I can’t answer, so I nod my head slightly.
“Do you need me to help you back to your place?”
My nod up and down turns into a shake back and forth.
“Okay, then. Go ahead and head back. I’ll be here in the main house if you absolutely need me, but your safest location is going to be in one of the cottages.”
Ever so slowly, I spin around and walk back outside into the pouring down rain. Not bothering to run back, I trudge back to Davis’ place, completely having forgotten about bringing him breakfast or to tell Isaac he’s sick. As I walk up to the porch, my train of thought is thrown off-course as I find the table from inside out on the deck, covered by one of the sheets like a table cloth and adorned with several lit candles.
“What in the—” my question is cut off as a smiling Davis appears exiting the sliding glass door, freshly showered, dressed only in low-hung cargo shorts, and carrying two glasses of champagne.
“Hey, you,” his eyes drop to my empty hands, “where’s the food?”
“Huh?”
“The food, silly. I was surprising you by pretending I was sick so I could set up a breakfast here for the two of us.” He sets the glasses down and hurries over to me. “What’s wrong, Bristol? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. This was supposed to be a good thing . . . and you’re soaked to the bone.”
“I . . . I uh,” I stammer as he taps my arms, silently requesting for me to lift them in the air. I comply and he pulls the wet tank top over my head.
“Yes . . . you what, babe?” He kneels down, sliding my mud-covered flip-flops off my feet. “What’s going on?”
My brain is complete mush right now. Between finding out about the tropical storm and his little breakfast surprise, I’m having trouble not breaking down right now. “There’s a bad storm coming,” I rasp.
Still on his knees in front of me, he unbuttons and unzips my shorts and works the wet denim down my legs, leaving me in just my bikini. “There. That’s better.” Leaning forward, he softly kisses my stomach before standing up. “Now . . . what storm? What are you talking about?”
My body shivers—not from being cold, but with fear—as I get ready to relay everything Isaac told me. “A tropical storm popped up yesterday. They say it won’t hit here, but it could be really windy and rainy for a few days. We have to stay in the cottages, and they’re going to bring us supplies and coolers with food and drinks,” I blurt out as fast as possible.
“Really?” he exclaims, walking back over to the chairs and sitting down. “That’s crazy cool . . . adds a little excitement to the trip.”
Not moving from where I stand, I close my eyes to keep from crying. This most certainly isn’t cool. Not in the least bit.
“Bristol? Why are you still standing over there? Come sit down with me and have a drink.” He pats his lap and holds out a glass to me. “We’ll eat when they bring around the food. I think I have some Chex mix and granola bars I brought from home somewhere in my room if you’re really hungry.”
Opening my tear-filled eyes, I stare directly at him and whisper, “I can’t do this.”
The next thing I know, I’m being lifted into his arms and huddled against his chest as he carries me over to the chair. He sits us down and looks at me—really looks at me—and I know he understands why.
“I’m so sorry, baby.” He kisses the tears rolling down my cheeks, rocking me against him. “I didn’t even think about why or what . . . God, I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk about it? I’m no therapist, but I can be a good listener. I promise.”
I laugh softly through the sniffles. “No, I don’t want to talk about it, but thank you for offering. I know you don’t like to talk about this stuff. I’m just scared.”
He gently cups my face and kisses the tip of my nose. “There’s nothing to be scared of, Bristol. If you stay with me, I can assure you of that. If a plane falling twenty thousand feet from the sky didn’t kill me, a pussy-ass tropical storm sure isn’t. The people who run this place go through lots of storms here in the Caribbean; we’ll do exactly what they say and we’ll be fine.”
I want to believe him; I really do, but I can’t make this overwhelming cloud of anxiety inside me just go away. Unfortunately, I really have no option other than to stay here with Davis and pray he and Isaac are right.
“Hand me the champagne,” I mumble. “This’ll probably be better if I’m drinking.”
He chuckles and hands me the glass he’d already poured. “It’s how I made it through the flight here.”
“Yeah, well, I’m gonna pass on eight shots of Jack, crazy ass.” I take a sip, relaxing a little against him. “Maybe a little vino and a nice nap will help my nerves.”
Nuzzling his face into the crease of my neck, his fingers land on my belly and begin to lightly brush back and forth across the bare skin. “I’ve got a few other ideas to keep your mind off the storm too.”
Sheets of rain continue to fall down all around us as we sit cuddled together on the porch, his teasing hands flitting across my body, each tender caress making me forget more and more about my fears.
Maybe the storm won’t be so bad after all.
AS PROMISED, A COUPLE of hours later, a small truck stops outside the cottage and Jerry from down at the beach, dressed in a big yellow poncho, comes jogging up onto the deck carting a cooler with a large brown paper bag on top of it.
“Hey, you two,” he addresses us with a polite smile. “Sorry to bother, but I’ve brought you some food and other stuff to get through the next day or so. Hopefully you won’t need most of it, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
His arrival revitalizes the panic and anxiety that had somewhat subsided thanks to Davis’ magical hands and mouth. I jump up out of the hammock we’re lying in, watching the never-ending downpour, hopeful he’ll also have an update on what’s going on.
“Is there any news on the storm?” I inquire, walking over to the stuff he’s sat down, with Davis fast on my heels. “When should we expect the worst?”
“I’m not sure, Miss Bristol,” he replies. “I’ve been busy getting these kits together with the rest of the staff, so I haven’t gotten a chance to get an update from earlier.”
I frown, not at him, just in general. “Okay, thank you for dropping all this by. I hope you have somewhere to stay safe.”
He nods at me. “I’ve got another set of goods to get from the truck. We packed them for each room, and since you’re here, I’ll leave yours too, unless you want me to take it over to your place.”
“Here is fine,” Davis pipes up, making the decision for me that I’ll be staying with him throughout the storm. “I’ll help you grab it.”
“No need for you to get wet, man,” he disputes. “I’ll be right back.”
Jerry leaves after bringing the second set of supplies, and Davis and I move inside the cottage to go through the food and supplies they’ve left and to make some lunch. Each cooler contains six bottles of water, four containers of juices, storage bags with assorted cold cuts and cheeses, and a variety of pre-cut fresh fruit. Inside the sacks is a flashlight, two extra packs of batteries, a deck of cards, a first aid kit, a small loaf of bread, and a bottle of wine. We both laugh as we pull out the final item from the collection of materials. The Ti Kaye employees are obviously on the same page we are.
“Okay, first thing’s first,” he announces matter-of-factly. “We need to eat.”
“I won’t argue with you one bit,” I say, grabbing the bread and lunchmeat.
Together, we each build ourselves a ham and cheese sandwich with a little bit of fruit on the side. Less than five minutes later, we’ve both inhaled every last crumb of the sandwiches, our stomachs grateful to finally be fed. Once we’re finished, I put away everything we don’t use except the flashlights and batteries, which I leave out for easy access.
Without a television or internet in the rooms, and not having the luxury of the beach or other activities, Davis and I are left sitti
ng on his bed, staring at each other as we figure out how to pass the time. Typically, we don’t have any problems talking to each other. From the time we first met, conversation between us has never been tense or awkward, even when he was being a dick. But now, with my worries and doubts about what’s going to happen with the storm, I suddenly feel insecure and vulnerable.
“You want to play some cards?” he suggests. “I can teach you how to play poker.”
“Absolutely!” I jump at the proposition, mostly to give myself something else to focus on, but partly to teach him how to play poker. Grabbing one of the decks from a bag, I pull the cards out of the box and begin to expertly shuffle them. “I’m assuming you want to play Texas Hold ‘Em, but I can deal Stud or Omaha too if you like?”
He chuckles at my enthusiasm. “Why do I have a feeling I’m about to get schooled?” Standing up, he walks over to open one of the bottles of wine. “Let me guess. You’re an avid sports fan and a world-renowned poker player,” he jokes, pouring the dark ruby liquid in two glasses, then handing me one.
I grin like the Cheshire cat and take a drink of the fruity wine, which is better-tasting than I expect. I may go back home an alcoholic after this trip. “Not exactly world-renowned, but I frequent a few home games around campus.”
“Of course you do,” he teases as he sits down across from me, “because you’re like a walking Little Miss ESPN—sports analyst, poker player . . . I bet next you’re gonna tell me you won gold in the X-games before too.”
“Where do you think I got my name from?” I ask with a sassy smirk. “ESPN’s main headquarters is located in Bristol, Connecticut. I was born to be their spokesperson.”
Bending forward, he steals a quick kiss from my lips. “I hope you make it there one day, Trouble. They wouldn’t know how lucky they were if you did.”
I push him away from me and shake my head laughing. “I’ll be sure to let them know you give your seal of approval, but stop trying to butter me up so I take it easy on you.” Tapping the top of the cards, I glance around. “Now what are we playing for?”
He waggles his eyebrows as his gaze sweeps over my body, still dressed only in my bikini from earlier. “Seeing we don’t have anything else, I guess we’ll have to play strip poker.”
“That’s totally not fair,” I contend. “I only have on a swimsuit.”
“I only have on two items of clothing too,” he points at his shorts and boxers. “Plus, if you’re as good as you think you are, it shouldn’t be an issue.”
With an exaggerated roll of my eyes, I concede, knowing damn well where this is going to end . . . not that I mind much. The thing with playing heads-up poker, especially if you’re not playing for real money, is you’re only as good as the cards you’re dealt, and unfortunately for me, the first two hands I deal are flat out terrible. With no more articles of clothing to lose, the card game is over as quickly as it starts, but then the real fun begins.
Davis strips out of his clothes in two seconds flat and has me pinned against the mattress, his mouth and hands seemingly touching every part of me at once. For the next couple of hours, we break-in every piece of furniture and all four walls of his cottage, alternating between teasing each other and flat-out fucking.
I’ve never experienced anything so physically demanding yet gratifying before in my life. He bends and moves me into positions I didn’t even know existed, but sure as hell won’t ever forget. At one point, we stop briefly to grab a quick snack and drink—fuel for the next rounds—but even that somehow turns into an erotic act involving us eating fruit off of each other’s body. I don’t think I’ll ever look at a pineapple ring the same way again . . . my attempt to eat it off the tip of his cock ended in the best, sweetest, most juicy blowjob in the history of the world. I’m sure of it.
Somehow, we end up back in the bed, and after a little while of the well-known face-down-ass-up position, our sticky, sweaty bodies detonate together in a final passionate explosion before we both collapse out of sheer exhaustion. The last thing I remember before slipping away into a much needed sleep is listening to our labored breathing mixed with the sound of steady rain beating down outside.
Sitting and waiting in the bathtub
Alone
So very alone
“MOMMY!!! DADDY!!!”
Wind
Rain
Wind
Everything is so noisy, I can’t even hear my own screams
I think my ears are going to bust
Loud
Loud
Louder
I cry into my knees, tighten my arms around my head
Hard
Hard
Harder
The roof is gone, all at once
Rain falls all around me
I hold on to the side of the tub
Holding
Crying
Praying
Then it all stops
Suddenly
No rain
No wind
Just dark and quiet
Lying and waiting in the bathtub
Alone
So very alone
My entire body shakes with fear as I jolt awake, gasping for air. Breathe, Bristol, breathe. I try to look around the room, but everything is pitch black, and loud . . . so very loud. The rain pummels the windows and roof as the wind howls a low, malicious warning.
I have no idea what time it is, and I’m too afraid to get out of bed to look. Davis is asleep next to me; I can feel his leg resting against mine. I don’t want to wake him up, but I don’t want to be alone.
They said the storm wouldn’t be that bad, but it sounds so much worse than bad. Chills run up my spine as I curl into a ball, trying to stop the shivering. But I can’t. I’m freezing and I’m sweating. My heart hammers out a cry of desperation that only my ears can hear. I’ve always thought maybe I deserve to die, but now I know I’m not ready.
Not ready at all.
I’M NOT QUITE SURE if it’s the trembling bed, the sound of muffled sobs, or the squall-like conditions outside that wake me from my near-comatose state, but regardless, I shoot straight up in the bed, not even having remembered falling asleep, innately knowing Bristol needs me. There’s not a sliver of light in the room, so it takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust, but once they do, I find her at the corner of the bed, naked and huddled up in a ball with her arms squeezing tightly around her knees.
“Bristol, baby,” I whisper softly, careful not to startle her as I crawl over to where she is. “I’m right here. You’re okay. Everything’s okay.”
I don’t wait for her to even acknowledge me, much less give me permission to touch her. Nope, I scoop her right up into my arms and lift her into my lap, holding her small frame snugly against my chest. Stroking her long, messy hair, I rock her back and forth much like a parent soothing a child would, praying my presence does something to ease her distress.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” I assure her again, questioning my own words as the wind wails dangerously around the cottage. “It’s just a little storm, nothing serious. It’ll all be over soon.”
As each minute passes, I feel more and more helpless. Lying limp in my arms, she cries until I think she runs out of tears, and then she cries some more. I’m not sure if it’s actual fear of something catastrophic happening to us now, or the memories the storm is evoking inside her that truly has her so distraught. I want to ask, but I don’t, scared I’ll upset her even more. Despite the fact we’re both here because we both experienced and lived through tragic events, she and I have been good about not dwelling on our haunted pasts.
Our relationship, or whatever you want to call this thing between us, is a prime example of living in the now. Other than learning basic things about one another, we speak very little about the people we were before we arrived in St. Lucia, and any mention of the future once we leave has been completely avoided. On purpose.
Right now, I just want to be around her all the time—talking,
hanging out, seeing her face light up when I surprise her, feeling her body unravel underneath me as she finds her release . . . all of it. I’ve never been one to live in the moment; I was preparing for my football career from an early age when my parents and I realized I was leap and bounds better than anyone else my age. Then the crash changed everything.
“I was only seven,” she whispers through sniffles, drawing me back to reality, “and I was so scared.”
I squeeze her tighter to me as she begins the story. Honestly, I’m not sure I really want to hear it, but if it makes her feel better to talk about it, I’ll listen. For her.
“It was the middle of the night and my mom came running into my room, yelling for me to wake up,” she swallows hard, “’cause of the storm. Then my dad came in and told her to go get in the bathtub; there was no time to get in the shelter. He picked me up and took me into the bathroom, sitting me in the tub next to her.”
Kissing the top of her head, I silently let her know I’m still with her. I can’t even imagine how painful it must be to relive this.
“I’m not sure why he left us there. He said he’d be right back. Then my mom went to find him, and she said she’d be right back. But they never came back.” She shudders and the tears begin to fall again. She still hasn’t looked up at me, but I can feel them falling on my legs. “The tornado tore right down the middle of our neighborhood, destroying everyone and everything in its path. Everyone but me.”
My heart hurts so badly for her. I don’t know the right thing to say, if there is even a right thing. I hope just being here for her is enough.
“The rescue crew found me the next day, still sitting in the bathtub under a heap of rubble, not a single scratch on my body.” Finally, she lifts her chin out of my chest, raising her swollen, wet eyes to mine. “For years I’ve wondered why I didn’t die too. Why was I spared? What was so special about me? I’ve lived with this incredible amount of guilt that I shouldn’t be alive, even thought about killing myself on numerous occasions, but I’m too big of a coward to do it.”