by Susan Laine
An Island in the Stars
By Susan Laine
Sam, a geeky college freshman, has bigger problems than lusting after Marcus, sexy jock, college junior, and his big brother’s best friend. Chasing after a beanie caught in the winter wind turns into a tumble down the rabbit hole for them both—science fiction style.
Sam and Marcus find themselves trapped on a tropical island in the middle of a strange ocean on an alien moon. The sole structure is a ruined temple devoted to the art of love. Flustered, confused, and unable to return home, they need to figure out a means of escape from a hostile jungle teeming with dangerous life-forms.
In this tale where opposites attract and secret crushes are revealed, two very dissimilar young men discover they actually have a lot in common after all, but it will take their differences as much as their points of connection to survive on an island in the stars.
Table of Contents
Blurb
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
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Copyright
Chapter 1
“HEY, YOU dropped something!”
Sam stopped trying to run from the rapid-paced footsteps behind him and skittered to a halt as he recognized the voice. He turned around and found Marcus jogging leisurely, as if he was in no hurry to catch up with Sam, down the twisting footpath that led through the woods from the bus stop.
Naturally the jock wasn’t even winded or sweaty from the exertion. Not that any perspiration would have been visible beneath the winter attire anyway. It was snowing—thick, heavy flakes that floated about gently in a soft breeze. Snow gathered in Marcus’s hair, giving him a dreamy halo.
Grinning, Marcus slowed to a walk. “Hey, Sam.”
His breath puffed in front of him in the chilly January weather of the Rockies, and his cheeks held a rosy glow. Compared to Marcus, who managed to look hot, figuratively speaking, even in the middle of winter, Sam had clammy skin, a runny nose, and a mild cough. At least he’d done away with his glasses and sported contacts now.
“Hi, Marcus,” Sam replied warily.
Being of the geek variety, he had no expectation of any mutual interest from his secret crush—who also happened to be his big brother’s best friend.
You scared me, you… you jock. Sam kept that piece of unwarranted chagrin to himself.
But Marcus always seemed to have his number. “Sorry. I didn’t meant to scare you—”
“You didn’t. I wasn’t,” Sam cut in, vexed but mostly at himself.
“Here.” Smiling that endearing lopsided grin of his, Marcus offered Sam the light wooly cap Sam had dropped while running from a perceived threat. When you were a freshman, gay, and a geek in college—and still seventeen ’cause you’d skipped a grade for being so smart—and you saw a jock twice your size coming toward you fast, you ran the other way. Basic common sense and an enlightened sense of self-preservation, to be precise.
Grudgingly Sam snatched the hat from Marcus and crammed it back onto his head. “Thanks,” he mumbled, looking away. He whipped around and hurried down the snow-covered path through the woods on his way home from another busy day at college. Anything to get away from the guy behind him.
But Marcus walked alongside him, matching his speed. “Something wrong? Did you get an A-minus on a test? Or is your favorite library section closed for repairs?”
Sam gnawed the inside of his cheek. He was the nerdy little brother of Marcus’s best friend, the invisible boy who faded into the background. Why was Marcus giving him the time of day?
“Don’t you have any other people to pester?” Whoa, that was super mean; Sam acknowledged that to himself and cringed in instant shame and regret.
Marcus chuckled. “Ouch. Point taken. Sorry.”
His apology made everything worse. Despite the bad rep of jocks in general—at least with respect to their treatment of smaller smart kids and overall bullying—Marcus was a nice guy. He always had been. He’d never bullied Sam in his life. Sam pressed his lips together, vowing not to speak. He increased his speed to get rid of his annoying shadow and the unnerving emotions trailing along with him.
To no avail. Marcus was in better shape, being an athlete and all, so Sam had zero chance of outrunning him. “You trying to ditch me, Sammy?”
“My name is Sam. Not Sammy. And to answer your question, yes, yes I am.” He hated sounding so cantankerous, but if he actually talked to the guy, he feared his attraction would come through clear as day. He wasn’t sure which of the possible bad outcomes would be the worst: hate, disgust, or pity.
“Well, someone’s sure grouchy on this lovely, sunny winter’s afternoon.” Marcus’s high spirits seemed unaffected. He bumped Sam’s arm with his shoulder, almost toppling him over.
“Geesh, cut it out. Why are you always picking on me?” Sam didn’t mean to sound all whiny, but somehow he always did in Marcus’s company. Why couldn’t the superhot jock leave him alone so Sam could die of embarrassment all by his lonesome in some hole in the ground?
Marcus shook his head, appearing bemused. “Why do you always treat me like you expect me to be a dick around you?”
People surprise you when they learn you have smutty thoughts about them.
Sam held back a sigh. Rationally he knew Marcus wouldn’t hurt him. Marcus wasn’t violent—a bully or a homophobic asshole. But fear wasn’t logical. And crushes on straight guys you saw every day were even less so.
On the best of days, Sam’s poor teenage head was a mass of contradictions. He did like Marcus, but he was scared of him too, mostly of Marcus’s reaction should he learn how Sam felt about him. So Sam loved the guy from afar, all the while hating that he felt so strongly about someone he couldn’t be with. He steered clear as best he could, though that was sometimes difficult since they went to the same college, Whitefish Lake College, which was close to their homes.
“Seriously, don’t you have football practice or something?”
“It’s winter, so we practice swimming and wrestling. But not today. Wrestling was cancelled. Coach is out sick.” Marcus snorted. “Well, a hangover is what he’s got.” Then he turned to look at Sam at the exact same moment Sam chose to glance at him.
Sam quickly turned away, his cheeks on fire. It was hard not staring at Marcus. Tall, fit, and muscular in just the right proportions, Marcus was at his physical prime at the age of twenty. His black faux hawk seemed to have been designed for him especially, his blue eyes had the audacity to shine like priceless jewels at every opportunity, and his masculine, rugged good looks had a tendency to shift from grown-up raw sex appeal to sweet boyish charm, complete with dimples, with no warning.
In short, Marcus was perfect. So fucking unfair.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Marcus asked in a curious tone.
Sam stopped dead in his tracks and started to say something cheeky when his wooly hat flew off and blew into the woods in the grips of a strong gust of wind. “Shit!” he cursed and ran after the damn thing.
A few yards from the path, amid tall, thick snow banks, rose a mound of what looked like dirt, rocks, and maybe a tree stump, half covered in snow and ice. On the top of the mound was a h
ole. And naturally, the wind threw Sam’s cap right into it.
“No!” Sam cursed some more, knelt down over the hole, and peered inside.
The opening was larger than a rabbit hole. A person could have fit through. Not a very big-boned or robust person, but a regular one.
“Don’t even think it.” Marcus’s warning came from right behind him.
“Go away! This is all your fault.”
“How exactly is this my fault?”
Sam bit his tongue so hard it bled and blinked back sudden tears. Of course it wasn’t Marcus’s fault. He was just a nice guy who always had a smile and a kind word for Sam. He wasn’t responsible for the quirks of wind or Sam’s rotten luck. Nor was it Marcus’s doing that Sam was hopelessly in love with his brother’s best friend, the straight jock.
“I’m sorry, Marcus. It’s not your fault.” The confession was tough but necessary.
“It’s okay, Sammy. I’m not offended.” Marcus’s eyes softened.
Shoving his awkward thoughts away, Sam peered down into the hole again. It was too dark to see, so he fished his tiny blue flashlight from his pocket. (It wasn’t geeky to carry a flashlight, was it? You never knew when you might need one.) He aimed the light into the hole, and there, not ten feet beneath him, lay the dark green wooly hat his grandmother had knitted for him last Christmas, caught on some dead roots.
He started to lean into the hole and reach for the hat, only to be yanked back, hard.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Marcus asked, sounding both worried and miffed. “Don’t go sticking your hand into dark holes in the ground. Are you an idiot?”
Sam pulled away. “Shut up. I’m getting my hat.” He felt more than saw Marcus go stony behind him, and he lowered his voice. “I’m sorry, Marcus. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” He didn’t want to confess any more, but his mouth did the talking for him. “The cap’s a Christmas present from Grandma, and I really want it back.”
Marcus knelt down next to him, smiling gently. “I get it.” His big palm came to rest on Sam’s shoulder, giving him chills down his spine—and heat waves in his groin. Sam resisted the urge to jerk free. Then Marcus ditched his backpack on the snowbank next to him and scanned the hole, frowning. “I think I can get it if I reach….”
His voice faded as he shoved his hand and arm down the hole. Sam instinctively put his hands on the small of Marcus’s back, to hold on to him just in case. Then he drew back fast, his face flaming with embarrassment.
That’s when Sam heard the crack, a dry sound of wood breaking.
And then Marcus disappeared down the hole, face-first.
“Marcus!” Sam screamed, scared out of his mind. He kept peering down into the dark and yelling Marcus’s name until he remembered his flashlight, which he’d dropped when Marcus grabbed him. He spotted it quickly as it was still lit, and he fumbled in the snow with his mitten-covered hands, grateful it hadn’t broken in the fall.
“Sam” came a distant voice from the darkness.
“Marcus? Oh my God, Marcus, are you okay?” He may have sobbed some of those words, but he didn’t care as long as Marcus was all right.
“Yeah. Fine. No worse for wear. I didn’t fall far.” Judging from his flat tone, Marcus sounded as calm and composed as ever.
Sam was anything but. “Can you climb up? Do you need a light? Should I call 9-1-1?”
“Easy there, little chipmunk. I’m okay.” Marcus’s tone had gone back to amused and teasing, so he could not have been hurt, not badly anyway.
Sam hated that nickname. To him it sounded derogatory, but apparently Marcus thought it was funny. “Can you get out of there on your own?”
“Aren’t you gonna ask me about your wooly cap?”
“Fuck the cap! Can you climb out or not?”
A moment of silence dragged on until… “Yeah, I think I can. As long as these roots don’t break under my weight.”
“You should become a vegetarian.”
Marcus chuckled from down below. “Rabbit food’s gonna suddenly make me sprout wings and take twenty pounds off me? Pass.”
“You’re a jerk, you know that?” Sam worried his lower lip to the point of bleeding so as not to cry out in panic. “If you’re not out of there in two minutes flat, I’m calling the cops or firemen or somebody, dammit.”
The wind rustled the trees, and snow blew on Sam. Only silence came from below. Goddammit, that guy was gonna be the death of him.
“Warm.”
“What?” Sam asked, confused.
“It’s warm down here.”
“You want to argue the benefits of geology now? Get out of there!”
“There’s a larger cavern down here—”
“Don’t even think about it! Marcus?” He wasn’t above begging. “Please, come up.”
“Okay, okay. Hold your horses, chipmunk.” Marcus’s voice came closer. The sound of dry twigs breaking followed, and then a larger thud and an “Ouch.”
“Marcus? What happened?”
“I… I may have accidentally broken one of the roots.”
“So?” Sam was getting alarmed.
Marcus sounded at least somewhat embarrassed when he said, “And… it may have accidentally rolled on top of my leg. And it’s coincidentally kinda heavy.”
“Oh. My. God.” Sam shook his hands in front of him, trying to calm himself. “So can you move?”
Scratching and a few thumps came, then nothing. “Nope. It’s too heavy for me lift on my own, with me on my back.”
“You’re on your back?” Sam didn’t wait for a response. “I’m coming down. Is there enough room?”
“Yeah, past the hole there’s room for, like, six people. But I don’t think you should.”
“I can’t very well leave you down there, now can I?”
Without waiting for a smartass response, Sam flipped around to sit on the edge. He turned off the flashlight and shoved it in his pocket to leave both hands free. Then he wiggled and slithered his way down the hole, feet first, cautious of his backpack, which he had forgotten to take off. He grabbed ahold of the lip while searching blindly for anything to rest his booted feet on. Desiccated roots, rocks, and dirt were enough to keep him balanced until he was able to lower himself farther and drop down fully, Finally he felt solid ground under his winter boots—and something softer against his foot.
“That’s my leg, Sammy. Don’t step on it.” Marcus’s murmur echoed in the confined space, half-amused, half-strained.
Sam took out his flashlight again and turned it on. Barren, frozen tree roots were sticking out of the hard dirt ceiling, piles of fallen autumn leaves covered much of the ground, and the space smelled of rotting leaves, chilly air, and decomposing earth, surrounding him with pungent odors.
Once his eyes had adjusted, Sam saw Marcus lying on his back in a small cavern with a big, moss-covered, heavy-looking tree trunk on top of him, almost as long as he was.
“Marcus? You okay?”
Snorting, Marcus replied, “Yeah, sure, why the hell not? Give me a hand, would you?”
Nodding frantically, Sam placed his flashlight at the branch of a nearby root so that the beam of light illuminated their efforts. Together, with Sam lifting and Marcus pushing, they got the piece of wood high enough for Marcus to roll to the side. With a loud crack, the wood landed on the rocky ground again as they let it fall.
Marcus got up, checking his limbs and torso for damage.
“Anything broken or seriously hurt?” Sam asked, very worried.
Marcus shook his head. “Scrapes and bruises. The ankle’s not broken, just strained, I think. Nothing that won’t heal by tomorrow.”
Sam took his flashlight back, turned it off, and then stared at Marcus, steaming. “How could you be so stupid as to—”
“Hey, you’re the one who wanted the hat back,” Marcus retorted, bringing his hands up in a surrendering gesture.
Remorse and guilt swamped Sam. His jaw quivered as numerous con
flicting feelings pushed to the surface. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. You could’ve been killed—”
“Light.”
“Huh?”
“There’s a light down here.” Marcus sounded surprised.
Sam peered around Marcus and saw the tiny pinpoint of light in the distance. “What on earth is that?”
Marcus shrugged, but even in the low light Sam saw the curiosity in his expression. “I don’t know. Fireflies? Fungus? Minerals?”
Though skeptical, Sam said, “Maybe.” Then he recalled that the situation they were in, while not dire, was bad nonetheless. “Ignore it. We have to get out of here.”
But Marcus was already moving toward the distant luminance, though with a slight limp. “Like I said, there is a bigger cave in here. Look, the floor’s collapsed into it. The light’s coming from down there somewhere.”
Sam hurried to his side. “Marcus, I forbid you to even consider it.”
Smiling so widely the whites of his teeth gleamed, Marcus chuckled. “Chicken?”
Sam bristled. “I am not chicken. But if you think for a second I’m going down there, let alone letting you go down there, you are certifiably insane.”
“Who are you, my mother?” Marcus scoffed with an irreverent grin, stepping closer to the ragged, rubble-covered edge. “It’s only a few feet down.”
Sam wanted to shout. “Marcus, please. Let’s go back up.”
Hesitating, Marcus turned to face Sam. “Come on, Sam. I just wanna see what’s down there. Could be pirate treasure.” He winked mischievously. To him life was evidently an endless party full of constant surprises. Marcus was fearless. And in Sam’s eyes that made him at once sexy and stupid.
Sam scoffed. “This is Whitefish, Montana, in 2017, not the Caribbean in the 17th century. We’re smack in the middle of woods and mountains, it’s midwinter, and there’s snow everywhere. Plus the ocean’s over six hundred miles away in the wrong direction.”
“Come on, Sammy. Where’s your sense of adventure?” Marcus cajoled.
“That part of me ran away the moment you fell in here headfirst, you moron. And it’s Sam!”