Page 21 of Shipwrecked

I catch his arm, guiding it back. “Warm up your fingers.”

Mathieu’s soft exhales are warm across my collarbones. He scoots closer, hand rubbing slow circles beneath my shoulder blades, then between them, then above them. My eyelids flutter shut. Without thinking, I nuzzle in, burying my face against his warm throat, pressing a kiss to his skin. His pulse jumps.

“Are you cold?” Darren asks.

I tense, and quietly angle my face so even though I’m buried in Mathieu’s neck, I’m not kissing skin. I shouldn’t have done that. He’s just warm, and he’s nice. Tears sting behind my eyes. I keep them screwed shut.

“It’s hard to get warm when we’re all in thin shirts and shorts,” Mathieu answers.

“A blanket would be nice,” Darren says. “Here.” He rolls onto his side, thigh hiking up over mine and Mathieu’s already intertwined legs. His arm comes next, encircling both of us. He’s flush against my back. “At least we have body heat. Am I squishing you, Jules?”

“No.”

Mathieu’s breaths feel warm and comforting. Darren’s don’t. The very air he exhales is heavy with annoyance.

“Try to get some sleep,” Darren says. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Is he talking to me?

Mathieu rubs my back in soft circles, his hand a barrier between Darren and me. I relax again. I’m being silly. Holding on to grudges when we’re shipwrecked on an island. Darren probably wasn’t annoyed by me breathing or moving around, but by how uncomfortable it is. The shelter isn’t keeping us dry. Water is dripping on my waist, and every few minutes, a breeze flurries droplets in on top of us.

The night passes excruciatingly slowly. The pounding rain drowns out the sound of scary rustling, but not my thoughts. The ache in my neck is too intense to push from my mind. But worse than my body or the elements is Darren, awake behind me. His shuffling, the rain doesn’t drown out. I’m too aware of it. I’m glad that Mathieu is in the lean-to.

The rain finally lets up as the first glow of dawn lightens the sky. Mathieu is breathing regularly, asleep. Darren leans in and presses his mouth against my ear as his hand slides across my throat. “Nice holiday, Jules.”

I go rigid. “The—”

The hand on my throat tightens, fingers digging in. “If it’s not bad enough that you got us shipwrecked, you have to spend the whole time lying around, ordering us about while you slack off? And on top of that, you’re flirting with Mathieu?”

The muscles in my neck spasm, pain shooting into my shoulders.

“You’re taking advantage of him being a nice guy, doing the whole injured-puppy act.” Darren’s voice is laced with disgust. I grip the hand at my throat, but I know from previous experience it’s better to let Darren say what he wants and release me himself.

“Stop embarrassing yourself. Everyone can see how obvious you’re being, and it’s pathetic.”

Mathieu stirs.

The hand at my neck vanishes. I drag in a breath that sounds harsh in the still morning air.

Mathieu tenses. “Jules? Are you okay?”

“Just a nightmare,” Darren says. “I don’t blame him.” He sits up. “I’m going to see if there are any lights on the horizon. Jules, I’ll get you some water on the way back.” His hand brushes over my ankle as he leaves.

Mathieu does that soothing stroking down my back again, rubbing circles. My breathing levels. A figure appears and kneels in the spot Darren vacated.

“How are we doing in here?” Cillian asks.

“It was cold all night,” Mathieu says. “And Jules’s neck is hurting him.”

“Yeah, that rain wasn’t getting stopped by anything.” Cillian brushes his hand lightly against the back of my neck, drawing a groan from me. Mathieu makes a sympathetic sound, and Darren’s accusation rings in my ear. Injured-puppy act.

“I’m not acting injured. I am injured.”

Cillian’s mouth twitches. “If you’d do me the favour of ‘acting’ injured today, I’d appreciate it. You are forbidden from moving around. You can sit up to eat and drink, walk down the beach if nature calls, and that is it.”

“I agree,” Mathieu says.

I’m not even sure I can turn my head right now. “Mhm.”