He doesn’trespond.
I take a few steps around the fire, closer to him, and he backpedals away like I’ve contracted the Black Plague. “If it doesn’t matter, why can’t you look atme?”
He forces his eyes to mine, just to prove apoint.
We stare at each other in the firelight as the air thrums with unspoken thoughts. He might not be able to admit it, but we both know exactly why my age is so abhorrent tohim.
This tension between us is suddenly laced with a newfoundtaboo.
I have no explanation for the move I make next. I’d say I’m emboldened by the whisky in my system, but I haven’t had nearly enough to use alcohol as a scapegoat. There’s no excuse at all for the way I walk toward him, limbs feeling loose, eyes locked on his mouth, lips tingling as I wonder what they would feel like pressed againsthis.
“Stop,” he mutters, rooted in place. Watching me approach like you might watch a venomous rattlesnake slithering your direction. His jaw is tickingagain.
“What is it about me being seventeen that’s got you so tangled up inside, Beck?” I whisper, sidling ever closer. “Enlightenme.”
“Violet, I meanit.”
I take another step. I’m officially invading his space. About to cross a line there’s no coming backfrom.
“Beck,” I say quietly, trembling with emotions I can barely define. “I want ananswer.”
“While you’re at it,” a smooth, southern accent interjects. “I’d like a few answersmyself.”
Beck and I both whip our heads around toward the voice, identical expressions of surprise on our faces as we stare at the blond man on the pallet by our feet. He’s staring back at us, eyes half-slitted with pain andconfusion.
Ian isawake.
Chapter Eleven
A C HE
We doour best to explain things to Ian. He reacts about as well as can be expected — which is to say, with a fair amount of shock and disbelief as he stares down at the stump where his leg used to reside. He’s equally shocked that so many days have passed since the plane went down. He remembers very little of the actual crash, likely a byproduct of hitting his head in the moments before we struck the water. He has no recollection at all of our time on the emergency raft. The surgery we performed during the height of his fever is a jumble of painful flashes in hismind.
That’s probably for the best, if you askme.
“I suppose I should be thanking you for saving my life,” he says after a long moment of silent reflection. “But, if I’m being honest, there’s a part of me that would like to kick yourass.”
“Ian I—” I start toapologize.
“Unfortunately,” he carries on. “I don’t think I’ll be doing much kicking again anytime soon, seeing as you’ve chopped off my damnleg.”
A startled laugh bursts from my throat before I can stop it. Despite the not-inconsiderable pain he must be experiencing, I can see a mischievous light shining from his light blue eyes. A dimple hints at the corner of hismouth.
“I’m glad your sense of humor is undamaged.” Smiling, I brush a few strands of hair from his eyes, then lift Beck’s water bottle toward his dry lips. “Now, please drink some water. You’re dehydrated. Tomorrow, if you’re feeling up to it, we’ll try a bit offood.”
“Fine.” Ian sighs. “But first, in your expert opinion, I mustknow…”
My browslift.
“Do you think when we get back home, I’ll be able to spin the amputation story to my advantage with the ladies? I mean, being a plane crash survivor is badass enough, but surgery on a deserted island, without any anesthetic… I’m pretty sure I’ll be a legend.” His dimples pop out. “Really gives me alegup in the dating scene, don’t youthink?”
Beck snorts behindme.
“Did you…” I blink, stunned. “Did you just make an amputeejoke?”
“It was more of a pun, really.” Ian yawns and his dry lips crack with dehydration. “Not my bestmaterial.”
“I’m not sure whether I should be impressed or concerned that you’re taking this news in such stride,” Imurmur.