Wicked Luck

by Shannon L. Maynard

28. LATE AFTERNOON: AIM FOR THE HEART

  Ava

  Dax leaves the room, and I look at Roxy. She’s staring at the picture in her hands. The baby in the picture isn’t me—it’s her.

  “You can have it if you want,” I offer.

  “Really?” She looks up in surprise. “Thanks.”

  I feel the need to hug her given the recent turn of events, but she doesn’t seem like the hugging type. All of a sudden, the atmosphere becomes awkward.

  “See you later,” she says and walks out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  I lay down on the bed and remember how just last night I’d dreamt of Preston and getting married in a gazebo on a bluff, surrounded by lush, green grass. In front of us was a man dressed in a suit, performing the wedding, and behind him was a magnificent background. Where the grass ended, a cliff tapered down to the beach and vast ocean below. Preston stood in front of me looking overly handsome in a black tux. I had on the dress from the window at Giana’s boutique, but instead of a veil, I wore a crown of white flowers. We were holding hands and after the kiss, we turned to our small audience of three people. Kirk, Anna and Giana were sitting together among rows of empty white chairs.

  But now the cliff and white chairs disappear from my mind, and Preston and I are walking hand in hand in our swimsuits on a beach of white sand, with Miss April anchored just off shore in the distance. Preston leads me to a spot where two palm trees form an arch at the edge of a tropical forest where it is met by the sandy beach. Under the arch, I spy a narrow trail, surrounded on both sides by dense, lush greenery. He leads me down the path for what seems a long time until finally we come to a clearing that opens up to a magnificent waterfall that cascades down to a pool in front of us.

  He smiles at me and gently pulls me into the warm, shallow water with him. We walk hand in hand until we are near the base of the waterfall. He holds me close, touching his lips to mine for a long kiss, and I drape my arms around his neck.

  “Let’s climb to the top,” he says, looking up to where the water is spilling over the edge of the rocks many feet above us.

  He leads me to the edge of the pool just to the right of the falls, and we step cautiously across the boulders piled at the base of a rock wall to a spot where we can climb to the top. He makes his way up the cliff by placing his hands and feet on various points jutting out, almost as if they are there for that very purpose. I follow closely behind him and copy his every move, trying not to look down at the jagged pile of rocks below. He reaches the top first and leans over the edge to extend his arm out to me.

  “It’s beautiful, Ava. Come on, you’re almost there.”

  Reaching up, I grab his hand, starting to pull myself up the last few feet to the top when suddenly my foot slips off the rock. I fall into the wall, causing my other foot to slip as well, and now I’m dangling and gripping onto the face of a rock with one hand. Preston holds my other hand tight and supports my weight.

  I hang with my face plastered to the side of the rock wall, and my feet flail clumsily to find some footholds unsuccessfully. I wonder why Preston isn’t trying to pull me up or give me some encouragement. He isn’t saying anything at all. I look down at the rocks below, then up in desperation to where his hand holds mine, and feel my hand start to slip.

  I glance first at our hands and realize at once something is wrong. Preston’s smooth, strong hands are much larger than they should be, his slender fingers now short and stubby and the reason for me losing my grip. My palm is sweaty and my fingers start to slide down the back of his hand until something stops them, a large, horseshoe ring full of diamonds. I strain my neck to look at the top of the ledge where Preston should have been laying. But peering over the edge instead is Mr. Caruso. An evil grin spreads across his face. Then he laughs a wicked laugh and lets go of my hand.

  I jerk awake and stare up at the ceiling of the hut.

  Did Preston know the real story about Mr. Caruso’s partner? Did he know who I was all along?

  This possibility angers me. My entire concept of Preston and his supposed feelings for me must have been a lie. It hurts too much to think about, and I’m tired of feeling sorry for myself. I need something to take Preston off my mind.

  Dax.

  He said we could do something fun. I grab the orange out of my backpack and hurry to find him.

  He’s sitting on a stump near a fire pit carving a small piece of wood, so I sit next to him on a different log.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “I have a surprise.”

  I hold out the orange for him to see and a huge grin spreads across his lips, carving out his perfect dimples. He takes the orange from my hand, peels it with his knife, and then splits it in half. We sit there in silence to enjoy the succulent treat we both know will be the last of its kind.

  “Have you recovered yet from the devastating news that you’re related to the wicked stepsister?” he asks with a laugh. “Cause I haven’t, it’s just freaking weird. Don’t worry though, I won’t hold it against you—’cause I have the same problem.”

  I smile with him, thankful that Roxy must not be within hearing range.

  He shoots me a sideways glance. “So, I guess that kind of makes you my stepsister too. Or does it? Because you were adopted. The whole idea is warping my mind.” He shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter though, I mean, technically, we aren’t related except by marriage, and even though Roxy is totally like a sister because we grew up together, you and I are a completely different story, so—”

  “Dax, I know.” I interrupt his rambling. “So, what do you want to do?”

  I see his face light up with excitement. “Really? Are you feeling up to it? ‘Cause I wasn’t sure after the whole briefcase ordeal.”

  I narrow my eyes playfully. “I’m fine,” I lie. “But I don’t really want to talk about it—I just want to do something fun. You promised, remember?”

  “Sure, right.” He jumps up and shoves the piece of wood in his pocket. After replacing his knife and grabbing the bow and quiver, he holds out his hand. “Let’s go.”

  He takes off into the trees on a mission. His hands are strong, but his skin is rough in comparison to Preston’s. I think of Preston holding my hand so many times during our walks on the beach and can’t help but think it meant nothing to him. A nagging emptiness rises in my chest. I squeeze Dax’s hand in response to my pain, and he turns his head to comfort me with a wink.

  Deep in the forest, he stops near a small clearing where the ground is covered with flat rocks smothered in green moss. Across the clearing from where we are is a large tree.

  “Want to learn how to shoot a bow and arrow?” Dax asks, and then gives me a wink. “Or if knives are your thing, I could teach you how to throw it. Then next time, you could kill the snake on your own.”

  I hesitate. “I’ll try whatever’s easier.”

  He contemplates my answer. Pulling out his knife, he walks over to the tree. He carves a large bull’s-eye in the trunk, walks back to where I am, takes off his quiver, and lays it on the ground beside him, then hands me his bow.

  “Are you right handed?” he asks, and I nod in response. “Good. Then hold the bow up with your left hand and pull back on the bowstring with your right.”

  I feel awkward but do as he tells me and lift the bow. He walks behind me and grabs my arms to turn me slightly so my left shoulder points toward the bull’s-eye. Then he uses his foot to slide my right foot out, walking back around to my front to examine my position.

  “Perfect.”

  He looks pleased and reaches down to fetch an arrow from the quiver. After he shows me where to place the arrow and how to hold it steady, he tells me to give it a try. I lift the bow and pull back on the drawstring, then try to hold it there while I squint through one eye to focus on the target. My arm begins to shake from the resistance of the bowstring so I hold my breath to try and steady it, but it’s no use. I let go suddenly and the arrow goes shooti
ng past the intended target, missing the entire tree. I sigh, knowing my cheeks are bright red. Shooting the bow is much harder than I thought it would be.

  Dax’s expression is one of surprise. “Ohhhkay,” he says in mock disbelief.

  He grabs another arrow, hands it to me, and then readjusts my stance. I lift the bow and aim again, this time leaving both eyes open. At the last second, my grip slips and the arrow arches upward, landing somewhere in the bushes to the left of the tree.

  I exhale loudly. “Maybe I should try the knife.”

  He shakes his head and grins. “You just need to relax.”

  I watch him grab another arrow, and then walk around to stand behind me. He wraps his arm around my waist and places his hand on my stomach, pulling me against him. His left hand closes around mine where I grip the bow, and then his right hand interlocks with the fingers of my right hand, holding the arrow in place. I try to relax, but his close proximity is not helping. With one smooth motion, he raises the bow in my arms while drawing the bowstring back—farther than I was able to before. He places his face next to mine and then whispers softly in my ear.

  “Relax.”

  I’m sure he’s smiling. I should be looking at the target, but I can’t take my eyes off the muscles flexing in his arm as it rests against mine. I can feel his warm breath on my neck, and my stupid heart starts to race. He slides his mouth next to my ear.

  “Keep your eye on the target. Take a deep breath.”

  I inhale deeply.

  “Good,” he says softly, “Now slowly exhale and let go.”

  He slides his left hand down my arm, stopping at my elbow to steady me. I exhale at his command and let the arrow slip from my grasp. The arrow lands with a muted thud just to the right of the bull’s-eye.

  “Sweet!” Dax exclaims. “I knew you could do it.”

  He spins me around and wraps his strong arms around me, pulling me in tight for a big hug. I hesitate for a moment before letting my arms fall around him too, resting my head on his bare chest. He’s so warm, and his skin has a sweet scent, not like Preston’s cologne, but more like the smell of fresh-cut wood. I wonder why I didn’t notice before when he hid us inside the tree. I thought he would have let me go by now but his arms are still around me, and he’s very still.

  “Should I try it again?” I ask, and then make the mistake of looking up at him when he doesn’t answer.

  He shows off his innocent dimples. I marvel at the color of his eyes, so vibrant blue they almost look unreal, and I’m suddenly lost in them, unwilling to move.

  I force myself to look away from his intense gaze and allow my eyes to fall to his mouth. He does the unthinkable. He lowers his head to kiss me, but the moment his lips touch mine, I drop the bow and push him away, taking a step back at the same time. Rage sweeps over me until I see the hurt on his face. Instantly, my anger melts away.

  “I’m—sorry.” My eyes drop to the bow lying on the ground. “You took me by surprise; I just—wasn’t expecting that.” I reach down and pick up the bow.

  What was he thinking? No. I know what he was thinking, what was I thinking? I was just staring at his lips. Of course he tried to kiss me—and I panicked.

  “My bad,” he says humbly and rests his hands on his hips. “I got a little carried away.”

  A slow smile returns to his face, and I exhale a sigh of relief. I’ve been holding my breath and waiting for those dimples to appear.

  He quietly clears his throat. “I’m not going to apologize for it though, because I’m not sorry.” I don’t miss his sly smirk. “Go ahead; try the bow again.”

  He hands me another arrow. An overwhelming urge comes over me to shoot perfectly, knowing my failure might land me in the same precarious position as before, with him pressed up against me and his mouth next to my ear. I can still feel where his hand rested on my stomach, and I swallow before sliding the arrow into place. I hold the bow up and simultaneously pull back, concentrating on inhaling and then letting my breath out slowly. My release of the arrow sends it flying straight, just to the left of the center of the bull’s-eye.

  I look at him for approval, but he’s eyeing me with suspicion.

  “Nice one.” I see a small dimple appear on one side of his mouth. “So, were you just holding out on me or were you deathly afraid I might help you again?”

  I can’t stop my cheeks from reddening. “No, you’re just a great teacher,” I say and try to sound convincing, but I know that’s only part of the reason and I’m guilty as charged.

  “Let’s find the other arrows, and then we’ll look for something you can kill.” He slings the quiver over his shoulder.

  Kill?

  “I don’t know if I can do that,” I say, following him towards the tree. He pulls out both of the arrows that are stuck in the bark and puts them away.

  “Sure you can.” He lets out a laugh. “Just pretend the target is me.”

  His laughter is contagious. “Very funny.”

  He grabs one of the arrows from the forest floor and then turns to look at me, his face serious.

  “I want you to know how to defend yourself. There’s a chance I might not always be around to protect you,” he says, but he smiles to soften the blow of his words.

  He walks a few feet ahead and searches the bushes for the last missing arrow, but I stay frozen in place. His words terrify me. Why does he say things like that? I can’t fathom the possibility of being stuck on this island without him. Alone, Roxy and I wouldn’t stand a chance of surviving, whether from starvation or an attack from any of the cannibals. These thoughts worry me. But mostly, I just don’t like the idea of him not being around.

  Dax finds the last arrow, slides it into the quiver, and then holds out his hand. He motions with one finger to his lips for me to be quiet, and then we walk further into the woods. He stops and holds up his hand, signaling me to stop too, and then very slowly points up in the trees in front of us. On a branch, a beige- and brown-colored bird sits. Dax silently hands me the bow, and then, just as noiselessly, he pulls an arrow from the quiver on his back.

  I ready myself and aim at the bird, aiming first with one eye and then with two. But Dax stands behind me and rests his hand on the small of my back for moral support, and now I can’t stop thinking about our almost kiss—and my un-loyal heart that raced in response to his close proximity. What is wrong with me? I love Preston. But I shouldn’t, because he isn’t real and he didn’t love me.

  Dax steps closer and tenderly brushes the hair back from my face. This shot needs to be perfect and I have to hurry before his hand slides to my waist—or to that spot on my stomach to pull me against him when he decides I need more help.

  But I’m too late. His hand just moved to my waist and the other hand has found my arm to gently guide my elbow higher. My breath hitches and my heart speeds up as if he’s controlling it with an imaginary gas pedal. I can’t concentrate because he’s too close, and my head is reminding me of that with every shaky breath.