by Karina Halle
“Where the hell are you going?” I hear him yell from behind me, but the moon is lighting up the path clearly and soon I’m running, tears welling in my eyes, running away from everything I’m feeling.
I know I’m overtired, I know I’ve been through a lot, I know my body is hurting from the day and that I’m more than lucky to be alive. And I know that I owe Logan. But everything is coming to a head and I don’t know how to deal with it. The way he was with Juliet, the way Juliet was with me, the humiliation with Erik.
The deep-seated need I have to believe that Logan is a good guy, to trust him, to put my faith in him. I think I want that more than anything, even though that scares me because I don’t know what good could come of it. And then to have him be nothing more than another Erik at the most basic level.
Serves me right for even having feelings for him to begin with.
“Stop!” I hear Logan yell from behind me, and with my blurred vision I’m swerving, stumbling into trees and boulders, the ground slipping beneath my feet. I head toward the foliage to stop my fall.
Suddenly a strong hand is wrapped around my elbow, literally pulling me back mid-step.
“Don’t. Move. Another. Fucking. Step.”
Logan’s hot breath is at my neck.
“Let go of me,” I seethe, my teeth nearly grinding together.
My body stiffens.
His grip tightens.
“One step and you’d go right over the edge of the cliff. They’d be scraping your body off the rocks in the morning.”
The gravity in his tone is leveling. And yet, some rebellious, stubborn part of me wants to test his theory.
I move.
He yanks me back.
“That’s it,” he growls.
Before I can even protest, he’s picking me up like I weigh nothing more than a feather and carrying me back to the campsite. His arms are like fucking tree trunks wrapped across my chest.
Naturally, I fight against him. I’m angry. I don’t want to go sailing off cliffs but I don’t want to be in this makeshift campsite with him either, and I obviously don’t want to be manhandled like he’s an actual Neanderthal.
It doesn’t do me much good. He sits back down where we were before, his back against the cliff, the dead fire at our feet.
But he doesn’t let go of me. I’m held against him tight, my back against his hard chest, my ass pressed against his crotch. I can feel his breaths coming in and out, his heart pounding against my spine. He’s breathing hard against my ear; my head is back against his collarbone.
“This is ridiculous,” I tell him, my words caught in my throat.
“Agreed,” he says gruffly, his voice causing the skin on my neck to prickle. “But I’m not going to let you march out into that jungle just because you’re pissed at me.”
“I won’t go.” I try and move again but he holds on tighter.
“Easy, Freckles,” he murmurs, his lips dangerously close to my ear.
“Ronnie,” I manage to blurt out. “It’s not Freckles, it’s not Veronica, it’s Ronnie.”
“I know,” he says, his arms not loosening. “And I’ll call you what everyone else doesn’t.”
I exhale loudly, my voice shaking. My aggravation against him is fading—he’s just too close to me in every single way. It’s like I can feel the blood beneath his skin, the way his body is telling me everything I want to hear.
He relaxes slightly, his arms slipping down an inch. My skin is sweaty, hot, the friction of his skin on mine is making my nerves sizzle like an electrical fire. My breasts are nearly popping out of my tank top, the sides of them pressed against his arms. The moon’s light makes them glow, their curves highlighted by a slick sheen of sweat.
Everything around us slows down again, that sticky reduction. My breath swirls in my chest, my heart beating unsteadily at first, then slowing as my body starts to turn on me.
I’m a radio, an antenna; I’m tuning into every feeling between us. My neck is exposed to his mouth; my legs are spread. I’m pulsing with a primitive kind of heat that I hadn’t felt for a long time. The kind that makes you want to close your eyes and give into everything.
My mind is running away on me. No, it’s galloping, a wild horse, desperate to reach a brand-new land. I’m imagining what it would be like if he let his hands slip a few inches lower. Beneath the waistband of my shorts. Under my panties. Down to where I know I’m slick and aching.
The thought makes me stiffen. Not from fear, but from want. A terrible kind of want.
What’s wrong with me?
“You’re very tense,” he whispers to me, his breath tickling my cheek.
I can barely speak. “Because I’m being held against my will.”
“Is that why?” he asks, his voice becoming rougher, huskier. I feel it in my bones.
I try and nod. No sound escapes my mouth.
If I turn my head to look at him, my lips will be just inches from his.
Don’t turn your head.
I turn my head. Meet his eyes.
If there’s a crazy battle raging inside my own heart, battling my mind and hormones, there’s something similar going on inside his. I see myself in his eyes, the confusion, the fight.
The lust.
But like always, it can’t be anything more than what I want to see.
I close my eyes and move my head away.
He makes a sound that might be disappointment.
His arms loosen, then come off of me.
“Promise you won’t go anywhere,” he says. He sounds gravely, torn up. “No matter how much you hate me.”
“I promise,” I tell him. And against everything I’d felt in the last five minutes, I get up and move away from him, lying back down against the wall in the fetal position.
Neither of us say anything for a few minutes. The air is too heavy. Not with humidity but with things unsaid. After everything, I feel like we’re back at square one with each other, back into the roles we knew each other in before. I’m no better to understanding him, if anything I’m even more confused.
And then his deep voice punctuates the darkness.
“Goodnight, Ronnie.”
It’s a small victory.
11
I wake up the next morning to the sound of the choppers. Logan is already up, gathering our stuff. If he’s acting any different toward me because of last night, he doesn’t show it. And why should he? Nothing happened. It was just a fight that never got resolved. In the end, he’s still my boss, still my sister’s widower.
In the light of day everything looks better. Your big problems of the night before are condensed until you see them for what they really are. In our case, it’s nothing. Logan is my boss. I like my job. Everything that’s going right in my life doesn’t hinge on my relationship with him. We don’t owe each other anything other than service and a paycheck.
With that new resolve, I’m more than happy to start heading back home. Of course, nothing comes easy, and the helicopter rescue proves to be just as scary as crossing the water the day before. The water is still high and roaring, so the helicopters take each stranded hiker one by one and physically deposits them on the other side of the stream. Which means everyone is getting in a tiny half-cage, kind of like one of those wicker swing-chairs from the 70’s, and being flown across the stream.
Everyone except for me. I’m known as the girl who went down the river and nearly died. All the hikers are praising Logan as a hero, and when I hear them describe the event to some of the rescue crew, I feel deeply ashamed of even fighting with him last night. Apparently when I was swept downstream, Logan immediately went into the water after me. I was under the impression that he ran down the shore and then cut in, but thinking back, there’s no way he would have been able to reach me so fast if he’d done that.
No, instead he jumped in the water and let it carry him down the same path. The only difference was when he hit the final pool, the water deposited him more to the side, w
hich gave him just enough time and strength to reach in and get me.
Before I can even say anything to him though, I’m bundled into a helicopter by myself and flown all the way to the hospital in Lihue. The last thing I see is Logan’s stern face as I rise into the sky.
Lucky for me, I don’t have to stay that long in the hospital. I have some bruises and a large gash on my hip that I hadn’t noticed that needed some stitches, but other than that I’m unscathed.
And incredibly lucky. The doctors and nurses go on to tell me how many hikers are killed by that stream alone each year, as if I haven’t heard all the stories of fucking killer island already.
When I’m released from the hospital Kate is there to pick me up, loitering in the waiting room. The minute she sees me, she runs forward and gives me a big hug then gasps, apologizing for possibly hurting me.
To be honest, I didn’t feel a thing. This is the first I’ve seen Kate act like more than just a roommate and I have to admit, I’m pretty touched that I managed to make an impression on her so far.
She’s got her new car that she bought a few weeks ago (“I don’t want to be at the mercy of the shuttle or Charlie anymore”), a used but still slick Honda Civic hatchback that she can shove her short board in the back of.
We stop in Kapa’a to get some coffees from Java Kai. They didn’t exactly serve the stuff in the hospital and I can barely remember the last time I had a cup. Everything seems like such a blur.
I’ve been to the coffee shop a few times since that day I arrived when I was with Charlie and the redhead behind the counter has been increasingly nice to me, though I still think she gives me a bit of the stink-eye.
But that’s been nothing compared to what I see with Kate.
I’m first in line, ordering a shot of noni (which is a horrible tasting fruit elixir that does wonders for your insides) and my usual banana coconut mocha iced drink and the redhead gives me the head nod—no smile—while she takes my order.
When Kate steps up to place her order though, the redhead's eyes narrow into little blue slits, the line deepening between her penciled brows. I could feel Kate stiffening up a bit as we made our way through the line, moving her weight from one foot to the other, but I didn't think anything of it until now.
These two obviously know each other.
And the redhead seems to be the one with the grudge. She just stares at Kate, not saying a single word. Kate clears her throat. “Uh, I'd like an iced macadamia nut latte with coconut milk. Please.”
The barista's eyes linger on her for another moment in that death stare until she starts punching in numbers on the register.
“Five dollars and twenty-five cents,” she says in a clipped voice.
Kate can't pay her fast enough and quickly moves on down to where I am, picking up my noni shot from the end of the bar. Kate's eyes are wide, the first time I've probably seen her look anything more than blasé.
“What was that about?” I whisper before I down the noni shot, full-on shuddering at the taste. It’s like bad, stinky cheese mixed with rancid fruit.
“I'll explain later,” she says, looking furtively over her shoulder at the barista. “It's not a big deal.” She frowns as I put the empty shot glass back on the counter. “Why do you torture yourself with that stuff?”
“Look, I've been living off beef jerky and granola bars for the last twenty-four hours, my body needs this.” Thankfully my drink is ready next and gets the horrid taste out of my mouth.
Once Kate gets hers, we hurry back to her car, nearly tripping over a hen and her chicks as they dawdle down the sidewalk. Last month I would have been taking pictures of the sight, now the chickens are as natural as crows and pigeons back home.
“Okay spill the beans,” I tell her when we’re in the car, continuing on up the highway toward the north shore.
She rolls her eyes and turns down the volume on the radio that was blaring some new Rhianna song. “It's a long story.”
“It better be a long story,” I tell her, “because there has to be a reason why that girl hates you. I mean, she's always been kinda bitchy with me but not like that. She looked like she wanted to murder you.”
Kate reaches into a compartment between the seats and slicks on some lip balm, rubbing her lips together. I'm not even sure if she's heard me or not.
Then she lowers her sunglasses down over her eyes and sighs. “This is a judgment free zone.”
“Of course.”
“I'm not asking, I'm telling you,” she says. “All right. That girl, Ana, used to be one of the regulars at the restaurant and the bar. She lived somewhere in Hanalei and obviously had a giant crush on Charlie. She was there pretty much all the time. And Charlie being Charlie, well they start fucking around. Charlie never committed to her but that didn't seem to matter because she was head over heels and all that bullshit. Meanwhile, I started dating this guy call Honu. Honestly I don't even know what his real name is. He was a surfer and a good time and it wasn't anything serious. But it turns out Honu was her ex-boyfriend and even though she had a thing with Charlie, she wasn't too happy about that.”
“Ah, I see,” I say, sucking back on the drink and letting the sugary, caffeinated goodness pump some life back into my veins.
“Well that's not all,” she goes on, quieter now. “See . . . before Charlie started up with Ana, well, he and I were kind of a—” she clears her throat, “an item.”
“I knew it!” I exclaim, nearly jumping in my seat. “I could tell, I could so tell.”
She cocks her head toward me and peers over her sunglasses. “You don't have to act so smug about it.”
I grin back at her and shrug. “Hey, I've worked in the hospitality business forever, you learn to pick up on those things.” I'm tempted to start talking about what happened with me and Erik since we're in the mode of sharing with each other, but I decide to hold back for now. This is Kate's story and I've had a hell of a time getting her to open up about anything.
“Anyway,” she says with a wave of her hand, “I'm not proud of it but it happened. What can I say . . . I had just started working here and I was lonely and Charlie, was . . . “
“Charlie.”
“Exactly. Charlie was Charlie. And we broke it off because shit was getting complicated at work and yeah it kind of bugged me at the time but I try really hard to not let anything bother me. So we just moved on and stayed friends. Then he started seeing Ana and I started seeing Honu.”
“And things got complicated.”
“Well, yes.” She clears her throat again. “Eventually Charlie stopped fucking around with Ana. And eventually I stopped sleeping with Honu. And then I guess we started up with each other again.”
I nearly spit out my drink. “Again? You and Charlie.”
“Judgment free zone,” she reminds me gravely.
“I know but . . . okay, I didn't see that one coming. No wonder she doesn't like you.”
“That girl doesn't like anyone that might be a threat to her Charlie, but yeah. That's the reason why. I can't really blame her but I'm also not going to stop getting one of my favorite coffee drinks either. If she wants it out with me, she can say it to my face. Though I'm sure that would probably end up with the cops getting called.”
I stare at her openly.
She gives another shrug. “Girls on this island like to fight.”
“That can't help Charlie's ego at all,” I muse.
Kate giggles. “No, it doesn't.”
“So are you guys still . . . “
She shakes her head emphatically. “No. No, the last time we were together was last Christmas. Almost a year. Charlie may have gone back to her, I don't know and I really don't care.”
“So no residual feelings at all?”
“No.” But somehow I don't believe her. She knows this too because she turns to look at me, her mouth pursed. “I mean it. Charlie and I are done. No hard feelings between us, we're better as friends.”
“Sure, sure
,” I tease.
“Ron!” she warns. “Don't even. And don't tell anyone what I've told you.”
I laugh. “Oh my god. First of all, I wouldn't. The only people I talk to are you and Johnny and Charlie. And second of all, I'm pretty sure everyone knows. You can't keep shit like that a secret. You might try but it's always obvious when two co-workers are banging each other.”
She just grumbles something and puts her window down lower. The breeze coming off from the cattle fields to our left is sweet and tinged with the smell of sun-baked dirt and grass. “And Logan,” she adds.
“Logan what?”
“You talk to me, Charlie, Johnny . . . and Logan.”
I snort in disbelief. “I do not talk to Logan. You know this better than anyone.”
“Mmmm,” she says. “I don't know. You were just fucking stranded with him overnight. I'm sure you guys talked about something.”
She's right. We did talk about a lot. But I'm not about to get into that with her. It's way too complicated.
“You know Logan and I are like oil and water,” I remind her.
“Right. But you're the water who decided to go hiking with said oil on your day off.”
“Because I wanted to annoy him,” I explain. I know my tone is starting to sound a bit defensive.
“I know. You're always wanting to piss him off and get under his skin and he does the exact same with you.”
“Yeah but you're describing everyone's relationship with Logan. He's the habut. The grump. Mr. Surly. Team Gruff.”
“Team Gruff?”
“Whatever. You know what I mean. I'm no different.”
“Uh huh.” She puts her hand out the window and starts waving it up and down over the passing air. “You say you know people when you've been working in this business, and I can say the same. Me, the rest of us, we like to bug Logan. But we don't go out of our way. We don't think about it. He's just our boss and he honestly occupies a really tiny space of my brain. I'm sure it's no different for anyone else. Anyone except you.”