Uncharted(39)

Ian whistles lowly. “Damn. I’ve never heard a woman make eternal bliss sound like an alternative to bamboo shoots being wedged beneath her fingernails by a CIA operative trained in torture.”

“Okay, maybe I’m being a wee bit dramatic.” I try out a laugh, but it’s reedy. “I’m sure that destiny, with the perfect husband and perfect children and perfect house, wouldn’t be terrible. I suppose there’s a certain beauty to be found in standing on solid ground, full of unshakable conviction about the world and your place in it. Even a passionless existence would probably be preferable to… oh, I don’t know… say… life on a deserted island, unsure of absolutely everything for the rest of my days.”

Ian opens his mouth to respond, but it’s not his voice I hear.

“I wouldn’t put my money on that, princess,” Beck mutters.

Stunned by his sudden interjection, I whirl around to find him leaning against a nearby tree, taking a break from the midday sun.

“How long have been there?” I demand.

He shrugs. “Long enough.”

My pulse is pounding so fast I think I might have a heart attack. “You should’ve announced yourself.”

“And miss that fascinating little speech?” His green eyes glitter with thoughts. “That would’ve been a damn shame.”

“It was a private conversation! You had no right to eavesdrop!”

“Next time I’ll be sure to blast off the flare gun before daring to walk back into my own camp,” he drawls sarcastically.

“Perfect,” I snap, eyes shooting daggers.

I can feel Ian’s gaze moving back and forth between me and Beck, but I can’t bring myself to look away from the tractor beam in which I’m trapped. We’re both breathing a bit too fast.

After a few endless heartbeats, his attention flickers from my face over to Ian’s. An indecipherable expression flashes across his face, gone in the span of a blink. Without another word, he turns and stalks back out into the burning sunshine.

I stare after him, a tangle of contradictory emotions warring inside me. I want ask what he meant when he said I wouldn’t put my money on that, princess. I want to run after him and yell some more insults. I want to beg him to come back and sit with us for a while, telling stories of his own. I want to share my fears and hear his in return.

I want…

I want…

I want…

Him.

Ian lets out another low whistle. “Didn’t you just tell me you came on this trip to get away from your relationship problems?”

I scowl at him. “Oh, shut up.”



I find it by chance a week or so later, during a late afternoon walk through the woods.

Half-hidden by an especially dense copse of trees, the secret pool is tucked away at the heart of the atoll. Secluded and still, it’s full of crisp, cool freshwater. No more than two dozen feet at its widest point, the thick overhead canopy keeps the brightest sun rays at bay, and the leafy forest ringing the banks lends an illusion of total privacy. As soon as I see it, I’m overcome with one thought.

I can take a bath.

Not a sponge-off with rainwater.

Not a dip into a salty tidal pool

A real, honest-to-god bath.

I can hardly contain my excitement as I race back to camp to grab my toiletry bag, then quickly retrace my steps to the water’s edge. With Ian sound asleep, it’s the perfect time for me to slip away unnoticed. Beck is off again, scratching another task from the ever-growing survival checklist he’s invented to keep himself busy, now that the HELP distress signal is complete. One day, he walks the entire island’s circumference; the next, he digs a solar still in the hot sand so we have a constant source of water nearby. Over the course of a week, he prepares massive pyres of kindling at several different locations across the island, ready to light in case a ship passes.

If he’s not asleep, he’s not at camp. I’ve barely seen him at all; I’ve spoken to him even less. I try not to take his sudden absence personally, but it’s easier said than done. While we’ve never been what I’d call chummy, we tolerated each other. Leaned on each other, when things were difficult. Now, where there was at least a grudging camaraderie, there is frozen civility. If I were stronger, perhaps that wouldn’t bother me so much. But, as I’ve come to realize, the unfortunate fact is…

I care.

I care so deeply, his avoidance tears at my soul with physical teeth.

For Ian’s sake, I’ve kept a smile on my face and a bounce in my step, doing my best to remain positive. But at night, when the stars come out and my walls come down, I listen to the man sleeping a few feet away from me and wish there was a way to mend things between us. A way things could be different.

He calls me a child, but I’m not entirely naive. I’m perfectly aware that, most of the time, the people we like don’t like us back. In the past, I’ve endured the melancholy ache of unrequited affection with ease.

But things are different on the island.

…things are different with him.

This is no childhood crush I can shake, no unsuccessful flirtation with a cute boy in a coffee shop.

Beck possesses my thoughts the way I wish I could possess his body. And every day that drags by with those desires unfulfilled sends me a little deeper down the rabbit hole of rebuffed feelings. Every time our eyes meet, I grow a little more morose.