving his arms to get their attention. “Come on, over here.”
“Hey! Hey, over here!” she joined in.
For a while, they both waited desperately for the boats to spot them. Just as they were about to give up hope, the boats changed direction and were moving straight toward them.
West swept her up into his arms and spun her around. She could feel his heart pounding against hers as he shouted, “We’re saved!”
She mustered up her most excited face. “Yay,” she squealed as enthusiastically as she could. Deep within her she realized that as much as she wanted to be rescued this would be the end for them.
“Kat! Come on, we’re getting out of here.”
“I’ll believe it when it happens.”
“Skeptical much?”
She shrugged, unwilling to let him see the real reason for her mood. She was just starting to enjoy learning who West truly was, but once they got back to society it would be over. He would go back to being Weston Monroe, now apparently a movie star who dates other movie stars, and she would be unemployed, unmarried, unloved, un-everything. Boring old Kat.
As the boats drew ever closer, the hairs on the back of her neck started to stand on end as a feeling of dread filled her. A warning from an unknown source that something wasn’t quite right. Narrowing her eyes, she squinted at the boats; something about the drivers sent a chill down her spine.
“West.”
He was still waving his arms with excitement, trying to get their attention.
“West . . .” The men on the boat were grabbing something.
He wasn’t listening, still flailing his body.
“West!”
“What?” He stopped, finally turning around to look at her.”
“Run!”
“Wha—”
Her grip on his hand was viselike as she yanked him behind her, barely dodging the onslaught of bullets that went whizzing by. She darted into a dense thicket of brush and rocks, zigzagging around them, uncaring of the branches slapping at her face.
With every twist and turn, Kat had to check on West to see if he was still behind her. She staggered through the brush and flinched from the bullets that pelted the surrounding air.
The gunfire ceased for a moment, and she risked a glance behind her through the trees. The sight of the boats pulling up to the shore made her heart lodge in her throat.
“Shit, they’re coming ashore!”
“Who is it? How did you know they had guns?” he asked her.
“I just had a feeling, and then I saw them lifting them.”
“Fuck, why are they shooting at us?”
“I don’t know, but we need to find somewhere to hide. How does your foot feel?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said through gritted teeth. “Let’s put some distance between us and them.”
Bullets flew through the air and Kat felt something graze her arm, causing her to yelp in pain. They both dove to the ground, squeezing their eyes shut as they waited for their lives to end.
“I’m sorry, Kat,” he said, gripping her hand to the point she couldn’t feel it anymore.
“For what?” she said through gritted teeth, ignoring the pain searing her arm.
“Getting us into this mess. I will never drink on a boat again if we survive this.”
“Can we worry about finding a better place to hide first and then discuss your drinking habits?”
The gunfire became quieter, and Kat realized they must have changed directions. As soon as it was quiet, West dragged Kat to her feet, and they were off again.
Questions raced through Kat’s mind—who were these men? Why were they shooting at them? Maybe they mistook them for someone else, and they could just talk to them? She had little time to contemplate before West yanked her onto a different path, almost pulling her arm out of its socket.
After some time, she passed West. She could hear his footsteps behind her, heavy and labored. He was still wincing from the pain in his foot. They kept running, her lungs burning in her chest. Her body begged her to stop, and her legs felt like they might quit working at any minute. But she couldn’t think about any of that. She had to keep pushing or she would be shot, and then she would never know the feel of West’s lips again, or just what exactly was going on between the two of them. They ran until they reached a steep incline, blocking any further progress.
“Oh shit, we have to climb that?” West leaned against the rocky mountainside, looking up. Indonesian islands were anything but flat.
Kat put her hand on her hips, looking up the solid cliffside as she sucked in gulps of air. It was tall, but the incline wasn’t super steep, and it had easy footholds; they could make it. “This is our best chance of losing them.”
“I haven’t heard gunshots in forever, and we’ve been running for at least an hour,” West panted.
“That doesn’t mean they’re not searching for us.”
The sound of raised voices floated to them on a breeze.
“Quick! We have to go up,” she said.
“No, wait.” He held up his hand, pointing upward. “It’s coming from up there.”
She stopped and listened. He was right, the voices were coming from somewhere on the mountain.
“We need to find a place to hide.”
Kat nodded, and they crept back into the safety of the rainforest.
After resting, finding some food, and hiding out in the bush, the sun was setting in the sky as they searched for a more permanent hiding spot. West noticed an opening in the rocks that seemed promising.
“Here.” He motioned to Kat.
West stepped inside, flicking on the lighter.
“What if there’s a jaguar or something in there?” she asked.
“Well, tell my . . . I guess tell Lina I love her.”
She scrunched up her nose in confusion. “Who’s Lina? A new girlfriend?”
He laughed at her apparent jealousy. “No, she was our housekeeper, the closest thing I had to a mom.”
“Oh, sorry.”
He waved her off. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
She didn’t reply, although he knew it was killing her to keep her thoughts to herself. She was so eager to get him to be open, but there were some things he wasn’t ready to talk about, especially as he was walking into a dark cave on an island hiding from the men shooting at them. He’d rather not go there before death. He reached the back of the cave, which wasn’t too deep, and turned around to walk back to her.
“It’s empty.”
“That’s good.” She walked in and plopped herself down against the cave wall. Her shoulders slumped and her legs stretched out before her. She looked pale, tired, and defeated. There was nothing he could really do, except . . . “How about I go find some water? I think I saw a stream not too far away.”
She nodded, and it surprised West she didn’t want to go with him.
“I’ll be right back.”
“I saw some fallen coconuts back there.” She had dark smudges under her eyes, and West was worried at her look of fatigue. They had been running almost the whole day. She was devoid of all color in her face, and something seemed off.
Outside the cave, West searched his pockets for his pocketknife to open the coconuts and realized she must have it. Turning back around for the cave, he stepped back in and stopped dead in his tracks when he laid eyes on her.
“Jesus, Kat, what happened?”
He knelt in front of her, trying to remain calm despite the panic coursing through him. Her arm was coated with a thick layer of drying blood, and he could still see it oozing from the wound. He gently took hold of the fabric she had been trying to tie around her arm, and she flinched in pain as he pushed it down on her injury.
“Did you get shot?” he asked, his voice shaking slightly.
She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, her face absent of all emotion. “It just grazed my arm,” she replied.
“You’re still bleeding.” He couldn’t believe how calm she was about this. Her arm was practically gushing blood, and she was trying to bandage it up herself with nothing but what remained of her pants.
“Here.” She handed him a torn piece of cloth. “Tie this one above the wound to slow the blood.”
“Like a tourniquet?”
She nodded, and her eyes fluttered shut. He worried the blood loss was getting to her. What if she passed out and he couldn’t wake her? He needed to keep her up.
“Kat. Kat! Wake up!” He pulled her into his arms. At the sound of his gruff voice, she opened her eyes, trying to focus on him. “What’s your full name?” he asked, trying to keep her awake.
“Katrina Nicole Brooks.”
The words rolled off her lips like a mantra and he smiled despite himself at the realization that he hadn’t heard her full name in a long time, and just how beautiful it was. “Do you remember when we first met?”
She shook her head as it lolled back against the cave wall.
“You bounded into the recording studio with stars in your eyes. I remember thinking this poor girl is about to get eaten alive by this industry. And then you walked right up to me, your hand outstretched . . .”
Kat groaned. “Please don’t remind me. I was so fucking weird.”
West laughed. “I thought you were adorable. With your ‘Hi! I’m Katrina, you can call me Kat, like the animal, but it’s spelled with a K, just not Katy. Well, I guess you can call me Katy, but I don’t like to be called Katy.’”
“Okay,” Kat said, cutting him off, “I get the idea. How do you even remember that?”
“It just came to me when you said your entire name. I think I might have forgotten your name was Katrina. I always remembered ‘don’t call me Katy,’ and then enjoyed doing it to annoy you.”
She let out a slight laugh. “Ten years together and you forgot my actual name, but you remembered how to annoy me?” Her words were soft and slightly slurred.
“You don’t know my actual name.”
“What? Weston?”
“No, it’s Thomas Weston Monroe, and now you’re the only person besides my family who knows that. No surprise that my dad named me after himself.”
“Well, I might die of blood loss so you won’t have to worry about that secret getting out.” She attempted a smile, but her body was sagging. West didn’t find it funny; she was going to bleed to death if he didn’t do something.
“Have you been running around all this time bleeding to death?”
“It wasn’t that painful; I think adrenaline took over.”
“You need more than a slip of fabric, even if it just grazed you,” he said, quickly assessing their situation. “Are there some herbs or plants for a gunshot?”
“I don’t think so. Considering that’s how the White men killed all my ancestors,” she said with a sardonic smile, trying to push herself to a sitting position.
“Not funny. We need modern medicine. There must be something at the top of that mountain. I heard vehicles and voices up there. I’m going to sneak up tonight and see what I can find.”
She grabbed his arm in alarm.
“West, don’t go up there alone. Please, you’ll get killed and then I’ll die anyway. We don’t both have to die.”
Her eyes pleaded with him, and for an instant, he almost gave in, but he had to do this for her. He had to save her. On top of that, they might have other supplies he could steal, including some way to communicate with the outside world.
“They won’t even know I’m there.”
“You know you’re not actually a spy, right? You haven’t even played one yet.”
The corner of his mouth tugged up into a mischievous smirk as he gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingertips lingering on the column of her neck. “What, you worried about me?”
Her eyes fluttered shut at his touch and her lips parted ever so slightly. After a moment, she opened them again, taking a deep breath before saying quietly, “Maybe a little.” Her face softened, and it seemed like she was about to say something else but stopped herself abruptly. After a beat, she finally whispered, “Don’t get caught.”
If given the option, he would’ve sold his soul to find out what she was going to tell him.
“I won’t,” he said with a conviction he didn’t buy. He was a man without shoes and a foot that throbbed like a bitch.
After making sure she was stable enough and the tourniquet was doing its job, he went to get her water, and found another overripe papaya. They forced it down as they waited for the early hours of the morning when West could go to try to find the supplies they needed. He settled her head in his lap and stroked her hair, enjoying the feel of her intimately tucked into him. They were two puzzle pieces that fit. She was fading fast, and he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about a life without her and how empty that life suddenly felt.