Page 22 of Hate Wrecked

RILEY

As the rain pelts the ground, I sit and stare out the mouth of the tent into the green, just far enough back to avoid being pelted by the rain. I can’t hear anything over Mother Nature’s tears, but I try.

“Where do you think he is?” I ask, half whisper, half despair.

“He probably found a dry place to hole up,” Rowan says, running his hand over his chest when I glance back at him.

He isn’t worried about the cat the way I am; he trusts survival instincts.

He trusts the little guy’s natural ability to stay alive, which has kept him safe while no one has been here.

But I worry. I can’t help it, and I don’t know where this anxiety comes from.

I feel it at the base of my spine, moving up my back like a snake.

Maybe it’s a desperate clinging to avoid what we discovered earlier today, or what we didn’t find—a way to radio home.

I turn around, the phantom feel of a hand on me, making me glare at Rowan.

“What?” he asks, genuinely curious. How foolish of me to think he would touch me now, to comfort me over a damn cat.

“I don’t know. I got a chill.” I turn back, running my hand over my arms over and over to warm myself.

“If he comes by, you’ll see him. He’s bright orange. You have to trust that. You need to close the door if you’re cold.”

Rowan shifts, and his legs come to rest against mine. Something he never lets happen unless he’s sleeping. I don’t look over or react; I’m afraid to scare him off.

“I’m not too cold,” I lie, a shiver taking over just as I shake again, my body calling me out.

Rowan chuckles, sitting up. He reaches for something on his side of the tent. I feel the soft brush of one of his shirts. I take my eyes briefly from the entrance of the tent and grab it.

“Thank you.” I don’t think about what I do next.

I simply reach down and take the hem of my tank top, pulling it over my head.

I want the feel of Rowan’s shirt on every part of me.

I take my time after I’m topless, gently turning his shirt over, laying it in my lap.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Rowan watching me.

I know he can see my breast, the shadow of my nipple in the light of the moon.

The cold has them hard, begging for some part of him to warm them.

I lift the shirt up, stretching, and pull it over my body, my nudity gone in a flash, ending the moment.

I can feel my heart racing, but I stay still, watching the entrance.

After a moment, Rowan lies back down, and I glance over as he covers his eyes with his hands, rubbing them. I want to say, “Oh, was that horrible to look at?” Or something else snarky, but I don’t. I just huddle into the warmth of his shirt, inhaling his scent lingering all over it.

I look away from Rowan and back to my position—a sentinel.

After a few minutes, I push away from the entrance, my eyes catching on Rowan. He’s turned over, his muscular arm hugging the pillow under his head.

Most nights, I’ve wished there was one pillow so we would be forced to huddle close, our bodies pressed together. But no, he had to go on a suicide mission to that fucking boat and get everything out of it he could.

It’s hanging by a thread by Hollow Island, more of it in the ocean than above now. One day, we are going to look for it, and it’ll be gone. Below the surface. Taunting us. Because we’ll still be able to see it in the shallow.

I grab my pillow and toss it toward the tent opening, then lie on my stomach, eyes peering out into the night. I just want the damn cat to come to me, to curl his little furry body next to me. But that feral look he had in his eyes as he ran away gives me little hope.

I turn on my side, my body angled toward Rowan, and start counting.

My mother always told me to do that when I couldn’t sleep.

And I couldn’t sleep often. I was always a light sleeper, and I would walk to the end of the hallway, peering through the railing.

I heard everything my parents said in the living room as their marriage fell apart.

I shouldered it, protected my sisters from it.

It fascinated me to hear them talk like adults. They often spoke to my sisters and me as if we were adults too, which I certainly wasn’t ready for. But, hearing them talk to each other in earnest fascinated me—until it broke my heart.

I want to be with someone someday who is my partner through and through.

The way I always thought my dad was to my mom.

But the reality is that sometimes he wanted a normal life.

But he didn’t want to give up his stardom.

Hers was expendable, though. It altered the way I viewed my father, who I love so much.

He became human, less than the heroes he played on the big screen.

He became human, and when I found fault in my mother, she became the enemy.

“Fucking idiot,” I whisper, embarrassed at myself all over again.

I just want to get out of here alive so I can hug my mother again. So I can tell her I love her. So I can start over with her.

Rowan rustles in his sleep, and I envy him.

We do so much all day long, and he falls asleep within mere moments of lying down.

His body needs it. He needs it. And even though I often work myself to the bone, I can’t find the same relief.

And I know in my heart that if I wanted to sleep in tomorrow, he would let me.

One more way to take care of me.

I turn on my stomach, resting my chin on my hands, peering into the night. This place has become my reluctant home. I can feel my breath even out as I turn my ears to the rain. “Come home, come home,” I whisper again to the cat, wherever he is out there.

After a few more minutes, I slowly zip the door of the tent, but I leave a sliver open just in case he finds his way to us.

Just in case he secretly has been hoping a kind human would find their way to him.

Then I move my pillow back to the head of the tent, pulling my blanket over me.

I move closer to Rowan, close enough to feel his warmth but far enough away not to crowd him.

And I turn my focus to his breathing, the deep, slow breaths mirroring him.

They lull me to sleep, as they do every night.