Chapter 11 January 5th Morning wood pounds from my pants as I shift from my spot under Avery and settle her limbs into place to keep her comfortable enough to stay asleep. It's amazing, really. After four whole days on this Caribbean island with limited resources, limited shelter, and limited water, my hunger cues have waned and my markers for thirst are in overdrive. My body has, by and large, clicked over into survival mode, and yet the biological drive to fuck lives on. Sure, I've been sleeping every night with a painfully attractive, warm female draped over me, but I still can't get over the male body's dedication to its priorities in times like these. I'd fucking laugh if it didn't hurt so much. And maybe if I weren't still thinking about last night. About the way she looked at me, her hazel eyes locked on mine, the space between us thinning, my brain short-circuiting as I got caught in the pull of something I knew damn well I shouldn't let happen. But I almost did. I almost kissed Avery Banks. Again. And if it weren't for that rustling in the trees, I probably would have. Which is the real kicker, because it's not like I don't know better. Avery is my best friend's little sister. Avery is trouble wrapped in expensive perfume and designer clothes. Avery is the one person I should not be thinking about like this. And yet, here I am. With a hard-on that hurts like hell and thoughts that have no business lingering. Once outside the tent, I adjust myself in my pants and will my balls to untwist themselves as I slather on some deodorant from Avery's waist pack we keep just outside under a sea grape leaf at the bottom of the neighboring palm. I run her toothbrush over my teeth using the teeniest bit of water from our hydration pack and then tuck both the brush and travel toothpaste inside. As I'm zipping it up, I notice her phone for the first time since the no-service debacle and Avery's subsequent all-American rage, and I wonder briefly if it has any battery left. Not knowing what the future would hold, I convinced her to shut it down when she finished freaking out, but I don't know if it's done any good. Will a phone hold charge for four days if it's turned off? Seeing as I never power down my stupid fucker, I have no clue. Carefully pressing the button on the side to power it on, I wait while the apple symbol appears in the center, waiting for the boot up to show the percentage, and do a silent cheer when I see it still has nearly fifty percent. I'm surprised she doesn't have a passcode on it for security-and yet, not, at the same time. It's a little annoyance like this that Avery would see as trivial despite all the logical reasons to live with it. I know we didn't find service here, but now that we've had the time to explore a little more, I'm wondering if we might catch a rogue signal from the ridgetop. My stomach flips over on itself at the possibility and the need to know. I shut the phone back off to conserve the battery as the signal symbol dances to indicate it's constantly searching, tuck the phone into my pocket, and peek in on Avery one more time. She's sleeping soundly, her hands folded in the prayer position under her cheek and her knees tucked up to her chest, and her face looks as relaxed as I've seen it since the moment we arrived. Guilt swirls in my mind and runs down the line of my spine. I want to see if the ridgetop has a signal, but I don't want to overinflate the amount of hope inside Avery, and the thought of waking her up while she's resting so peacefully doesn't feel good either. The fact is, this whole thing is a long shot and a half, and a fuck of a workout just to give it a try. The heat of the day is going to build to unbearable levels soon, and if I don't make the climb now, it's going to be ten times worse than getting ass-fucked by a porcupine. Avery doesn't move or shift at all, and her breathing is even as I check carefully for signs of stirring. She's out cold. I bet if I go now, I can probably be back before she even wakes up or, worst-case, not long after. And fuck, I hate to even think it, but maybe, just maybe, I'll get to see her pretty face light up when I surprise her with good news. Decided, I grab our poker stick to use as an extra support in rough terrain and take off for the center of the island. The ridge base is only half a mile or so in, so the hike to get there takes no time at all. The ascent, however, is another story and proves much more difficult than I thought it would be. Without climbing gear, the quickest, shortest route is way too dangerous, the risk of injury too high. Knowing what's at stake, I opt for the longer, safer way instead. If I broke a leg or injured myself beyond capability, I have no doubt Avery would rise to the occasion, but fuck, it sure would make things a hell of a lot harder and would drive me to the point of insanity. I've always felt a strong need to provide and protect, and taking a risk that would fuck that up is irresponsible. I pay excruciating attention to detail on every step on my route, being mindful not to roll my fucking ankle or proceed farther unless the footing is sure. It takes a little over an hour to get to the top, but when I turn on Avery's phone and it works, my whole body tingles with the possibility that this trip might be worth it. As I wait for the damn thing to find a signal, my eyes drift down to the beach, scanning the shoreline that has become our home for the past four days. That's when I see it-the massive SOS I carved into the sand with driftwood and palm fronds on the first day here. The letters are still clear, still untouched by the tide, standing as a desperate message to anyone who might be flying overhead. I remember the way Avery had just sat there, knees drawn to her chest, staring out at the horizon in stunned silence while I worked on it. She hadn't said a word, barely even blinked, still stuck in the kind of shock I'd never seen on her before. For as much as Avery likes to act like she doesn't take anything seriously, that first day proved otherwise. She was scared. Hell, we both were. And looking at it now, I feel the weight of just how much we've adapted. That panic from day one has settled into something else-survival. A rhythm. A routine. It's the kind of thing that should scare the hell out of me, but instead, I just feel frustrated that we still haven't been found. I watch and wait with bated breath as the phone searches for service, but when the signal indicator is still doing the same dance a full minute later, my chest deflates in one fell swoop. "Fuck," I mutter, holding it in the air and moving from one side of the ridge to the other in a weaving line. I try different angles and positions, but at the end of another ten minutes, the stupid thing is still searching for a signal. Movements manic, all the hope leaves my body in a rush of adrenaline. Nothing. There's fucking nothing we can do to help ourselves get found. My chest feels tight, my emotions almost too heavy to hold. "Fuck!" I say again, but this time, it's a ragged yell of raw frustration that shakes my whole chest and sends several birds flying for cover. I clutch the phone in my grip and smash at the screen with my other hand, but when none of the blinding pressure of lost hope leaves my temples, I rear back and launch the fucking thing like I'm throwing a game-ending Hail Mary pass. It rolls and spins and flashes in the now-risen sun, and I scream at the top of my lungs like a man deranged. It was a pipe dream and a fucking stupid hope, but I carelessly let myself get attached to the idea of it working, and the reality of it not stings like a son of a bitch. My chest heaves and my heart races as I blink into the sun and wipe the growing sweat off my forehead with an agitated hand. I look out at the perfect blue ocean and spin around, taking in the full circumference of nothingness around us and wonder if there's anyone out there even remotely close looking for us. I scan the horizon for boats and see nothing but endless ocean and the gentle spark of the reflecting sun. Nature, in all its unmarred beauty. It should be awe-inspiring, but all it's prompting in me right now is excruciating pain. "I have to let go of the future," I say softly to myself, knowing from experience that wishing for something that'll never be only makes things worse. It never brought my mom back from her mental break, and it sure as hell hasn't resurrected my dad after the cancer killed him. "I have to focus on the here and now. I have to focus on helping myself and Avery survive." It's resolute and reasonable and, thankfully, enough to calm me down again. Avery's phone is good and gone forever, something I know she won't like, but when we make it back home, I'll buy her another. She can't call or text June. She can't check in with her mom. She can't call her dad and beg him to get us out of this. It's her and me and the here and now. For the time being, all that stupid phone was doing was taunting us. I take a final deep breath and prepare to make the trek back down. Avery'll be looking for me, and being there for her is one of the only things I can control. She's my priority. And I'm going to make damn sure I do everything I can to protect her, keep her safe, keep her alive. Wet from the heat and exertion, I emerge from the underbrush just behind the beach we've been inhabiting a little over an hour later. The heat is really working today, so I'm not surprised to see the fire unstoked. Not to mention, I took the poker with me as a walking cane, so I don't know what I would have expected her to use instead. A soft snort of air leaves my nostrils as I shake my head at myself, my anxiety to see Avery and ground myself by giving her a hug at an overwhelming high. I'm an independent guy, but it's amazing what being trapped somewhere with no idea when or if it'll end will do to your codependency. Part of her routine in the mornings is going for a swim and a bath all in one, so I look to the water first, rounding our fire pit on the beach to get a view of the whole cove, but even after a thorough scan, I don't see her anywhere. I've been gone too long for her to still be sleeping, but I check the tent anyway, the gnawing feeling in my gut growing in intensity with each passing second I don't find her. There's a small chance she would have gone to gather some breadfruit, but by and large, not seeing her immediately is completely out of the ordinary. What if she did go swimming, but she got taken by the current or pushed under by a wave? Or woke up confused when I wasn't there and wandered off? Fuck, I can't believe I thought it was a good idea to go to the top of the ridge without her-without telling her. Concern ravaging my nerves, I call out her name. "Avery!" She doesn't answer right away, so I call again, this time as loud as I can manage. "Avery! Where are you?" I run into the water, splashing frantically and searching the white sand bottom for signs of her bright-orange bikini. I don't see it, which is an obvious fucking relief, but at the same time, my gut only feels heavier. Where the fuck is she? "Avery!" My scream is desperate and sore, and it's so loud, it nearly bursts my own ears. "Henry?" I finally hear in response, the soft, muted sound coming from way in the distance around the natural rock jetty that acts as a wave break at the end of our beach. Fuck, Avery. "Oh my God!" she yells now, the volume escalating so much, the panic at its root is impossible to deny. I have a sudden feeling of impending doom I can't shake. Leaving without waking her up this morning wasn't kind; it was cruel. I drop my stick and break into a run to head in her direction so I can cut her distance in half, cresting the jetty just as she's coming up the other side as well. Her face is red and her eyes are wide, and fear radiates like a painful swipe of a sword in the space between us. I feel fucking sick to my stomach over the five minutes I've been searching for her since I returned, and I've been gone for hours. "Oh God-" "Where were you?" she yells harshly, the accusation and anguish in her voice locking up my throat. "I thought you were dead or missing or really, really hurt!" "I'm sorry," I apologize as she shoves me in the chest in an attempt to storm past me. "Avery, I'm sorry." Her sobs only heighten as I grab her by the wrist to stop her, and she claws and scratches at my arm to get away. Her reaction is big and dramatic and over the top, but what it isn't is manufactured or uncalled for. I can see the raw terror in her eyes and hear the hoarseness in her cries, and it's all my fault. I've been gone for close to three hours at this point. Who knows how long she's been screaming my name-how long she's been scared to death. Even as she fights, I pull her into my chest and put my hands to her chin to lift her gaze to my own. The whites of her eyes are bloodshot and tear-filled and hurt, and I hold them anyway, letting them lash me as a reminder for the future. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. Her lip quivers. "I didn't think. I wanted to try to get cell service at the top of the ridge and you were still sleeping, so I didn't want to wake you. It was a terrible idea, and I promise I'll never do it again." Her neck strains to fight from my grip, but I steady her, forcing her to hold my eyes as I swear it to her all over again. "I'll never leave again without telling you where I'm going. I promise." "I hate you," she cries, pushing at my chest with her forearms. When we've fought before, I've given her all the space in the world, but right now, I know deep down what she needs is me. Lord knows I sure as hell need her. To feel her. To touch her. To convince myself and her and God above that we're both here and well and alive. "I'm sorry, Avery. Fuck. I'm so sorry." She cries harder, her lips quivering as she finally stops pushing herself away. I deserve a million and one insults, and I know for damn sure Avery has the vocabulary to come out with some good ones, but I fill the space between us with more promises instead. "I'll never do it again. I swear. We're in this together, and from here on out, we do everything together." I lean down and press my lips to hers, tasting the salt of her tears. It's chaste and, given the perspective of what we've just been through, innocent. But it's also a signature on the dotted line for everything I've sworn to uphold. It's a need for human connection. It's a reminder of how simple life used to be-of everything Avery and I have always been without saying it. Finally, she nods, pulling free and wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. "It didn't work, did it?" "What?" "The phone." I shake my head, my hands settling on my hips. "I'll buy you a new one." I don't explain where it went, and she doesn't ask. We're both too busy with the rest of the sentence left unspoken. I'll buy you a new one...if we ever make it back. Neither of us says it aloud, but it hangs there in the silence anyway, taunting us with uncertainty. Right now, all we have for sure is each other, and weirdly enough, I'm starting to understand why fate picked her. Which is hilarious, considering four years ago, the night of our first-ever kiss, I told her she wasn't my type. Laughable, right? The fact is, the most blatant lies we ever tell are the ones we tell ourselves.