by Robin Huber
“Let’s stay here forever,” I say, tracing patterns on his skin. “We can sleep under the stars and swim under the sun and make love whenever we want.” He groans softly and I feel it in his stomach. “Just like in The Blue Lagoon,” I muse.
“Didn’t they die in that movie?”
“Yes. But we’re smarter than them. And our kids will be too. They’ll know to stay away from the never-wake-up-berries.” I giggle, but Kellan tenses beneath me. “I mean, if we had kids.” I lift my head and smile. “Not that I want them anytime soon,” I assure him.
“You want kids?
I lay my head on his shoulder and shrug. “One day.” It’s one of the few thoughts that gives me any hope about the future. “Don’t you?”
He sits up with an uneasy expression on his face that casts a small shadow on the sunny day. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t know how to”—his voice tightens—“be a father.”
I feel a tugging in my chest, a sadness that resonates whenever he reveals one of the scars from his past. “Kellan.” I take his hand and pull him to his feet, which is not easy. I lead him into the ocean so we can rinse the sand off, and wrap myself around him once we’re past the shallows. “I think you would make a good father.”
He stares at me blankly, looking lost, and I realize that wound is so much deeper than he’s led on.
“Hey,” I say, looking into his eyes, but he just blinks at me. “Kellan, talk to me.”
He blinks a few more times and then smiles softly, but it doesn’t touch his eyes.
I remind myself that it took him weeks to tell me about Afghanistan. I have a feeling this wound is deeper, and I won’t push him to talk about it if he’s not ready. I smile softly and put my hand on his cheek. “When you’re ready.” I kiss him softly. “Tell me when you’re ready.”
He nods, but doesn’t say anything.
* * *
Mia and I join Dr. H and Jason on the beach near our house, while Kellan and Adam drag coolers across the sand to the bonfire they set up. The sun is nearing the horizon over the ocean, giving off an intense orange glow against a purple haze of clouds that are painted across the sky behind it.
“Hola, mi bailarina!”
I hear Gus’s voice and I turn to see his smiling face.
“Gus.” I wrap my arms around him and he kisses me on the cheek. “I’m so glad you came. Are you going to play?” I ask, looking at the guitar in his hand.
“Would you like me to?” His eyes twinkle in the firelight.
“Yes, of course.”
“Then I will play for you, bailarina.”
“I can’t wait,” I say, smiling at him.
Nina beams at me. “Hola, Makayla.”
“Hola, Nina.”
She wraps her arms around my waist, then bolts into Kellan’s arms. He picks her up and hugs her, and it makes my heart ache. He’s so kind and gentle with her.
He would be a great father.
I sit down on a piece of driftwood and Adam hands me a beer. “Thanks,” I say, taking it from him. Kellan sits next to me and takes my hand, and I’m unsettled by the palpable tension radiating off him. He’s been quiet since we left the lagoon, but this feels bigger than our conversation. I glance over my shoulder nervously, wondering if there’s something, or someone, to be nervous about.
Gus sits down and holds his guitar in his lap. “Any requests?” he asks, and everyone calls out to him. But I sit quietly, sorting through my thoughts. Kellan would have told me if there was a reason to be concerned. I look up at him and he smiles at me.
Everything’s fine.
I bring the bottle up to my lips and take a big swig of the cold beer inside, hoping the alcohol will take the edge off, and it isn’t long before a buzz is tingling through me.
I watch Gus strum his beautiful dark mahogany guitar. It fades to a golden honey color in the middle and it’s accented with an intricate design of vined white flowers that are set against a crimson backing. He sings slow and gentle words in Spanish that I don’t understand, but the lyrics are mesmerizing. I put my head on Kellan’s shoulder and stare into the fire as I listen.
“What are the words?” I whisper to him.
He drops his chin and quietly translates the beautiful lyrics for me. “‘I will shield your heart from the rain...I will let no harm come your way...If there is a mountain to move, I will move it for you...I will be your fortress, tall and strong...I will keep you safe, right or wrong...I will cross the ocean for you...I will go and bring you the moon.’”
I slowly exhale the breath I was holding. “That was beautiful, Gus. Did you write it?”
He smiles wide and says, “No. Monica. Space Jam. 1996. Great movie.” He laughs and so does everyone else, including me.
“Well, I’m sure you did the song a great service.”
“Gracias, mi bailarina. Would you like to hear another?”
I bob my head eagerly.
He starts to pick the strings again and the slow chords fill the air with a beautiful, soulful sound that I recognize, but can’t place. I close my eyes and listen to the familiar song, and after a few seconds, I know that he’s playing Unchained Melody. The corners of my mouth turn up and I open my eyes. I watch him pluck the strings with his skilled fingers, finding the chords effortlessly. He closes his eyes and begins to croon the first verse in English, and his velvet and honey voice pours over us. I’ve heard the song countless times, but never like this, never so simple and pure, without all the runs of the original, just the simplicity of his voice and his acoustic guitar. My heart slows to a near pause as he draws out the word mine.
I need your love... He sings the lyric with an ache in his voice, his fingers pausing over the guitar strings, creating a momentary silence before he continues. I need your love... God speed your love to me...
By the time the song is over, all traces of unnecessary worry have dissolved. All I feel is relaxed and happy. Especially when I see Gus wink at Kellan, confirming what I was wondering—Kellan requested the song, which he knows is my favorite.
I also feel the effects of my beer. “I’ll be right back,” I say quietly to Kellan.
“Where are you going?”
“To the bathroom.”
“Okay.”
I make my way up to the house, reassured by Kellan’s willingness to let me go alone. There’s no reason to be concerned. Still, I quickly shut the door behind me once I’m inside. I go to my room and close my bathroom door behind me. But when I leave the bathroom, I’m startled to see someone’s standing in my bedroom.
Grant. No wonder Kellan didn’t mind me going alone. He knew Grant was here. He watches me walk toward him, but doesn’t move.
“Grant. What are you doing?” I ask, feeling unnerved by his unexpected presence.
He crosses his thick arms over his broad chest and blocks my door.
“Do you need something?”
“What are you doing?” he asks, taking a step toward me, and I back up until I bump into my bed. His tone is threatening, and it makes me dizzy.
He’s safe. He’s safe, I repeat in my head, but the thought shrinks until it’s all but gone. “W-What do you mean?” I say, trying to hold onto my voice.
“What are you doing with Kellan?” He glares at me and my heart pounds inside my chest.
“Grant, I don’t understand,” I say with what little air is left in my lungs.
“Neither do I.” He takes another step toward me, leaving only inches between us, and my entire body buzzes with anxiety, calling the dark that still hides in the corners of my mind.
“Kellan,” I yell, as if he can hear me on the beach, but Grant isn’t fazed.
“Drop the damsel in distress act,” he says, rubbing his hand over his thick red beard. “He’s not some knight in shining armor who came to your rescue. He was doing his fucking job.”
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“Yeah, well, while you’re busy playing house, the rest of are stuck cleaning up
your mess.”
Kellan walks into my room and sees Grant hovering in front of me. “What the hell are you doing, man?” he shouts, pulling Grant back by his shoulder. He shoves him hard, but Grant shoves him back and stands two inches from his face.
“Seriously? For a fucking chick?” He glowers at Kellan and shakes his head. “She must be a damn good fuck.”
Kellan pulls his fist back and punches him hard across his face, and blood oozes from Grant’s nose.
“Kellan,” I shout, before he punches him a second time, and his fist freezes in the air.
Grant wipes his nose and mutters, “I never should have come here.” He leaves my room and slams his door down the hall, making me jump a little.
Kellan closes his eyes until his chest and shoulders stop bouncing up and down, then he looks at me and asks, “Are you okay?”
I bob my head, but I can’t make sense of the chaotic thoughts storming my mind. What the hell just happened?
He lifts his hand to my face. “I’m sorry for what he said.”
“Kellan, you’re bleeding!”
He looks at his hand and flexes his fingers in and out, eyeing the cut on his knuckle. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” I inspect his hand and then pull him behind me. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the clinic. You need stitches. I can do them. Mia taught me.”
“What about our friends?” he asks, trying to deter me.
“Which ones? The ones outside or the one who just assaulted me?” I ask smartly.
“I thought he was my brother,” he says, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling terrible for coming between them, even if Grant did deserve a good punch in the face.
“There you guys are,” Mia says, meeting us on the front porch. “I was about to send a search party.” She looks at Kellan’s hand and her expression grows serious. “What happened?”
“I punched Grant.”
“Why?” she asks, concerned.
“We had a disagreement,” Kellan says, glancing at me.
“About what?”
He narrows his eyes. “Honor, respect, trust...”
“Well, I guess you showed him the meaning of them,” she says, observing his bloody knuckle. “You need stitches.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“I can do them,” I say to her.
She smiles at me, the well-trained apprentice I’ve become. “All right. You remember where the Naropin is?”
“Yes.”
“Promise you’ll come get me if you need any help.”
“I will.”
* * *
Kellan is sitting on a small wooden table in the middle of the medical supply room, while I clean his hand with betadine. The buzzing of the small work lamp next to him is the only sound in the empty clinic.
“Geez, Kellan. How hard did you hit him?” I ask, inspecting the cut on his second knuckle.
“Have you seen the guy? It was kind of like hitting a brick wall.”
I shake a small vial of Naropin and insert the needle end of a syringe through the top. “This should help.”
“What is it?”
“A local anesthetic.” I draw the clear liquid into the syringe. “It’ll numb your hand so you don’t feel the stitches.”
“You don’t need to use it.”
“You don’t have to be tough for me. And I’m not sewing you up without it.”
“You should save it for someone who might need it.”
“You need it.” I don’t let him argue with me. I insert the needle between his knuckles and push the medicine in.
He flinches slightly when I pull the needle out.
“Give it a second to spread.”
He flexes his fingers in and out a few times. “I think I’m good.”
“Okay. You can look away.” I slowly insert the suture needle into his skin and he watches me intently.
“You’re really good at this.”
“I’ve been practicing.” I glance up at him momentarily.
“Who have you been practicing on?” He sounds amused.
“Bananas mostly. None of them seemed to mind.”
He laughs and raises his good hand to my cheek. “You’re kind of amazing, do you know that?”
I smile softly and tie off the last stitch. “These will dissolve in a week or so.” I snip the ends and cover the sutures with gauze and medical tape. “Keep that on, so it stays clean.”
“Okay.” He stares at his hand for about ten seconds too long and I know there’s something on his mind.
“What is it?” I ask carefully, wondering if he wants to talk about what happened with Grant. Or maybe he’s ready to finish our conversation from the lagoon.
He glances up at me and then looks down at his bandaged hand again.
“Kellan, you can tell me,” I encourage, but as I do, I realize that I might not be ready for the implications of either conversation. Kellan saved me. And he continues to protect me from dangers that seem to lurk around every corner, including his own friend. But can he protect me from his demons? Or are they the biggest threat of all?
He looks at me again with caution all over his face. “The communication with Derek has stopped.”
“Oh.” What? My stomach ties into a knot, but for an entirely different reason than I expected. “Well, what does that mean?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe something.”
“Do you think he’s okay? Do you think something happened to him? Do you think Callie’s okay?” The questions spill out of me.
“I don’t know.”
“What if Marc found out that I’m here? What if he threatened them? Or worse.”
“That’s what I’m going to find out.”
“How?” I ask warily.
“We have to go to New York.”
My heart stops beating. “When?”
“Tomorrow. I’ve arranged a boat with Gus.”
I exhale a worried breath. “Okay. I wasn’t really ready to go back yet”—I ignore the ache in my heart at the thought of leaving the island so soon—“but if Callie and Derek need us.”
“Not you, Makayla. You have to stay here.”
“What?”
“You don’t even have a passport.”
My chest tightens and my eyes fill with tears that I work hard to contain. “You’re leaving me here,” I say quietly, feeling my reality shift. It’s all going to end.
“Yes.” He slides down off the table. “It’s Derek.”
I nod and wipe my tears. “Of course. You have to go.”
“That’s why Grant–” He pauses and shakes his head. “He’s going with me and he’s not happy about it.” His chest rises and falls with a labored breath. “I don’t know what we’re going back to,” he explains. “It’s more than what Grant signed up for.”
“Then why is he going with you?”
“Because he would never let me go alone.”
“Because he’s your brother,” I whisper, realizing that Kellan can’t deny that, even if he wants to. “He wants to protect you. That’s why he came after me. He thinks I put you in harm’s way.”
He nods and I swallow down the undeniable feeling of dread in my chest.
“Adam’s medical skills are needed here. And he’ll keep you safe while I’m gone. So will Gus, if it comes down to it.” He laughs softly, but I can’t feign a smile.
“It will only be for a day or two at most. And then I’ll come back.” He reaches for my stone face and holds it in between his hands. “I’ll come back to you, Makayla. I promise.”
I exhale a disheartened breath and tears spill down my cheeks. “Don’t make a promise you can’t keep.”
He gazes at me for a few seconds and I see the struggle on his face. “What do you want me to do?” he asks softly. “Ignore the fact that Derek might be in trouble? That Callie could be in trouble?”
“No,” I
whisper, “of course not.”
“Then tell me what you think I should do. Because the thought of leaving you here is fucking torture,” he groans. “And so is the thought of something happening to Derek—one of the few people who gave a shit about me growing up.”
“You have to go,” I say certainly, ignoring the quiet panic in my heart.
“I will come back, Makayla.”
“And then what?”
He gives me a confused look. “What do you mean?”
“If you come back–”
“When,” he emphasizes.
“Then what?” I ask again.
“I don’t know. Maybe we can go back. Maybe Marc Spencer is behind bars. It all depends on what I find out.”
“What happens with us?” I clarify.
He blinks a few times and I see a glimpse of the look I saw on his face at the lagoon.
“We never talk about a future together. Is it because you don’t see one with me?”
“Makayla.” He shakes his head and becomes visibly uncomfortable, but I have to know before he leaves, because I may never get another chance to find out.
“Do you love me?”
His eyes flash to mine and I see a storm brewing in them.
“I know we don’t say it, but...do you?” I inhale a shaky breath and blow it out softly. “Because I love you. And if there’s even the slightest chance that I still have a future, I want it to be with you.” I gaze up at him, desperate to hear the three words that might put my heart at ease, but he just stands there, staring at me like a statue.
After a few heart-wrenching seconds, I pick up the little glass vial and put it away, ignoring the tears that sting my eyes.
“My mother tried to regain custody of me when I was ten,” he says, and I pause.
I turn around and look at him.
“I didn’t remember her. I was just a baby when she gave me up. But they said she was my mother and that was enough for me. I looked like her. Same color hair. Same eyes. And I didn’t care that she gave me up. She was my mother and I wanted to be with her. Marissa... That was her name.”
“Kellan,” I say, disregarding my wounded heart, “why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“She didn’t want me.” He shakes his head and slips into some distant memory that haunts his face. “Maybe she wanted to. Or maybe she just felt guilty that no one else did. But it didn’t stop her from beating the shit out of me.”