Page 78 of Rule 4: Never Get Stranded with a Sports Reporter

“Cold,” I mumble, even though I can feel sweat beading on my skin.

“I know, baby. Come on, let’s get you back inside.” He helps me crawl into the shelter. He doesn’t follow me. “One moment.”

God, this is so embarrassing. I was sick in front of him? There’s no way to come back from this. He’s probably running to the other side of the beach to retch or something...

He reappears holding a coconut half.

My stomach lurches. “Don’t want to eat.”

“Rainwater. Drink it.” He holds the coconut shell up to my lips.

I focus on sipping and pretend the world isn’t spinning and my throat isn’t made of acid. His fingers ruffle through my hair, and it’s the only thing that feels good right now. “Cal, I’m going to see if I can find anything else for you to eat.” He sets some other coconut shells beside me. “Try to drink as much as you can.”

Panic flares in my chest. “Don’t go far.”

“I won’t. I promise.” He shifts so he can look at me. “You’re going to be okay. This is probably your body telling us we need to diversify our diet.” He kisses my forehead. “Rest. I’ll be right back.”

After he leaves, I curl up and try not to think about how mortifying this is.

When he returns twenty minutes later, his expression is grim. “I couldn’t find anything. Sorry.”

I give a weak smile. “It’s okay. I’m too sick to eat.”

For some reason, the statement seems to make him look more worried.

“I should have tried to cook shrimp when the fire was going. I’m sorry. I-I didn’t think about that.”

“I didn’t think about that either. Besides, I remember having a good time yesterday.”

His eyes go soft. “Yeah. Once it’s no longer wet, I can start a new fire. Maybe tomorrow if we’re lucky.”

“Thank you. I know this isn’t...” I gesture vaguely at myself, probably looking like a sweaty, pale mess. “This isn’t exactly fun.”

“Cal, you know all the bad parts of me, and you still hold me and make me feel accepted. I’ll do anything for you.”

“You’re not that bad.”

“See?” He grins, kisses my forehead again, then crawls out of the shelter.

And despite feeling absolutely terrible, something warm and bright blooms in my chest.

JASON

The rain washed away our signs during the night. Fragments of palm fronds and twigs are scattered across both beaches, our careful work erased. I rebuild them in letters large enough to be seen from the air.

I then head into the jungle, pushing deeper than I’ve gone before. The canopy is thick here, blocking most of the sun, and everything smells rich and green and alive.

That’s when I spot them: a cluster of yellow-green fruit hanging from a tree.

Bananas.

Small ones, not quite ripe, but unmistakably real food.

I scramble up the tree and manage to break off a whole bunch.

I did it. I actually found food. Real food that might not make Cal sicker.

I’m practically bouncing as I half-run, half-stumble back toward our camp, clutching the bananas like they’re made of gold. “Cal!” I call out as soon as I can see our shelter. “Cal, you’re not going to believe what I found!”