“Yeah.”
He pulls me directly into a clump of bamboo that smacks the top of my head. “That’s as far as I can get.”
“I’m good.” I wiggle between the bamboo, holding on to the machete with one hand and pulling myself along. When the ground feels firmer, I test planting my feet down. This feels different. There’s mud between my toes. I glance back out at my right shoe. “Here.” I hand the machete over my head to Rockwell.
“Got it.”
I pull off my one shoe and hand it to him. Holding on to the end of the doubled twine, I plunge back into the mud.
“What the fuck, Green?”
I repeat the whole damn thing. Only this time, the mud is stirred up and everything takes twice as long. It’s fucking horrible. Going out to get my shoe, there’s nothing to hold on to.
When he pulls me back up and I stand next to him, my mud-soaked shoe in hand, he’s livid.
“You could have told me my shoe fell off.”
He doesn’t stop walking. We take the long way around the bamboo, taking each step with care. Being barefoot, I do it doubly so. Rockwell hasn’t said anything since he tossed me the rope.
The more we walk, the angrier I get. “If you’d told me my shoe had fallen off, we could have saved an hour.”
“You are a complete ass.” Each word is its own threat.
I’ve been threatened before, by a lot scarier and bigger guys. “Yeah, so? You didn’t know that before.”
“I did. And I’m not gay or bi or bi-curious.”
I’m gobsmacked. I have no idea where the hell that came from. I look him up and down. My forehead’s furrowed. And I know I must look like my grandad after he fell into the pigpen, back when I was five. “Okay. What does it matter? I’m not either.”
“Exactly,” Rockwell says and stomps into the jungle, drying mud sloughing off his back.
Oh—it fucking dawns on me. The other night. “Wait. Rockwell, Easton.” I take a muddy step, holding on to my shoes, and catch up to him. “Hold up.” I grab his arm. “The other night, damn. That felt good. That doesn’t make you gay or bi. It doesn’t make you not bi or gay either. You know what I mean?”
He glares at me.
“I’ll take that as a no.” I run my hand over my beard, sending a spray of mud to the ground. “We’re in this thing with Haley. It’s not something that any of us—well, besides Dante—have ever done before. And things get blurred, if that makes sense. I think of you as my brother.”
He cocks his head at me.
“My brother before he fucking betrayed me.”
Easton nods.
“I love Haley, but I’m never going to love any of you guys like I love her. But that doesn’t mean I don’t...Fuck. I mean, what is love? That kind of love. I enjoy being around all of you. You all drive me fucking batty. Some of you more than others. But I like all of you. Even Dante. I wouldn’t be able to do this thing with Haley if I didn’t. And I want to keep you all fucking safe. Her, you, all of you—mentally and physically.” I hold the machete up. “It’s one of the reasons I didn’t tell you or the others about the Pomelo Beach. The place haunts me, and I don’t want—Ididn’twant—them to see it. Not until I fixed it. But I can’t fix it now, not for them. For the ones who lived here before us... I suppose I can’t fix it for them either. But I can at least give them some respect.”
“We’re not your responsibility.” Easton wipes his hands on the little bit of clean fabric on the front of his shirt. “No, I take that back. We’re each other’s responsibility. I want to keep everyone safe too. But I don’t have the same skill sets as you. Although at least I fucking knew you’re supposed to lie down in quicksand—quick-mud. That’s cartoon lesson number one.”
“I knew I had to lie down. I was just deciding if we could make it without the machete or not.”
Rockwell’s eye twitches. Which isn’t good. Because he’s really not going to like the next thing I tell him.
Chapter 20
Fair Winds
Dante
“The theme...” Haley laughs. “I sound like a stew. ‘Theme.’ I’ll just call the provisioner and have them send over... what? A case of champagne? Something environmentally-friendly, don’t you think?” She has her notebook out, her pen on the paper.
