Page 24 of Shipwrecked

“Is your headache unbearable? I know having painkillers just over there is frustrating, but I don’t think it’s safe.”

“Forget painkillers, I want a toothbrush.”

Cillian’s lips twitch.

“And a blanket. If I have to spend another night next to Darren while he’s acting like…” I stop. “I’d kill for a coffee. I bet my headache is from caffeine withdrawal.”

“Acting like what?”

Chapter Nine

Cillian

Jules’s brows pinch together, and the twist of his mouth hints at embarrassment? Shame? His gaze slides towards land. Yasop and Darren are walking down the beach, maybe a mile off. Jules sinks further into the water, chin submerged.

“We broke up two weeks ago,” Jules mutters. “It’s not exactly comfortable having to sleep next to him.”

I tilt my head, but Jules avoids my eyes. He’s been excellent at maintaining eye contact till now. He’s holding back, but what little he gives me I can act on.

“I can’t do anything about the yacht, but this I can solve.”

The pinch in his brow becomes more severe, wrinkles forming. His eyes briefly find mine, but only for a second, and he’s looking down the beach again. “We’re all stuck here together.” He turns to the yacht. “I don’t want to make it awkward.” To the open ocean. “I can’t believe I’m even complaining.” Finally back in my direction, where he stares at my chest, eyes darting side to side like he’s following the inked lines at great speed. “It’s such a stupid thing to be upset about. We’re shipwrecked.”

Upset?

“I need to keep an eye on you because of your concussion, so I’ll sleep in the same lean-to.”

Jules’s darting eyes still. They flick up and meet mine. His mouth opens then shuts, the alarm fading from his face. His eyes are the same blue as the ocean. Pride prickles at getting to ease some of the stress out of them. Like I’ve accomplished some good. It feels important.

“Is that better?”

Jules begins to nod and stops with a groan, hands darting to cup his neck. Eyes shut, he murmurs, “So much better, thank you.”

“Do you mind if I feel the back of your head?”

There’s a tender spot and a bump where he hit it on the railing, but it’s the heat in his neck that worries me more. “Sleeping on the ground isn’t doing you any favours. Or sneaking off to help the second I turn my back.”

“It’s not doing anyone any favours.” Jules ignores the second thing I said. “Have you camped much before?”

I stare at him, and he stares back, unabashed. I rub my hands down his neck, feeling for more bumps.

“Seán’s family took me in when I was fifteen, and every summer since I’ve gone with them on their annual camping trip. Usually it’s a good…three weeks? Four? Of being in the wilderness.”

“That’s a lot.”

“It’s different when you have equipment.” I think of the survival knife Seán’s dad gifted me when I turned eighteen. It was carefully stowed in a cubby in the main cabin. I wonder if it’s still there.

I find a tight knot where his neck meets his shoulder, and Jules winces.

Painkillers… I eye the yacht in the distance, and Jules touches my wrist.

“If I’m not allowed, then you’re not allowed.” Jules’s anxiety has been completely replaced with stubbornness.

A smile threatens to form.

“I’m serious.”

“Agreed. Yacht’s off-limits.”