Page 25 of Dance Practice, Marooned: Part 2

He sets a rhythm that undoes me, deep and unhurried, like he has something to prove. Like he is trying to reach the part of me that almost didn’t make it. His breathing goes ragged first, then mine, and I arch up into him because I need him closer, deeper, more. His hand slides under the small of my back and tilts me, and I gasp so hard it scrapes my throat raw.

He feels so fucking good.

His face is buried in my neck, my arms iron around him, and we move together in the half-light—no shame, no names, just the slow burn of finally being alive again.

Afterwards, he cleans me up, his hands so gentle and careful. For such a big man, he has a way to make me feel unbreakable. Once I’m dry, he helps me with some clean clothes, then wraps me in my blanket, tucking it around me so I don’t shiver. I’m exhausted, but completely at peace.

“Can you handle being alone for a minute?” he murmurs, lips on my hairline.

“Yeah,” I whisper, and I mean it.

He runs his thumb over my lower lip. “I’ll bring food. Water, too. You get some rest, okay?”

I nod, and when he disappears, I close my eyes and let the warmth, the memory of him, fill all the space that was empty inside me. It’s not a healing, exactly, but it’s a spark of happiness I wasn’t sure I could have again.

It’s hope.

“TELL ME. TELL ME WHY you did it.”

I didn’t think I would say those words. If you’d asked me a week ago, I would have immediately retreated in the opposite direction. I didn’t care what he had to say. I didn’t care why he did it. But then, things changed. He saved my life, he built me a shack, he showed me that even after everything, I mattered more than anything else—and that isn’t a feeling I’m used to. Nobody has ever gone out of their way like that for me.

I owe it to him, and myself, to hear why.

Sitting on a newly built frond bed, right next to mine, Ace looks up. My question shocked him, I can tell by the expression on his face. Like he just wasn’t ready. We’re alone in the shack and now seems as good a time as any. I want to move forward from this. I want to just band together and get off this damn island. We have survived so much. We can survive this, too.

Right?

“You sure you’re ready to hear it?” he murmurs, stretching his legs out and taking a knife and stick so he can whittle away while he talks. “Because to me, it’s an explanation that I am willing to die for, but for you... it might mean nothing.”

Confused, I shake my head. “How so?”

“Because your dad was going to help me find my brother.”

My eyes widen, just a touch.

Oh.

“I want to hear it, if you’re still willing to tell me.”

He nods and then focuses back on the stick. I cross my legs, running a brush through my hair. Thank gosh we at least packed essentials before taking that damn yacht down.

“My brother’s name is Cash. He’s my twin.”

I pause, brush tangled in a thick knotted part of my hair. “You have a twin?”

He nods. “Yeah, I do. Not identical, but what does that matter. He is the other half of me.”

“Ace...” I whisper.

“Let me tell you the story, yeah?”

I keep brushing, even though there is an ache in my chest now that wasn’t there before. It’s probably guilt, because he never forced me to hear this story, even though he could have. Instead, he let me have my meltdowns, my anger, everything. I owe it to him to listen, now.

I should have done it sooner.

“Didn’t have a good family, but we all know that story, right? Don’t we all have the same one to share? Shit parents, crappy upbringing, so we took a bad path? It was like that, yet at the same time, it wasn’t. We had all of that, but we were tight. If a foster home tried to separate us, we would go live on the streets before allowing it.”

I keep brushing, even though every instinct inside me is to just go hug him. That’s what I need, but for him, what he needs is to tell this story.