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

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