Surviving Us (17 page)

THE NEXT COUPLE OF
days play out much like the previous ones,
only without the romantic, nighttime ride on the sailboat. Davis and I eat breakfast together and then, other than when we’re in sessions, we spend the majority of the day with each other at the beach, where I work on my tan and listen to music while he plays cricket with the locals. Once he’s worked up an appetite, we grab a snack at the bar and then venture out in the water, talking and touching as we search for the brightest fish and coolest shells.

After dinner, sometimes we’ll stay and have a drink with Charlotte, Ashleigh, and some of the others out on the veranda, but we make an escape as soon as possible and head back to one of our cottages, where we take turns pleasuring each other until we’re both so physically exhausted we can barely walk. Then, the other goes back to their place to sleep until the next morning, when we start it all over again. The guilt is still there each morning, but I’m afraid it will be for the rest of my life.

The morning of Day 6, our first full free day with no sessions, I wake up to the steady pitter patter of rain hitting the roof. Grumbling, I roll over and hide my head in my pillow. Of course it would rain today
—
Davis was going to teach me how to snorkel this morning, and then he’d planned for us to go on an excursion in the afternoon.

My stomach growls after several minutes, reminding me I still have to get up for breakfast. Rain or shine, I need to eat and there isn’t any food in my cottage
. Rolling off the mattress, I lumber over to the bathroom to take a quick bath, irritated I can’t use the outdoor shower because of the bad weather.

Once I’m dressed and ready to go, I realize I don’t have an umbrella with me, so I make a mad dash to Davis’ porch, getting drenched in the short run. I tap lightly on the door, and after a few minutes when he still hasn’t answered it, I knock louder. I hear a muffled voice croak out something that sounds like “Come in,” but I’m not completely sure. I give him a little bit longer, but when he still doesn’t appear, I let myself in, not seeing him anywhere.

“Davis?” I call out. “Are you still here?”

“I’m in here,” he replies gruffly, poking his head out of the bathroom. “I’ve been up sick the last few hours; I guess the fish from dinner last night didn’t sit well with my stomach.”

“Oh my, that’s terrible.” I remain close to the door, not wanting to get too close. “Can I get you anything?”

“Yeah, do you mind bringing me some food back? I think I’ve gotten it all out of me, and my stomach feels so empty. I think eating a little might help.”

“Yeah, no problem. I’ll be back in a little bit.” I give him a half-smile, feeling bad he feels so awful. “I’ll let Isaac know too.”

He rests his head against the doorframe. “’Kay, thanks. I’ll wash up and brush my teeth before you get back.”

I let myself out and run the entire way down the now muddy road to the main house, looking like a drowned rat by the time I make it inside. There’s a small group of people standing in the foyer, surrounding the small television at the front desk. They all turn to look at me when I enter, a bit of concern on most of their faces.

“Morning, guys,” I say, making my way over to them. “What’s going on?”

Isaac steps away from the group and motions me to stand next to him, and as I do, alarms go off in my head at an increasingly rapid rate. “Hey, Bristol,” he finally greets me, foregoing the hug due to my saturated state. “We’ve all been watching the weather reports this morning. Some rather disturbing news came in late last night.”

My eyes grow wide as I wait for him to tell me what he means exactly by
disturbing news.

“A tropical storm has sprouted up out in the Atlantic over the last twenty-four hours,” he pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose
—what I’ve learned is his go-to nervous move,
“which is why we’re getting the rain this morning.”

“Are you kidding me?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“No, I’m not kidding, but there’s also no reason to panic. All of the models have the storm moving north of here, so the only thing we should see from it is some light winds and a couple days of rain.”

My mind is trying desperately to process the words coming out of his mouth, but the words
tropical storm
are echoing over and over in my head. I can’t believe this is fucking happening.

“Bristol,” he grabs my shoulders, garnering my attention, “I need you to listen to me. You are the only member here whose background is due to a weather-related tragedy. I know it’s not the same thing, but I can only imagine that you’re going to be afraid.”

I stare up at him blankly as the anxiety swells in my chest.

“I can assure you the resort is built for weather like this; they have storms here all the time in the summers. For now, I’m asking everyone to stay in a cottage, maybe you and Davis or Charlotte and Ashleigh can hang out together. Today was supposed to be a free day anyway, and I’m cancelling the sessions for the next couple of days until the weather has cleared up.”

One of the owners approaches us and asks to speak with Isaac for a moment, leaving me standing there dripping all over the floor as I fall apart internally. If the storm doesn’t kill me, the heart attack I’m about to have will definitely do the job.

Isaac steps back over to me. “The staff is going to be bringing around ice chests full of food, drinks, and supplies in just a little while, which should be sufficient for a couple days, just to cover the worst case scenario that the road floods and we have to stay in our cottages for a while. Okay?”

I can’t answer, so I nod my head slightly.

“Do you need me to help you back to your place?”

My nod up and down turns into a shake back and forth.

“Okay, then. Go ahead and head back. I’ll be here in the main house if you absolutely need me, but your safest location is going to be in one of the cottages.”

Ever so slowly, I spin around and walk back outside into the pouring down rain. Not bothering to run back, I trudge back to Davis’ place, completely having forgotten about bringing him breakfast or to tell Isaac he’s sick. As I walk up to the porch, my train of thought is thrown off-course as I find the table from inside out on the deck, covered by one of the sheets like a table cloth and adorned with several lit candles.

“What in the
—
” my question is cut off as a smiling Davis appears exiting the sliding glass door, freshly showered, dressed only in low-hung cargo shorts, and carrying two glasses of champagne.

“Hey, you,” his eyes drop to my empty hands, “where’s the food?”

“Huh?”

“The food, silly. I was surprising you by pretending I was sick so I could set up a breakfast here for the two of us.” He sets the glasses down and hurries over to me. “What’s wrong, Bristol? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. This was supposed to be a good thing . . . and you’re soaked to the bone.”

“I . . . I uh,” I stammer as he taps my arms, silently requesting for me to lift them in the air. I comply and he pulls the wet tank top over my head.

“Yes . . . you what, babe?” He kneels down, sliding my mud-covered flip-flops off my feet. “What’s going on?”

My brain is complete mush right now. Between finding out about the tropical storm and his little breakfast surprise, I’m having trouble not breaking down right now. “There’s a bad storm coming,” I rasp.

Still on his knees in front of me, he unbuttons and unzips my shorts and works the wet denim down my legs, leaving me in just my bikini. “There. That’s better.” Leaning forward, he softly kisses my stomach before standing up. “Now . . . what storm? What are you talking about?”

My body shivers
—
not from being cold, but with fear
—
as I get ready to relay everything Isaac told me. “A tropical storm popped up yesterday. They say it won’t hit here, but it could be really windy and rainy for a few days. We have to stay in the cottages, and they’re going to bring us supplies and coolers with food and drinks,” I blurt out as fast as possible.

“Really?” he exclaims, walking back over to the chairs and sitting down. “That’s crazy cool . . . adds a little excitement to the trip.”

Not moving from where I stand, I close my eyes to keep from crying. This most certainly isn’t
cool.
Not in the least bit.

“Bristol? Why are you still standing over there? Come sit down with me and have a drink.” He pats his lap and holds out a glass to me. “We’ll eat when they bring around the food. I think I have some Chex mix and granola bars I brought from home somewhere in my room if you’re really hungry.”

Opening
my tear-filled eyes, I stare directly at him and whisper, “I can’t do this.”

The next thing I know, I’m being lifted into his arms and huddled against his chest as he carries me over to the chair. He sits us down and looks at me—really looks at me—and I know he understands why.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” He kisses the tears rolling down my cheeks, rocking me against him. “I didn’t even think about why or what . . . God, I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk about it? I’m no therapist, but I can be a good listener. I promise.”

I laugh softly through the sniffles. “No, I don’t want to talk about it, but thank you for offering. I know you don’t like to talk about this stuff. I’m just scared.”

He gently cups my face and kisses the tip of my nose. “There’s nothing to be scared of, Bristol. If you stay with me, I can assure you of that. If a plane falling twenty thousand feet from the sky didn’t kill me, a pussy-ass tropical storm sure isn’t. The people who run this place go through lots of storms here in the Caribbean; we’ll do exactly what they say and we’ll be fine.”

I want to believe him; I really do, but I can’t make this overwhelming cloud of anxiety inside me just go away. Unfortunately, I really have no option other than to stay here with Davis and pray he and Isaac are right.

“Hand me the champagne,” I mumble. “This’ll probably be better if I’m drinking.”

He chuckles and hands me the glass he’d already poured. “It’s how I made it through the flight here.”

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna pass on eight shots of Jack, crazy ass.” I take a sip, relaxing a little against him. “Maybe a little vino and a nice nap will help my nerves.”

Nuzzling his face into the crease of my neck, his fingers land on my belly and begin to lightly brush back and forth across the bare skin. “I’ve got a few other ideas to keep your mind off the storm too.”

Sheets of rain continue to fall down all around us as we sit cuddled together on the porch, his teasing hands flitting across my body, each tender caress making me forget more and more about my fears.

Maybe the storm won’t be so bad after all.