Part of me wants to storm down to the beach and confront him, but I’m so tired and hungry that I’m not sure if I’ll make it past the entrance of the cave. There’s an orange and some granola bars, but I decide to save them for when I successfully ditch Dax, even though my stomach rumbles fiercely in opposition. Sitting requires too much effort, so I collapse onto the life vest and feel the pounding in my head increase.
Everything seemed to come together so easily when I first moved to California, but it fell apart like a knit sweater with a loose thread. My life has a way of doing that. Unraveling until there’s nothing left but a pile of yarn, waiting for me to weave the remains back together. If I hadn’t taken that stupid job, I wouldn’t be in this predicament now. But that would also mean I never would have met Preston. I picture his perfect face to distract me from my growling stomach, but my pleasant memory is interrupted by the faint rumble of Dax’s uncontrollable laughter, carried up from the beach and into the cave. My irritation spikes but is quickly replaced by morbid curiosity. We are stranded on a stupid island. What could possibly be so funny?
Wicked Luck Page 5