Just a Bit Wrecked

by Hazard, Alessandra

  Logan shot him a disgusted look. “Get up. Drink some water and go sleep it off.”

  Andrew kicked him on the shin again. The asshole didn’t even budge. “You aren’t the boss of me.”

  “No,” Logan said. “But I’m the guy in charge of the stash, not you. You don’t get to take anything you like. Our supplies are limited—”

  “It’s just vodka. What use—”

  “It was the only thing here that could be used as an antiseptic,” Logan ground out. “And now we have nothing, thanks to you.”

  Oh.

  Andrew looked back at the bottle.

  There was a long, tense silence.

  Andrew stared at the bottle’s label. “It’s her birthday today,” he whispered, and then he laughed, the sound harsh and jarring even to his own ears. “I think. How fucked up is it that I don’t even know for sure what day it is?”

  A sigh. “That’s hardly a good reason to get wasted—”

  “She thought she might be pregnant.”

  Silence.

  Logan didn’t say anything.

  Andrew gulped down what was left in the bottle and looked at the sky as he fought the tightness in his throat. Fuck, he didn’t know why he felt like this. It wasn’t like he had wanted kids all that much: Vivian had been the one who wanted them so badly. Andrew could still remember her wide smile and the tears in her eyes when she had realized that her period was late. She had decided to do a pregnancy test when they got back to the US, afraid of yet another disappointment. They had been trying for over six years, with Vivian getting more and more desperate as she approached forty. Was it ironic that she had died just as her dream was possibly about to come true? Ironic was the wrong word. Fucked up. Cruel. Fucking unfair and stupid.

  And now he’d never even know if she really had been pregnant. He would always wonder.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Logan said, his voice gruff.

  Andrew snorted. “Right. It’s not like people like you would ever understand what it’s like to lose a wife.”

  “People like me,” Logan said flatly.

  Andrew kicked the bottle toward the ocean. “Homos.”

  “Do you actually want to get the shit kicked out of you?”

  Lifting his eyes, Andrew focused his gaze on Logan’s pissed-off face and smiled. Maybe I do, he thought. Physical hurt to distract him from the pain in his chest sounded almost welcome. “Did I offend you? Aren’t you a homo? A cocksucker? A faggot?”

  Logan’s lips pressed together, his brown eyes darkening. “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish, but you won’t get a rise out of me with a few juvenile insults.”

  Andrew stretched his mouth into a sneer. “I just can’t help but notice that you didn’t even shed a tear for your boyfriend—or whatever that guy who was all over you was. But then again, I’ve always known homos didn’t give a shit about anything but sticking their dicks into other homos. You wouldn’t understand things like love and grief—” He yelped as Logan hauled him to his feet roughly.

  “One more word, and I’ll fucking punch you,” Logan said, his fingers digging painfully into Andrew’s shoulders. “I gave you a lot of slack, because you’re grieving and all, but I’m really getting fed up with your bigoted bullshit.” He shook him like a ragdoll. “This is your last warning.”

  Andrew swallowed, his heart beating so fast it felt like it was trying to escape his chest.

  Logan was big. It was a stupid thing to notice, but he’d never been this close to him before. Logan was big. The weird thing was, he didn’t look all that big from afar—maybe because he was tall and muscular without much fat—but this close, it was obvious that the guy was built like a tank. He towered over Andrew by more than half a head, and Andrew wasn’t exactly short, either—five foot eleven. It wasn’t just the height or the muscular build. The guy’s presence was oppressively strong, his dark gaze heavy and hostile. Coupled with his dark scruff and grumpy disposition, he looked uncannily like Wolverine, which was amusing, considering his name. Or would have been amusing if Andrew were capable of feeling amusement anymore.

  Andrew heard himself say, “Get your disgusting hands off me.”

  The punch to his gut wasn’t surprising, but the force of it sent him to his knees.

  He laughed. “Am I supposed to be scared, you homo?”

  Logan buried a hand in his hair and yanked his head up, forcing him to look at him. “You bigoted little dick—” He cut himself off, just looking at him intently. Studying him.

  It made Andrew feel uncomfortable. Transparent. As if the other man could see right into his soul.

  At last, Logan heaved a sigh, the anger and tension leaving his body. He ran a hand over his face and then looked Andrew in the eyes. “Look,” he said. “I’m really sorry for your loss. But get it together. This… self-destructive behavior is fucking unhealthy. Get a goddamn grip. I’m sure your wife wouldn’t have wanted you to get into fights you can’t win or drink yourself into an early grave. She seemed like a smart woman. Kind. But she’s gone. You’re not.”

  Andrew’s vision was suddenly blurry.

  She seemed like a smart woman. Kind. But she’s gone.

  He didn’t know why those words hit him so hard. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known Vivian was dead—he’d buried her with his own hands—but somehow, those words, uttered by a near stranger, made it real. She was gone. She really was gone. Gone. Dead. He’d never see her again.

  A lump formed in Andrew’s throat, his vision getting blurrier. He blinked rapidly, hating himself for showing weakness in front of this man, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t hold back the tears.

  He turned his face away, trying to hide them, his breath coming out in ragged gasps.

  Logan was mercifully quiet.

  But he hadn’t left.

  Andrew hoped the sound of the waves crashing against the shore masked his ragged breathing, but knowing his luck, it probably didn’t.

  Logan remained silent for a while, allowing him to get a grip on his emotions while both of them pretended that he wasn’t crying. God, how fucking humiliating.

  At long last, Logan cleared his throat. “Come on, get up,” he said, his voice gruff. “We need to hydrate you.”

  Andrew looked at him, telling himself he wasn’t embarrassed by the tears in his eyes. His wife was dead. He had every right to grieve her, dammit.

  “Why do you care?” he whispered.

  Logan’s expression was somewhat pinched. “I don’t. But I’ll be damned if I have to dig another grave.”

  Despite his harsh words, his dark eyes weren’t unkind as he offered his hand. “Get up, come on.”

  Andrew stared at that hand for a moment. Finally, he accepted it and allowed Logan to pull him up to his feet.

  His knees were shaky, and the world around him wasn’t quite in focus, but Logan caught him when he stumbled.

  It felt symbolic, somehow.

  Chapter 4

  Days dragged by.

  Logan had explored the small island completely, so now he had nothing to do but watch the empty horizon.

  It was mind-numbingly boring. Back home, business kept him so busy that Logan had had little time for sleep, and he wasn’t used to doing nothing.

  At least the other inhabitant of the island was providing a break from the boredom. After their confrontation on the beach, Andrew had been… better. The guy still mostly kept to himself, but at least he no longer walked around like a ghost. He no longer tried to provoke Logan into beating him up. He started eating with Logan, though he threw tantrums for some inane reason a few times a day before storming off to sulk like an overgrown child. Apparently it wasn’t enough that Andrew was a bigot; he was also a whiner. He whined and bitched about pretty much everything, but Logan didn’t mind. It was almost a relief. Confrontational was better than depressed. Not to mention that Andrew’s hissy fits were somewhat entertaining, and entertainment was sorely lacking on the island. Their laptop
s’ batteries had died ages ago, as did their phones and powerbanks, so Logan found himself growing increasingly restless, almost looking forward to the inevitable confrontation every day.

  “I’m sick of fish,” Andrew said with resentment, looking at the fish on his plate. “It’s barely edible.”

  Logan leaned against the palm trunk and picked at his fish. It was a little burned, as it always was. The fish were plentiful around the island but small and bony. And bland. “I’ve never claimed to be a culinary genius. I’m a businessman, not a boy scout. If you don’t like it, feel free to cook yourself. Feed yourself. An alien concept, isn’t it?”

  Andrew shot him a baleful look, pouting fiercely. He was the only person of Logan’s acquaintance who managed to pout fiercely. It was bizarre. It also made him want to shove his cock into that pouty mouth, just to shut him up.

  Right. Anyway.

  “How old even are you?” Logan said. “You’d make a five-year-old proud with your tantrums.”

  Andrew glared at him. “I’ll have you know I’m thirty-two.”

  Logan stared at him, genuinely surprised. Andrew didn’t look like he was in his thirties. His skin still had the healthy glow of youth, perfect and smooth, not a wrinkle on his face. He looked great. Logan was annoyed with himself for even noticing it, but he was a healthy gay man with functional eyes, and Andrew was a very attractive guy, with a toned, surfer’s body, a handsome face, and plump, pretty lips that were practically begging for—

  “You look younger,” Logan said, averting his gaze. “I thought your wife must have robbed the cradle.”

  Andrew’s expression shuttered. “She’s—was eight years older than me,” he said, his voice toneless, and then walked away. Not sulking this time. Just sad.

  ***

  It was the evening of their twenty-first day on the island when Andrew said, “No one is coming, right?”

  Logan lifted his gaze from his fish—frankly, at this point, he was as sick of fish as Andrew was—and met the other man’s eyes.

  They stared at each other over the fire as the crickets chirped in the night.

  No one is coming.

  That was something he’d been trying hard not to think about, but it was undeniable that it should have taken people less time to find them. Maybe something had gone wrong with the plane’s communication system and the search and rescue teams had no idea where to look. The Pacific Ocean was enormous, and who knew how much the storm had altered the plane’s flight path?

  Or perhaps they had found the other part of the plane—it seemed as though the plane had been ripped apart high in the air. It was possible that the other wreckage had ended up a great distance from where they currently were and had already been found—and people had stopped searching, thinking them all dead.

  Logan turned away from Andrew and walked to their dwindling supplies. His gaze stopped on the piece of cloth that held what he’d been carefully avoiding thinking about: the tomato seeds he’d saved from the sole tomato he’d grabbed from the plane.

  He unwrapped the cloth and stared at the tiny seeds, his stomach twisted into an uncomfortable knot. He’d saved them just in case. He hadn’t really thought they would ever need them.

  “There’s still a chance,” Logan heard himself say, putting the seeds back. “Even if they stop searching for us, maybe some ship will pass close enough to see us.” His words sounded unconvincing, even to his own ears. In the three weeks they’d been stuck there, they hadn’t seen a single ship, not even from a distance. The island was clearly away from usual ship routes.

  Andrew’s jaw clenched. He gave a clipped nod and averted his gaze.

  It was the first time Andrew didn’t take his blanket to sleep at the other end of the island. He stretched out just a few feet away and closed his eyes.

  After extinguishing the fire, Logan lay down on his own blanket. Shoving his pillow under his head, he gazed at the night sky. The stars glittered prettily overhead, and he thought about how deceiving some impressions were. The stars were billions of miles apart from each other, no matter how close they appeared in the sky.

  He couldn’t fall asleep for a long time, and he knew Andrew wasn’t asleep, either.

  Neither of them said anything.

  There was nothing to say.

  No one is coming, right?

  He would plant the seeds tomorrow.

  Chapter 5

  Logan snapped his eyes open and stared into the darkness, unsure what had woken him up.

  There. A sniffle, muffled but audible.

  Logan closed his eyes and tried to ignore it. It was none of his business. It wasn’t his job to comfort the guy.

  Another sniffle.

  “Shut up,” Logan said with a sigh.

  Silence.

  “Fuck you,” Andrew said finally, but his voice sounded too thick to be convincing. Small. He sounded small.

  Logan opened his eyes again, suppressing the urge to swear. He was not in the mood to deal with this. He just wanted to sleep. He wanted Andrew to keep acting like the bigoted little shit he was, not sound like he needed a hug.

  “Why are you crying?” Logan said. His voice didn’t come out as annoyed as he thought he was.

  There was a long silence.

  His eyelids started becoming heavier again by the time Andrew spoke.

  “Do you have anyone missing you back home?”

  Logan stared at the stars overhead. “I have a mother and two younger sisters. Dozens of annoying but well-meaning cousins. Friends.” He hesitated before asking, “You?”

  Andrew didn’t answer.

  ***

  It became something of a habit.

  Suddenly, Andrew wanted to talk. It never happened during the day, only under the cover of the night. He asked about Logan’s family, about where he’d gone to school, what he did for a living—

  “Really? You don’t look like a hotel owner.”

  Strictly speaking, it was a hotel chain rather than a hotel, but Logan didn’t correct him. “What’s with the sudden interest?”

  “I’m bored.”

  This Logan could relate to. There was only so much time one could spend alone with one’s thoughts without going crazy.

  “What about you?” he asked when the silence stretched. “What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m the CEO of Rutledge Enterprises.”

  Logan hummed, a little surprised. He had thought the guy must have been a trust-fund baby—but then again, he could well be. “Family company?”

  Andrew snorted. “It belonged to Vivian’s father, but the old bastard was still stuck in the nineteenth century and left the majority of the company to his son. Misogynistic ass. Vivian got just ten percent of the company’s shares.”

  There was a great deal of bitterness in Andrew’s voice, but to Logan’s surprise and relief, he no longer sounded wretched every time his wife was mentioned. Maybe he was finally moving on from his grief. Good. A moping Andrew was insufferable. More insufferable than he normally was.

  “Sore subject?” Logan said.

  Andrew laughed. “I’ve slaved for that company since I was twenty, but apparently leaving the company to a son who knows nothing about the business made more sense than leaving it to someone who actually knows how to manage it.”

  “Aren’t you the CEO?”

  “Yes, but I still answer to Derek Rutledge. It’s not the same.”

  Logan did the math in his head. So Andrew worked for the company since he was twenty. If he and his wife had been married for nine years…

  “So you married the boss’s daughter?”

  He could feel Andrew’s glare on him even despite the dark. “If you’re implying I married her in order to get promoted—”

  “Not implying anything.”

  After a lengthy silence, Andrew sighed. “I guess she did attract my attention because she was the boss’s daughter, but it became more than that soon enough.” His tone turned wistful, softer. “She was�
�� She was so lovely and kind and…”

  He trailed off, but Logan could guess what he meant. He hadn’t really thought the guy was a fortune hunter. His affection for his wife had clearly been genuine; Logan would him give that.

  “Everyone still thought I was a fortune hunter,” Andrew said, as if reading his thoughts. He chuckled. “I was a nobody, and she was an heiress of one of the richest families in the country. The old Rutledge despised me but had to tolerate me, because he’d already lost his only son over his choice of bed partners, and he couldn’t afford to lose his only daughter over her choice of a husband.”

  Logan made a face. He knew men like that: old money, too set in their old ways. He could only imagine how a pompous ass like that would react to getting an upstart for a son-in-law. It almost made him feel sorry for Andrew. Almost. Sucking up to such an asshole of a father-in-law for years and in the end not even inheriting the family company would have made anyone pissed off and bitter.

  “Now you being a dick makes a little bit more sense,” Logan said wryly. “A little bit.”

  “Fuck off,” Andrew said, but it lacked any heat. He always was quieter at night. Not as brash as he was during the day. More like a person.

  It was… unsettling. Logan actually preferred the obnoxious dick he’d first met. He knew how to deal with the spiteful little bigot Andrew was ninety percent of the time. This quiet, lonely guy was another matter entirely.

  It messed with Logan’s head. Coupled with the looks Andrew had been giving him lately, it had the potential for disaster.

  ***

  They ran out of matches on the forty-sixth day.

  “What are we going to do?” Andrew said, his voice cracking a little.

  Logan looked at him. Sometimes he marveled over how much the guy had changed over the past month and a half. It wasn’t that Andrew had suddenly become a nice human being. No. He was still whiny and bitchy, and he still kept dropping snide remarks from time to time, but gone was the arrogant man who’d sneered at him from across the aisle. Those large, blue-green eyes were full of fear and uncertainty now—and something that looked an awful lot like the need for reassurance.