Consume you.
Far better to care for someone in careful moderation, without losing who you are in the process. Awful as it may be to admit, as much as I’ve ever allowed Ollie to adore me… I’m not sure I’ve ever let him all the way in. And I’m not sure I can ever truly love him — not in the way he deserves to be loved, anyway.
It’s not his fault. I’m simply not capable of that kind of commitment.
Not anymore.
Not ever again.
It’s selfish, surely, to let him stay with someone so emotionally stunted. But I can’t help it. Can’t change it. The doors to the innermost parts of my soul, the deepest chambers of my heart, are no longer thrown wide, allowing just anyone to walk inside and wreak havoc. They’re double bolted and sealed shut with cement, soldered at the hinges and tempered with steel. Then blockaded with a few immovable boulders, just in case.
No one — not even someone as sweet as Oliver — is going to destroy me. It took far too long to put myself back together the last time.
Oh, god. Ollie. I glance up at the darkening sky, seeing my boyfriend’s features in the edges of a storm cloud. He must be getting worried. He hasn’t heard from me all day.
A wave of guilt washes through me as I calculate how long it’s been since I last called him. Over twenty-four hours. I’d planned to check in after my sail, but obviously that’s no longer an option.
I don’t have a watch, but it’s nearing dusk. Probably around six-thirty or seven. It doesn’t matter. Time has little meaning out here, except to my stomach, which has begun to rumble with periodic demands for dinner. There’s still no sign of rescue. No chopper blades echoing from incoming helicopters, no spotlight beams off the bow of rescue boats. And no way of knowing when they’ll arrive, seeing as our one and only source of communication sank with the wreckage of Archer’s old yellow lobster boat.
From our hideout atop the hill, we have sweeping views of the whole coastline, as far south as Hull. I sit at the mouth of our shelter, counting out the seconds between each flash of Boston Lighthouse — one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten — in the distance so many times, the numbers begin to sound like nonsense inside my head, a mantra of made-up syllables. The rain has finally tapered off, lessening from a thunderous torrent to a steady drizzle as the billowing clouds are swept up the coast, taking the lightning along with them.
In the squall’s aftermath, the sky looks like it’s been through a fight — battered and bruised, streaked with black and purple. But as hints of light creep through at the western edges, diluting the darkness with softer tones, the horizon unfurls into the most spectacular sunset I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s stunningly beautiful. Almost violet. I wish I had a camera to capture it.
Not that I need any more reminders of this day to look back on.
“Here.”
A raspy voice cuts into my thoughts, startling me. I half-turn to find Archer standing just behind me, his hand extended outward. In it, there’s a granola bar. He must’ve pilfered it from the boat before we abandoned her on the beach.
My brows go up.
“Go on,” he says flatly. “Take it.”
When I fail to comply, he sighs deeply before reaching down, grabbing my limp hand, and pressing the plastic package into my palm. I’ve barely curled my fingers around it when he turns on a heel and stalks away.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my words halting. As awful as it is to be around Archer when he’s acting like an asshole, somehow it’s even worse when he’s being kind.
“No need to thank me.” His boots squeak as he takes a seat across from me at the opposite edge of the overhang, his back planted against the stone foundation. He’s stripped down to a t-shirt and athletic shorts, his coveralls discarded in a damp pile in the corner. “Your stomach is rumbling so loud, it’s going to drown out the sound of the rescue choppers.”
There’s the asshole.
I roll my eyes as I rip open the granola bar. The smell of peanuts and chocolate, sugar and processed oats hits my nose like a shot of heroin. Saliva rushes into my mouth. I’m so ravenous, I have to fight the urge to shove the entire thing down my throat. I hesitate only a beat before forcing myself to break the small bar in two. My fingers shake a bit as I extend it across the distance.
“Take half.”
His brows pull together. “No, I—”
“If you pass out from hunger, I’m not lugging you down to the shore when the rescue boats arrive.”
The ghost of a smile flits across his face as he leans froward and takes it from me. Our fingers brush — just a fraction of a second, barely the length of a heartbeat. But it’s enough. Enough to send a volt of electricity through my nerve endings. Enough to make the breath catch in my throat.
My eyes drop quickly from his face, sliding away to study the ocean as I pop the first bite of granola bar into my mouth. I press my spine more firmly against the rock wall, almost to the point of pain, a desperate attempt to distract my mind from thoughts of the man sitting far too close for comfort. I chew slowly, trying to savor the snack, but it’s gone all too soon. Afterward, I knit my empty hands together, wishing I had something to occupy them.
This momentary ceasefire is fraught with tension. I think, in some ways, I actually preferred our screaming match. That, at least, was clear cut. Black and white. This strange gray area we have entered — in which we are neither enemy nor ally, but both at once — is far harder to navigate.
The silence sits heavy in the air, every breath dragging its way in and out of my lungs with audible effort. Each molecule of oxygen riddled with unanswered questions, rife with unfinished business. I can feel Archer’s eyes on my face, moving over my features in the gathering dusk. I keep my own gaze averted, afraid to look at him for fear of what I’ll see in his expression. Angry scowl or softening acceptance… either option is equally dangerous to the heart thundering too fast inside my ribcage.
“Jo,” he says, whisper-soft.
My teeth clench.
I cannot look at him.
I will not look at him.
“Jo, I’m—”
But whatever he is about to say to me is lost. We both hear it at the same time — the distinct sound of an engine, rapidly approaching. My eyes scan the water, seizing upon the sight of a ship. Gunmetal gray with a thick red stripe spanning the hull, the words U.S. COAST GUARD are visible even from this vantage point. Dual spotlights shine off its bow as it speeds toward the small cove where we made landing.
I glance over at Archer. The haunted look on his face is one I cannot quite decipher — one I’m not certain I want to decipher. When his eyes meet mine, I nearly flinch at the unexpected pain in their depths.
“We’d better go,” he says flatly.
I swallow hard. “Right. We should.”
Neither of us moves a muscle. We simply sit there, staring across the divide, paralyzed by all the damage we’ve inflicted upon each other; frozen by our utter inability to heal it.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier,” I tell him in a muted voice. And I mean it. “I really am grateful you saved me.”
He nods stiffly. “Don’t worry about it.”
I open my mouth to say something — anything — but no words manifest. I have no idea how to speak to him anymore. Not the slightest clue how to bridge the strange gap between the thoughts in my head and my stupefied tongue. And Archer certainly doesn’t seem inclined to make an effort in that regard. His silence is thick as the stone walls surrounding us. His expression closed off and cold, all traces of our cease-fire erased like they never existed.