Unseen Messages

by Pepper Winters

  Pippa threw a hand over her eyes, lying on her back. “I don’t wanna.”

  “Too bad. We’re going to.”

  Conner sat up, rubbing his face. “Do we have to?”

  “Yes. Up.”

  Galloway groaned. His hair covered one eye and his lips glistened with every sinful thing I wanted to do to him.

  I expected an argument, but he levered himself up and grabbed his walking stick. “Come on, guys. What’s the harm? Got nothing better to do.”

  In a mixture of grumbles, everyone climbed to their feet and swiped wet hair from their foreheads. Silently, they followed me to the water’s edge a little way away from the camp.

  I didn’t know where I was going. I had no clue what I was doing.

  Please...let me come up with something. Something therapeutic but fun.

  In the weeks since the crash, we’d formed some resemblance of fun. We’d played games, told jokes. We’d scratched tic-tac-toe, a checkers board, and rudimentary snakes and ladders in the sand. For pawns, we used twigs and shells, letting the tide wipe our game board away whenever it crept up the beach.

  I stopped.

  That’s it!

  Everyone slammed to a halt.

  “So...what’s the big idea?” Conner frowned. “Come on, Stelly, I want to go back to the fire.”

  “Stop whingeing.” I marched to Galloway and stole his walking stick. “May I?”

  He let go of it instantly, avoiding my fingers as if I was contaminated. “By all means.”

  His leg had healed enough that he could stand without support.

  His splint needs to come off.

  Wasn’t a normal cast about six to eight weeks (depending on how bad the break was, of course)? His had been on for twelve. I was surprised he hadn’t taken it off yet.

  What if he fears the same thing I do?

  The fear that he still limped, not because of the obstruction around his leg, but because of his body’s inability to heal properly?

  Don’t be ridiculous. He’ll be fine.

  He had to be fine.

  I couldn’t...I couldn’t cope if he wasn’t.

  Swallowing those thoughts, I strode away and used the end of his stick to scratch into the sand. Mist and sea spray dampened my holey clothes. I was miserable and low but my mother had taught me this trick. However, she hadn’t shown me on the beach; she’d shown me in a field where the wind was the eraser and not the ocean. But it worked, that much I knew.

  Everyone crowded around me.

  The songwriter part of me had an outlet for my emotional troubles. I found solace in scribbling sonnets when no one was looking. Each time I jotted something down, I felt a little lighter, a tad calmer, more able to deal.

  I had that outlet. But what did Conner, Pip, and Galloway have?

  “What are you doing?” Pippa asked, her hair tangled like a kelpie.

  I smiled. “Something secret.”

  “Doesn’t look secret.” Conner crossed his arms.

  “Well, it’s magic then.”

  “Doesn’t look like magic, either.”

  I scowled at the teenager before scratching more words. He’d been getting argumentative as the calendar inched onward. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

  Biting my lip, I manhandled the large stick-pen and finished my design. My heart skipped a beat as I stepped back and bumped into Galloway.

  He stiffened but didn’t move away, letting me catch my balance. His body was warm (so much warmer than mine) and the same electrical charge flowed from his skin, lighting up dormant cells, turning my blood into a heated pathway of need.

  My insides clenched and melted at the same time.

  I gave him a fleeting smile. “Thanks.”

  He cleared his throat but didn’t reply.

  Pippa read what I’d carved into the sand: “Give me your worries and I shall make them disappear.” Her brown eyes met mine. “What does that mean?”

  “Ugh, I’m not interested.” Conner’s hair stood up in all directions as he shook his head. “It means a counselling session, Pip. And we don’t need one of those.”

  Is it puberty turning him into a brat or the lack of sunlight and endless drizzle?

  I held my frustration...barely. “Just go with me, Co. You don’t have to question everything.”

  “Yeah, I do. I know about this stuff and I’m not playing.”

  “It isn’t a game.”

  “Don’t care.”

  My eyebrows rose. “How do you know about counselling, anyway? Why would you know about that stuff?”

  He shrugged, full of blustery blasé, but his gritted teeth hinted at glass-sharp memories. “My parents went to a marriage counsellor. I overheard them doing homework exercises and ‘sharing their worries’ so they could be happy again.”

  The memory of Amelia and Duncan Evermore didn’t fit with the description of a strained couple. But no one truly knew the inner workings of another’s life.

  Pippa sucked in a shaky breath, her eyes filling with tears. “I miss them.”

  Immediately, my arm lashed out and snuggled her against me. “And you’re allowed to miss them.”

  She wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “When will it stop hurting?”

  My heart broke. “No one can tell you that, Pip. It’s a time thing.”

  She stared at the sand, her little shoulders quaking.

  “So how does this work?” Galloway’s voice blanketed my soul, gracefully planting himself on my side of the argument. “What exactly are we meant to do?”

  I looked up.

  His gaze was locked on Pippa, despair and helplessness on his face. As much as he pretended to be unaffected by the children, he adored little Pippa. And the fact she grieved and he couldn’t do anything about it...it drove him wild.

  Knowing he had such capacity to love drove me wild in return.

  Why am I staying away from him again?

  Why did I sleep alone when I could sleep with him? Why did I punish myself with no contact when I could touch him whenever I wanted?

  My reason seemed less and less a deciding factor and more and more like a pesky nuisance.

  I cleared my throat, forcing my jackrabbit heart to calm down. “I’ll show you.”

  Galloway cocked his head. “Show us what?”

  “The magic of washing our worries away.”

  Conner groaned dramatically but didn’t leave. For all his ‘I’m too cool for this,’ he was still young enough to value togetherness and joint activities.

  I see through you, Conner.

  Stepping forward, I held the walking stick ready to write. Everyone fell silent as if I truly had the ability to conjure a spell.

  I wished I did.

  I wished I had a wand where I could manifest a boat and sail away. Or whimsically wish for a plane to fly home. Or pluck a phone signal from the sky and call for help.

  I wanted to see Madeline. I wanted to hug Shovel-Face. I wanted to buy contraception so I could jump Galloway and not be afraid.

  But I wasn’t a witch and this wasn’t that sort of magic.

  Ducking to look into Pippa’s eyes, I murmured, “What are you most afraid of?”

  She flinched.

  Galloway growled, “You really think that’s a good question to ask?”

  I hushed him. I had doubts, but this had helped me. If it helped Pippa, then I was willing to take the risk.

  Pippa glanced at her brother, silently asking for help.

  Conner splayed his hands, but his face was encouraging. “Go on, Pip. What are you most afraid of?”

  She scuffed her toes in the damp sand. “You won’t make fun of me?”

  Conner pointed at his chest. “Me? No, I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  Pippa jolted at the word ‘die’. I had no doubt that those three little letters had been irrevocably tainted for her.

  Finally, she filled her lungs and announced, “I’m afraid of sleeping.”

  Everyone
jerked.

  Sleep.

  The black recharging shroud we needed and loved had become her personal demon.

  I remembered Pippa’s terror at us going to sleep and never waking like her parents. But I didn’t know she still suffered. Motherly instincts wanted to tell her not to be afraid. That sleep was one of the safest things a person could do. I wanted to remind her of the beauty of dreams and rejuvenation of the best nap in a patch of sunshine.

  But that wasn’t for me to do. That was for her to remember.

  “You’re very brave admitting that.” I kissed her forehead. “Now, I want you to write that in the sand.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “I don’t know how to spell sleep.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  Together, we traced wonky cursive in the wet beach. The sentence came alive before us: I’m afraid of sleep.

  I also added the line: but after tonight, I don’t need to be afraid anymore.

  Once the last word had been finished, Pippa let go of the walking stick and I motioned for Conner to come closer.

  He did, although reluctantly.

  “Now, it’s your turn.” I passed him the pen. “What are you most afraid of?”

  He shuffled on the spot. “Uh...that I won’t be able to play tennis again because of my wrist.”

  I wanted to ask about his tennis past. He’d mentioned he played over the course of our island imprisonment. We’d even attempted to play cricket with sticks for wickets and a log for a bat. I loved learning about him because it brought him to life, all while Galloway remained in the shadows unwilling to share.

  Was Conner right to worry? In the tasks around the camp, his wrist seemed strong and useable. But who knew if the bones had knitted correctly—just like we’d never know with Galloway’s leg.

  Stepping to the side, I waved at the sand beneath Pippa’s sentence. “Good. Write it down.”

  Giving me a sideways look, he took his time, indenting the pristine sand with jagged lettering. Once done, he shoved the walking stick at Galloway and moved away.

  I sucked in a breath as Galloway’s fingers tightened around the wood. I had no idea if he’d play along. This was a testament to how far he was willing to go to avoid anyone knowing who he truly was.

  As seconds turned into long moments, my palms sweated. I opened my mouth to excuse him, but suddenly he lurched forward, shoving the stick into my hands. “I won’t be able to duck low enough to write.” His gaze smouldered. “You’ll have to write it for me.”

  I froze, cursing the way a simple phrase undid me.

  “Okay...”

  Poising below Conner’s penned confession, I waited.

  Galloway took his time before muttering, “I’m afraid of never being able to apologise to those who most deserve it.”

  The cryptic reply echoed in my head long after I’d scratched it into existence.

  What did he have to apologise for and to whom? Why couldn’t he open up to me and share whatever it was that ate at him?

  “Your turn.” Pippa tugged my wrist. “What are you most afraid of, Stelly?”

  I bit my lip. So, so many things.

  I’m afraid that I want a man for all the wrong reasons.

  I’m afraid I’ll never get off this island.

  I’m afraid I don’t want to get off this island.

  I’m afraid I don’t know who I am.

  I’m afraid I don’t like who I’m becoming.

  So many to choose from but I chose the one closest to my heart. Sighing, I wrote my fear below the others. I’m afraid I’ll lose my voice, and once it’s gone...I’ll never get it back.

  It meant so many things and was just as cryptic as Galloway was. It meant I was afraid of losing my backbone and never having the guts to chase what I wanted. It meant I was afraid that my song writing and music ability would dry up beneath the Fijian sun.

  Galloway caught my eye but didn’t say anything.

  We all stood there, reading the four sandy admissions.

  Conner broke the silence. “Now what?”

  “Now, we go to bed.”

  “Huh?”

  “In the morning, you’ll see. Trust me.” Pinching Pippa’s cheek, I added, “It’s magic, after all.”

  We all turned to return to camp, but at the last second, Galloway hobbled back and wrote one last line in the sand. Turned out he could do it himself, faintly scribbling his extra fear.

  Conner and Pippa waited patiently while my heart pounded. Would this be the first glimpse into Galloway’s thoughts? The first time I’d learn what he was feeling because he damn well sure never talked about it.

  Turning his back on the script, he hobbled past us, leaving us to catch up. The children dashed ahead, but I couldn’t stop my curiosity. Taking a few steps back, I stood over his words and tears filled my eyes.

  I’m sick of not knowing if I’m healed or disabled for the rest of my life. I want my splint off so I know either way.

  I looked at him making his way slowly up the beach. He didn’t look back. He didn’t make eye contact or give any glint that he wanted to discuss.

  Not that he needed to.

  It was perfectly self-explanatory.

  His fear was genuine. His terror was tangible.

  And it wouldn’t be the tide that made his wish come true.

  It would be me.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  ...............................................

  G A L L O W A Y

  ......

  TOUCH.

  She finally touched me.

  And I let her.

  Her fingers were hypnotically soft; moving over my face, across my lips, lingering on my throat.

  My body instantly hardened.

  I reached for her, but the touch dropped lower, across my sternum, along my lower belly, feathering on my hipbone to my thigh.

  My cock stood up, begging to be granted the same treatment, but the touch vanished, tugging on something around my leg.

  My teeth snapped together as the frustration I’d been fighting for months boiled over. Lashing out, I connected with hair.

  Not a faceless face or dream-figmented breasts.

  Hair.

  Real.

  My eyes flew open.

  The dream ended.

  And I shot upright only to slam back down again when I noticed it wasn’t a dream.

  Estelle bowed over me. Her knees against my thigh, her fingers unbuckling the seat belts and fabric ties around my splint.

  I sucked in a breath, whisper-hissing in the dark. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Her eyes flashed then skittered across the camp to Pip and Conner. They slept in individual beds tonight, not needing each other’s support from the lonely memories of being parentless.

  She froze. “I’m doing what you want.”

  “What I want?”

  A Technicolor porno unravelled in my head. What I wanted was her mouth on my cock. What I wanted was her straddling my hips and me thrusting into her tight, hot heat.

  What I wanted was her.

  A thousand times her.

  I gritted my teeth; balled my hands. I did everything I could to fight the undeniable urges volcanoing in my blood.

  “Estelle, I suggest you move away from me.”

  I gave her a warning.

  I was a gentleman.

  If I touched her now, kissed her, fucked her...it would be her fault for coming too close when she knew the uncrossable boundaries between us.

  “Just tolerate me for a few seconds and then I’ll be gone.” Her eyes dropped back to my thigh.

  Tolerate?

  She thought I couldn’t tolerate her?

  Shit, I was in love with her. I spent my days falling more and more into goddamn love with her, and she thought I could barely tolerate her?

  Stupid, stupid woman.

  I couldn’t do it.

  I sat up to push her awa
y but the last band of my splint came away and the two sticks clunked to the sand, freeing me.

  I groaned in relief. The support had kept my ankle straight, but hell, it’d been heavy and uncomfortable.

  She smiled in the darkness. “Feel better?”

  I’d feel better with you lying on top of me.

  I swallowed, nodding tightly. “Yes. Now, go away.”

  Even as I said it, her eyes fell from my mouth to the raging hard-on between my legs. My heart waged war on every other organ. “Estelle...”

  “Yes?” Her normal breath turned into tormenting pants.

  “Get away from me.”

  Hurt clashed in her eyes. She dropped her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t know what for. But it’s time for you to leave.”

  “I’m sorry for what I said that night.”

  “What night?”

  I knew exactly what night. The night she told me she wanted nothing to bloody do with me.

  Her gaze flashed. “You know what.”

  I chuckled caustically. “Oh, you mean the night you said you didn’t want me? That night?” I brushed aside my long hair. “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine. I’m over it.” Sitting a little higher, I growled, “Goodnight.”

  She didn’t move.

  For a bloody age, she didn’t move and everything inside howled to grab her. I had the control of a priestly saint not to fist her hair and kiss her—regardless what she said before.

  But I didn’t.

  Because I respected her.

  And this island was too damn small to make a mistake with our friendship.

  Because if I did kiss her, it would be a mistake.

  And I’d made enough of those to last me a lifetime.

  Finally, she moved. But not in the fashion I expected and needed. Oh hell no, her hand glided from her lap to my cock.

  I jolted as if she’d shocked me with a hundred volts of power. “Goddammit, wha—what—” I couldn’t finish my sentence.

  Her fingers stole my vocabulary as they wrapped sensually, possessively around my erection.

  My back arched and I fell backward in the sand, giving everything to her because she’d finally touched me. Finally willingly, on her own damn merit, touched me.

  This was a dream. I hadn’t woken up yet.

  I’m still sleeping.

  This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

  I’d wanted this with every atom in my body. I didn’t deserve to get what I wanted. Estelle would never touch me without the secretive boundaries of slumber. Why should I push away a fantasy when it brought fleeting happiness?