And it only grew worse as more hours passed.

Part of me believed it was because we were leaving today. We were saying goodbye and pushing off into an unknown destiny. But the other part of me believed it was for something else.

Galloway.

I’m worried about him.

I flittered around him while he tightened last-minute strappings and secured extra coconuts into the kayak. I stayed busy (like we all did) to avoid the soul-sucking memories of Conner.

Pippa helped prepare Coco, dressing her in a fresh nappy and forcing the scrambling child into an old t-shirt of hers (Pippa had outgrown most of her things), and we all stopped for lunch in the noonday heat.

Once fish and prawns had been devoured, we returned to our tasks.

Galloway headed into the trees to cut down an extra branch to use as a push-off pole and I went with him to help strip the skinny trunk of twigs and leaves.

Sweat poured down his forehead as he hacked away with our blunt axe. His hollow stomach and pronounced ribs decorated him with shadows with every swing. Finally, the chosen branch snapped, soaring to the ground.

Galloway ducked to catch it.

But yanked his hand away a millisecond later. “Crap.”

“What? What happened?” A dizzy spell caught me as I shot up from my haunches.

Pressing his index to his mouth, he sucked on his injury. “I’m okay, just a splinter.”

My heart rate slowed a little. He’d had countless splinters. They weren’t anything to fear.

“Here, let me help.” Pulling his hand from his mouth, I quickly inspected where the sliver of wood punctured his digit. A small droplet of blood welled beneath his fingernail. “It’s gone into your cuticle.”

Peering closer, I pressed the swollen flesh to make sure the splinter was gone. “I can’t see anything. It must’ve just been a little prick.”

“A little prick?” His lips formed a crescent smile, doing his best at joviality.

Three months was a long time after Conner’s death.

Three months was no time at all.

I laughed quietly, doing my best to meet his effort. “Well, I wouldn’t use the word little when calling your, eh—” My eyes went to his shorts. “I’d call my husband a very well-endowed prick.”

His eyes warmed. “I’ll never tire of hearing you say that.”

“What, prick?”

“No.” He chuckled. “Husband.”

“Husband?”

“Yes, wife. Never stop calling me it.”

My heart fluttered. “I won’t.”

Seriousness replaced fake merriment. “I mean it, Estelle. We’re leaving today. Tonight who knows where we’ll be. Tomorrow...we might be alive or dead.”

He cupped my cheek, bringing me forward to kiss. “But no matter where we are, promise me we’ll always be married.”

I grasped his wrist as we kissed softly, then fiercely.

When we broke apart, I vowed, “Forever, G. You’ll always be mine and I’ll always be yours.”

We drifted off to our remaining chores, our thoughts locked on the terrifying unknown.

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

A few hours later, when I brought Galloway some water, his forehead was burning up and a hazy film covered his eyes.

Instantly, the dizziness in my blood switched to cold-sweats. “Are you feeling okay?”

He took the bottled water, guzzling it down. “I’m fine. Stop fussing.”

“I’m not fussing.”

“Yes, you are. You’ve been buzzing around me all day. What’s up, Estelle?”

He was right.

Ever since he’d hurt his finger, I’d been watching him. I couldn’t stop my paranoia—not after losing Conner. If Pippa or Coco were out of my sight for too long, I choked up and dashed to find them.

Galloway was no different.

I hated that I loved them all so much but had no power to protect them.

“I’m just worried.”

“Well, be worried about the journey, not me.” Galloway brushed past, dumping the oars by the water’s edge. “I’m fine.”

He’s not fine.

Something isn’t fine.

But what?

“G...I—something isn’t right.”

He scowled. “Don’t start that, Estelle. You know what today is. We’re not delaying any longer.”

In the past, he’d indulged my whims of instinct and listened. But today his snappy attitude stopped me from blurting my fears.

He’s right.

I shouldn’t make today any harder than it already was.

I smiled apologetically, clutched the empty water bottle, and forbid myself from touching his hot forehead again.

It took every reserve not to climb up his height and force him to sit so I could take care of him—to reassure myself that he was okay. Instead, I turned my back and headed toward Pippa and Coco to tick off our remaining items.

If he’s still hot in an hour, I’ll say something.

Only, I didn’t need to.

An hour passed and he put down the axe and disappeared into the house.

Sharing a worried look with Pippa, I trailed after him.

I found him lying on our leaf-stuffed bed with his forearm over his eyes.

My heart rolled over as I fell to my knees and touched his cheek.

Hot.

So, so hot.

Bowing over him, I kissed his lips with so much fear, so much terror, I couldn’t breathe. “G...what is it? Tell me. Please, God, tell me.”