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CHAPTER TWELVE

HANK

As morning turns into afternoon, Elliot and I work diligently on preparing the fire, flipping wood under the sun. With only one fully functioning hand, I rely on him for the heavy lifting, and we continue to find a steady, collaborative pace.

After I decide we could use some more drift wood, I head to the beach to scout.

Wandering, I luck out and find some clams first, a major score that brightens my spirits.

After some slow digging, I use my T-shirt bunched in my good hand to carry the mollusks.

As I trudge back up to Elliot, my thoughts finally land on the loaded moment earlier.

When the birds sang, and our bodies pressed tight beside the berry bush.

Being so close with Elliot was… Well, not exactly nice. Nothing is nice under these circumstances. But last night, the storm was frightening enough that I didn’t notice as much the comfort of touching another person. And today, finally quiet for a minute, my body responded differently.

Before the birds called out, something seemed to pass between us. It might have just been my delirium. Like how hunger can make you euphoric. But I swear, he looked at me like he wanted to kiss me.

That’s ludicrous. He’s got to be ten years younger than me. It doesn’t matter if he is attractive and funny and increasingly likable. We’re in a survival situation, for fuck’s sake.

I snort. No time for confused whims or random hormonal impulses. It’s bad enough to get stranded on a desert island with my boss’s son. The last thing I need to do is try to kiss him.

I pause beneath a Pacific Madrone, catching my breath.

My only concern right now needs to be returning to civilization as safely and soon as possible.

I wonder if our ordeal had made the nightly news. Has everyone in my life heard that I’m missing?

What the hell is everyone going to think?

I hear a rustling in the trees. Turning, I see Elliot emerge. He’s bare-chested, and his pants are filthy, mud-smeared. There’s dirt on his chin, too, although he’s stopped walking with a waddle.

“I think the wood is dry,” he says excitedly.

Grateful that our efforts are aligning, I nod and stand. “Fantastic. I had some good luck foraging, too.”

“Oh yeah?”

I lift my shirt-bundle. “Butter clams,” I say happily, and Elliot’s eyes light up.

“ Butter clams?”

“They’re that good,” I tell him with an honest smile. “Actually buttery. Just need to cook them.”

Elliot swoons. “Let’s get that fire roaring.”

I nod confidently, my spirits rising. “Let’s do it.”

“With the clouds and rain gone, you can see so much farther over the water,” he says as we head up the incline. “And you’ll never guess what I spotted.”

My eyebrows pop up, hope filling me. “A rescue boat?”

“No, Orcas!” he says, excited. “There were a few of them!”

“Oh.” I try not to feel disappointed. I live for spotting wildlife, but that’s not the news I wanted. It strikes me, however, that being able to see farther might help me better identify where we are.

“I need to climb a tree again,” I say, and walk straight over to the nearest tall conifer.

“Damn,” Elliot says. “I don’t get a cool, Orcas .”

At the base of the tree, I turn to him. “Orcas are beautiful. Shockingly violent and beautiful. At least a few pods live in the Salish Sea year round, and others pass through the ocean nearby. Marine life returns north with the spring. I’m glad you spotted some. Now will you give me a boost?”

“Nope.” Elliot smiles. “You hurt your hand. Now it’s my turn to climb the tree.” Without accepting help, he turns and scrambles up the lower branches. “And I’m still younger than you!” he calls down.

I snort out a laugh. “Careful,” I call back. “I’m sure some of the branches remain slippery from the rain.”

Elliot moves swiftly, and I track his climb with my eyes, somewhat anxious that he’ll fall. When I catch my gaze lingering on his firm butt, I rub my hand over my face, scolding myself to pull it together.

From near the top, Elliot peers off in the distance. When he finally climbs down, he yells to me on the way.

“Fantastic! I saw a cargo ship.” He swings down a couple of branches, and I widen my stance like I might have to catch him. “What looks like a big land mass in the distance. And best of all?”

He jumps the last bit and lands in a squat.

“You were right. There’s definitely another island like, right there! Beyond swimming distance, but I bet we could figure out a way to reach it.”

I blink, processing. “That is fantastic. We’re not completely fucked. If there are multiple nearby islands, I even have a guess where we are.”

“Really?”

The sun pours on me. Measured optimism seems logical.

“Our penis-shaped island is probably in the Strait of Juan de Fuca, the Salish Sea,” I say. “Near one of the San Juan Islands, maybe. Although clearly outside of the Olympic Rain Shadow.”

“Thank you for finally acknowledging that the island is shaped like a penis,” Elliot replies.

I half-smile. “Sure. It’s phallic. And proximate to civilization,” I tell him. “Whether the search party is looking here or not, someone will see those fires.”

Elliot’s spirits visibly brighten. “Great,” he says, and we continue back toward the wood stacks.

“We’ll put these clams on to cook,” I say. “Give ourselves a protein boost ahead of our impending rescue.”

“If this were a game show, you’d be a great partner.”

“A game show?”

“ Naked and Afraid. Survivor. I watched a lot of survival-themed reality competitions one year in high school when I was having a hard time. The knowledge from all the old episodes hasn’t really come in handy yet, but it would eventually if we were stuck here long enough.

Or if you tried to melodramatically betray me. ”

“Let’s try to not spend any more time than we already have naked and afraid.”

Elliot scoffs. “Afraid, no. But we don’t have to be so quick to shoot down the other part.”

My cheeks warm, but I manage an awkward laugh. He’s likely just joking. I don’t need to think about him naked.

I notice that Elliot is still carrying the small, flat rock with him, tapping it with his finger.

“Are you pretending that rock is your phone?” I ask, curious.

“Yes,” he answers immediately. “But it’s just a fidgety thing.”

I shrug. “Whatever works.”

Elliot turns the phone-rock again and shows the face of it to me. “I got some great shots of the Orcas.”

“Very nice. Good framing, too. You have the lighter?”

He pulls it out, and we arrive to the stacks. They’re just how they should be, the wood carefully arranged.

Grateful, I lay my hand on Elliot’s shoulder. “Perfect.”

There’s ease with him now that we’re on the same page, and it makes survival feel possible.

He turns to me, smiling beneath his tired eyes, and our bodies are close for a moment before I step back again.

“Would you like the honors?” he asks, presenting the lighter.

“No, let’s do it together,” I tell him. “That feels right.”

His smile broadens. “Together.”

We walk over to the wood and kindling, and Elliot and I both squat. After a heavy rain, I’m satisfied that wildfire risk has abated some, and Elliot has managed to build a slim rock barrier, too, a gesture I appreciate.

He holds the lighter out, and I place my hand over his. It takes us a few tries to coordinate, thumbs awkwardly thumbing, but then we flick it together.

A tiny orange flame ignites. We lower it to the kindling, and the fire spreads, smoldering and smoking until more flames spark to life.

The first signal fire grows, and we light the other two. They cast flames as dusk draws in, and the world is transformed.

Elliot and I move close to the heat. He stands beside me, scratching the back of his head.

“We’re getting rescued,” he says, and the flames pop, reaching higher.

A broad smile fills my face. We did it, and I’m warm all over. “We’re going home.”

We both laugh, and I turn my attention to the clams. There’s only a half dozen, but that’s basically a feast to us. “This flat rock will work,” I say as I take them over and squat next to the middle fire. “Once they’re steaming inside, they should pop open on their own.”

“Hot food,” Elliot says as he squats next to me, and I use two sticks to carefully place a clam at the edge of the flames. “You got us hot food, Hank.”

I nod, satisfied with a growing sense of accomplishment, and turn my eyes up to the darkening, cloudy sky. “Once the flames are built up, they should be visible for miles,” I tell him as I search for a plane.

A clam pops open on the rock, and Elliot knocks the steaming shellfish out of the flames with a stick. “Mollusk up!”

I give it a minute to cool before picking it up, but can’t pry it fully open with one hand. “Here,” Elliot says, helping me.

“Thanks.” My hands are shaking; I want the food so much. “Let’s split the first one,” I say.

Elliot inhales deeply, steam rising into his nostrils. “No, you found them,” he says. “You first.”

I tilt the mollusk to my mouth and slurp, swirling my tongue in the shell. The protein and fat ignite my brain, and a craving to devour overwhelms me as I lick the gritty shell and drag my tongue over my fingers.

“Holy wow,” I manage.

When I look up, Elliot is knocking another clam from the fire. He doesn’t wait for it to cool. Instead, he tosses it between his fingers and winces as he works it open the rest of the way. When he’s ready, he sticks the shell in his mouth and sucks the meat out.

I drop my shell. The sky is dark and the wind chilly, but sweat is dripping down my chest, and a wild energy dances in the air as Elliot chews and gnaws the flesh from his clam.

We don’t say a word—we just focus on eating.

I nibble a few berries while I watch the clams cook in the fire, flames heating my skin.

When the next mollusk is done, I suck and chew on the rich, buttery fat of the meat until I scrape it free from the shell with my teeth.

I gnaw the gills and the foot muscles, slurping from the mantle.

Elliot sits on the ground, licking his shell and moaning.

There’s a crash, maybe a branch falling, and we both startle and turn, looking into the dark woods.

“Bear?” he asks me.

“The island probably isn’t even big enough to sustain deer, although seals and porpoises we might expect to see if we were here longer.”

“That’s cute.”

“Trust me, either could give you a serious problem. But unless you go harassing them, you shouldn’t worry.” As I talk, Elliot gets a bemused look on his face, like he’s considering an adventure, and I stress, “Never go near seals.”

Good thing we’re almost out of here. Lately, Elliot’s been helping instead of bringing the chaos, but every minute stranded provides fresh opportunity for disaster.

Another clam pops, and we each startle again before laughing.

Elliot whacks the clam and turns to me. “Hank,” he sings playfully.

I crinkle my brow, alarmed by the change in tone. “What?”

He laughs again, somewhere between excited and maniacal. “We’re going home,” he says.

I let out a chuckle, too, but smoke blows in my eyes, and I flinch and squint.

“We’re going home,” I cough out.

“We’re going home!” Elliot yells at the top of his voice.

I lick more clam juice off my fingers. “By tomorrow morning, I’ll be showered and safe in bed.”

Elliot works a clam shell with his mouth. “This place is actually so beautiful. It could have been our island paradise, you know.”

“Utopic, if it weren’t so hellish.”

“Exactly.” He steps forward as he drops the last stripped shell. “Thank you, Hank,” Elliot says. “For keeping us alive through this.”

I nod, watching the flames dance over his features. There’s a stick in his hair and scratches on his face.

“We made it together,” I tell him as a cool wind blows.

Elliot holds my eye. “I mean it, though. You’re only here because you tried to help me in the first place. Without you, I don’t know if I would have made it.” He takes my hand. “Thank you,” he says again.

I rub the back of his hand with my thumb. It feels good, warm and comforting.

“I pulled a wrong rope, too,” I point out, feeling generous with the fires burning. “We got into this mess together, and we’re getting out together, too.”

Elliot tilts his head up and smiles to me, our couple inches of height difference especially noticeable this close. We’re both only wearing our dirty trousers, and I wiggle my bare toes against the ground.

Beside the fire, clam meat in my stomach, I feel dreamy, like I’m floating in a different reality. The terrifying night is kept back in the shadows, and the half moon peeks out from a sliver in the clouds before the sky goes dark again.

“Together,” he agrees.

He doesn’t step away, and my heart beats faster. I don’t release his hand, and I realize I don’t want to.

Confusion floods my thoughts, instincts stirring deep in my body. Everything suddenly feels raw and exposed, and my hunger isn’t satisfied. It’s growing.

Elliot eases closer to me. I swear I can feel the same energy thrumming through him, reaching for me.

Bad idea. Can’t even think it .

“Hank,” he says softly, and a stiff breeze tosses the leaves.

I swallow. “Elliot,” I begin, my heart in my throat. I’ve got to let go of his hand, but it’s like I don’t know how. I just keep holding it and feeling his fingers.

Oh, no. Hell.

I want to kiss Elliot.

“If we’re about to be rescued,” he says, a glint in his eyes and pure suggestion in his voice, “maybe we should make full use of the island first.”

I reel, my logical brain and the pure physicality of the moment clashing as a soft, surprised grunt escapes between my lips.

Before I can form a proper answer, thunder cracks, and rain pours down on us yet again.