As a kid, I would run away from my parents and climb into my tree house, a place that felt like it could hold my big, confusing feelings when there was nowhere else safe to put them. But my dad would eventually come find me. He’d poke his head through the small hatch that functioned as the door and say,You know, baby, you can hoof it as far and as fast as you want, but you can’t outrun a problem if it’s between your ears.
Turns out Dad was right.
I take another swig of the bottle, feeling tired and freezing and lonely.
I squeeze my own eyes shut, dropping my head onto my knees.
Then my fight with Jamie. Him telling me I don’t know him. That sometimes I’m looking at him, but not actually seeing him.
Is that true?
Have I really just been projecting old traumas from Liam onto everything that came after?
Willow was so right. I need to talk to Jamie. For real this time. He deserves to know everything. But he said he was leaving tomorrow, and I don’t know what time his flight is. Tonight might’ve been my last chance.
I step out of the tent, my gaze drawn to the stormy horizon. The rain is still falling, but there’s a lull in the wind—I’m hoping it’s enough to let me leave the tent without it blowing away. I call out to Seb, but I don’t see him. Where the tripod had been propped, I now see it at a jagged angle, tossed half-upside-down against the rocks.
Oh god.Where is he?
“Seb!”I scream, running in the direction of the rocky outcropping.
The wind begins howling again, drowning out my voice and increasing my panic. I swivel around and see the tent shaking, one of the poles popping up out of the sand. In moments, it’s loose and tumbling away, but I can’t deal with that now. I turn back toward the rocks, running faster. Sand and plant debris hurtle across my path, and a piece of palm frond slaps my leg hard. I scan the shoreline for Seb but still don’t see him. If he went back to the ATV or is simply somewhere on the other side of the rocks where I can’t see, I’m going to kill him with my bare hands. But until I know that for sure, I’m filled with dread.
And that dread only increases when I see something that looks like the cuff of his jeans in between two rocks, not far from the toppled tripod.
I let out a scream that’s muffled by another roar of wind, and sprint toward him.
“Sebastian!” He’s sprawled in between the rocks and a patch of sand. Blood pooling in the sand beneath him is already pockmarked by rain.Oh my god, oh my god.
I grab his shoulders and shake him, hoping his eyes will flutter open, but his head just lolls to the side. I have to get him away from the water, and I have to get someone out here to help him.
I scramble for my phone in my pocket, but there are still no bars of service.
“Fuck!”
“Sybil?” Seb’s voice is faint, his eyes still mostly closed.
“I’m here, Seb! I think you—you hit your head on the rocks. It’s going to be okay.” But nothing has ever felt less okay. I have to drag him to the Polaris. Maybe if I get us back on the road, we’ll get a signal there.
“Seb? I’m going to try to carry you back to the ATV, okay?”
He doesn’t say anything in response. His eyes have fluttered shut again, and his body is basically deadweight against mine. His camera has fallen into the sand, and I know he won’t forgive me if I save him but let his film get destroyed. I loop the camera over my neck, tuck my hands beneath his armpits, and try to pull him back up over the rocks and toward the smoother part of the beach. But I can barely lift him, and the water keeps rising. I try to pull from a different direction, hoping it’s just a problem with the angle, but I’ve always had pathetic noodle arms, especially for a swimmer. The howling of the wind takes on a pulsing, chopping energy, and terror rips through me. Is it possible that the storm is about to getworse?
But when I look toward the sky, I let out a sob of relief, not fear. Because it’s not the wind, it’s a helicopter. A rescue helicopter. I send a silent prayer of thanks to God and the resort staff, who must have noticed the Polaris was gone and sent a team out to save us.
A basket lowers from the chopper, swinging in the wind.
“We’re over here!” I shout, waving my arms. The dawn has broken enough that even with the rain, they can see us easily now.
When the basket reaches the sand, a man hops out, and I sag in relief. “He hit his head,” I start to say, but it’s hard to have any kind of conversation with the blades still whirring above us. The medic motions that he’s going to get Seb up into the basket first, and then come back for me. I force myself to take deep breaths as I watch the medic transport Seb up to the helicopter.
It’s okay. You’re okay.
I close my eyes, trying to focus on my breathing, and when I open them again, the basket has returned.
But it’s not a medic who reaches for my hand.
It’s Jamie.
