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.
