Page 130 of Hunted

I take a ragged breath, my hands clutching his arms as Bower wraps his own around me. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, letting them ground me.

I’m okay. That happened a long time ago. I’m okay now.

I open my eyes and nod at him. “I’m alright now.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.” Deciding I’ve seen enough, I look up at my old hut. “You think it’s safe to go up there?”

“No,” Weston answers instantly. “Look at the vines pushing through the walls.”

I take a moment to really look at it and see what he means. Multiple boards have been pushed out of where they used to be by invading vines from the surrounding trees.

“Is there something you wanted from up there?” Bower asks.

I think about it for a moment, then shake my head. “No, I already have everything I need.” I grab both their hands and bring them up to my lips one at a time, kissing their knuckles.

“There is somewhere else I need to visit though,” I tell them as I scan the area for some flowers.

“Lead the way,” Bower says, and when I don’t see what I want, I lead us back down the path and towards the waterfall. On the way, I stop to pick a handful of pretty purple flowers, then we continue on in silence.

Eventually, the grave comes into sight, and my eyes instantly prick with tears. It happened so long ago that I thought it wouldn’t be hard seeing it again. But I’m instantly reminded of the father I lost and the brutal way he was taken from me.

I lay the flowers in front of the grave marker as I stare at the words “Beloved Father”. Even then, it didn't seem like enough, but I didn’t have it in me to carve anymore.

“Hey, Dad,” I whisper as I stare into the mound in front of me. It hasn’t been dirt in a long time, grass overtook it years ago, and as I talk, I pull out some weeds as the other two silently cut back the encroaching foliage.

“I miss you. If you’re wondering why I haven't been here in a while, it’s because I did it, Dad. I got off the island.” A tear slips from my eye, and I quickly wipe it away as I sniffle. “I’ve been free of this place for two years.And I’m happy now. I found four amazing guys who have helped me in more ways than I can ever name. Oh—you already know one of them, it’s Reece. You remember him, of course. I also found out everything that happened, with Grandpa’s and your business, with Kenya… with our plane crash. It turns out Richard Benson was behind everything. You sure know how to pick your friends, Dad.”

I let out a small laugh as I wipe the wetness away from my cheeks. “He’s gone now, though. So we’re all safe. I’m safe, Dad.Finally.I think you’d be proud of me, surviving all this time and learning to live in the real world again. You don’t have to worry about me anymore, okay? I’m going to be okay.”

Just then, a small butterfly flies out of the trees and comes to rest on his grave marker. I suck in a breath of surprise as I stare at it. It flutters its wings a couple of times, then takes off, flying into the jungle.

It was just a butterfly, one I’ve seen a hundred times before, but the timing of it makes my heart beat wildly in my chest. It feels like a sign from my dad.

I look up through teary eyes as Bower smiles down at me. He saw it too.

“You think it was him? Giving me a sign that he was listening?” I ask hopefully.

“Definitely. From everything you and Reece have said, your dad was an amazing guy. It wouldn’t surprise me that he found a way to communicate with you from beyond the grave.”

I smile at him and wipe my tears away as I glance around. “Hey, where’d Weston go?”

“He went to help the others.”

“With what?”

“With this,” Weston says. I turn around as the three of them step through the trees carrying a large shiny piece of wood between them.

“What’s that?” I stand up as they move it closer and put it on the ground, leaning it against a tree. When Reece steps back and it comes into full view, I gasp, my hands flying to my mouth as tears, once again, roll down my cheeks.

It’s a dark wooden tombstone, with a metal plaque that’s been engraved with my father’s name, Donald Danvers, his year of birth and death, and below that it reads“Beloved Father”.

“How did you get this here? Why didn't I see it?” I ask, stepping forward to run my hands over the letters.

“I think we’re getting pretty good at surprises now. Are you really that shocked?”

I chuckle at Bower’s words and shake my head. “I guess not. You’re pretty good at distractions, too.”