Uncharted(28)

“Beck?”

“Christ, you’re colder than a glacier.”

“The fire…” I murmur.

“I can’t build it any higher. In this wind, there’s no way to keep it contained. One spark could send our whole camp up in flames.”

Another mewl of discomfort slips out as a gust blows cold sand into my eyes. I close them and duck my head to my chest, curling in on myself for warmth.

“It’s so cold,” I whisper, teeth chattering.

“I know. I thought…”

He breaks off, clearly torn about something. A second later, a huge, hesitant hand lands on my hipbone. I hear a sharp intake of air from his lips as soon as he makes contact. Half-asleep, I can barely fathom what it means.

Slowly, so slowly I think it might be a fragment of a dream, the hand moves from my hip to my stomach and pulls my body backward. My spine hits a solid wall of muscle and warmth.

Abruptly, I’m very awake.

“…Beck?”

His name is a question and a plea, all rolled into one.

“It will be warmer this way.” His voice is rougher than usual. Laced with a new edge I’ve never heard before. He’s so close, I hear him swallow against my ear. I’m sure he can hear my heart beating. “Unless…” He takes a breath. “Unless you’d rather tough it out alone.”

I open my eyes again and stare into the dark. I can feel every indentation of his warm chest against my back, every strong plane of his thigh muscles pressed against mine. We fit like we were made to lie together, his larger frame tailor-made to complement to my slighter one.

In his arms I feel that same, strange sensation that commandeered my system the moment he first said my name on the raft, and again later when he laced our hands together on the beach.

Somehow, when he’s touching me, all our simmering animosity falls away and what’s left behind is…

Something good. Something right. Something real.

“Do you want me to go?” he asks, voice muffled against my hair. I feel his fingers flex on my stomach.

Fighting the urge to snuggle closer to his chest, I ball my hands into fists beneath my chin and breathe deeply in and out. When I speak, I don’t even recognize my own voice.

“No. Please… don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

He’s eerily still at my back, but when I say that, I feel him relax.

“I’m not going anywhere.” His voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. “Go back to sleep, princess. We’ve got a long day ahead of us, tomorrow.”

Usually when he says princess, it’s laced with sarcasm and derision. An insult, meant to hurt me. Maybe it’s because I’m half-asleep, but this time… This time I’d swear it sounds like sunshine as it rasps from his mouth against the thin shell of my ear. Warm and welcome in the chill of the night.

If he says anything else, I don’t hear him. I’m already asleep — safe in a set of strong arms.



When I wake in the morning, the gale has passed. Pale sunshine basks the world in a warm glow. The fire is blazing merrily. A neat pile of fresh logs and coconut husks are stacked nearby, ready to burn. Sitting beside my backpack I find a ration packet and a soda can, filled to the brim with fresh water.

Someone’s been busy this morning.

There’s no trace of Beck. No indication he spent the night with his body wrapped around mine, warding off the cold. I’d be damn near sure I dreamed the whole thing, except for a faint indentation in the sand at my back and a strange flutter inside my chest I can’t quite rationalize away, no matter how hard I try.

I take slow sips of my water, pretending it’s a steaming cup of coffee as I stare out at the ocean. It’s truly a spectacular sight. Aqua blue waves crest against the snowy white sand, rhythmic as a lullaby. This beach belongs on the front of a travel magazine or an office calendar. Most people would pay thousands of dollars to wake up to this view.

To me, it’s nothing more than limbo. Not quite hell, but certainly not heaven. I’m neither damned nor saved; simply another of those restless souls Dante described, locked in an eternal waiting room. Eyes ever scanning the horizon for an escape route or exit.

It feels somehow wrong to hate a place as gorgeous as this one. To resent something so truly beautiful it makes your breath catch inside your throat and your heart stutter inside your chest. But pretty packaging isn’t enough to make me forget I’m not here by choice.

A gilded cage is still a cage.

I finish my water, duck behind some bushes to relieve myself, and strip off my thin button down. In addition to the coffee stain, it now bears several streaks of dirt and grime — as does the rest of my body. I run my fingers through my stiff hair, wishing for a comb or an elastic with which to tame it. Sunburned, salt-streaked, and half-starved, I can only imagine what I look like.

On the other hand, I don’t need imagination to know what I smell like. My nose twitches as I catch a whiff of myself — caked with sea and sweat and blood and all manner of bodily fluids. It’s been a lifetime since the crash, longer since my last shower, an eternity since I’ve looked in a mirror or brushed my teeth or applied deodorant.

There’s a thin layer of gunk growing on my teeth that no amount of swishing with water can remove. I seek out the small bag of toiletries at the bottom of my backpack and dump out the items with excited fingers. There’s a travel-sized toothbrush, peppermint paste, several tiny TSA-approved bottles of hair products, a comb, a razor, and even a mini floss dispenser. I feel like a kid on Christmas morning as I squeeze a scant dollop of toothpaste onto the end.