But I didn’t.

The moment was gone.

The breeze brushed away the tension with combs of wind and the beach exhaled unhappily.

Why did I do that?

Why was I so afraid?

Dawn broke and the sun rose and I still didn’t have an answer.

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

The next night, I followed the sandy trail toward the shore in total darkness.

I needed to breathe. Just stare at the waves and demand answers they couldn’t give.

A ball of sorrow lodged in my throat. That ball of sadness was never far away—how could it when we were marooned and forced to shed the glamour and pampered ease of living in a city? How could it when I’d once again screwed up where Galloway was concerned?

No matter the accomplishment we’d achieved from shedding the glitz of modern conveniences and learning how to gather and create, hunt and prepare, it was nothing if I couldn’t balance happy relationships.

He hadn’t talked to me all day.

We’d gone about our tasks. We’d prepped and ate and swam and drank. And not one word. Even the children had been quiet, sensing something wasn’t quite right between us.

The icing-sugar sand slipped through my toes as I moved closer to the lapping sea. The world continued on, regardless of night and day, but there was a difference when darkness replaced sunshine. Things shed their harsh reality and became magical, mystical. The blue of the ocean became silver-black from the moon. The palm trees became ghostly sentries keeping us sheltered. And the universe as a whole cocooned us with galaxies we could only dream of visiting.

I peered into the gloom, looking for Galloway. After not talking to me all day, he hadn’t come to bed, working all hours to finish the house.

I wanted to chase after him and apologise. Finally come clean as to what terrified me and how refusing him carved pieces out of me until I was hollow with want.

But I didn’t.

Because my reasoning was weak and made no sense. He’d curse me for not telling him sooner and giving him the chance to solve the issue instead of hiding it from him.

Sitting on the sand, the cool dampness soaked through my shorts. I looked at the starry horizon.

“Am I going to die here?” My whisper kissed the moon. “Will I die and never see Madeline again? Will I forever be mother and protector to two children and never be allowed to submit to the man I’ve fallen in love with?”

I held my breath as my questions threaded with the wind, dispersing each vowel in different directions.

North, south, east, west.

No answer from the useless compass.

No premonition.

No extra splash from the waves or twinkle from the stars.

Nothing.

I didn’t know how long I sat there mourning my life, my future, my present, but after a while, the melancholy in my blood turned to anger.

I’d survived.

I’d nurtured two small humans. I’d healed a fully grown man. I’d proven my self-worth over and over again.

And I had no one else to blame but myself for not having Galloway.

What am I doing?

Shooting to my feet, I waded into the water, welcoming the warm liquid to lap around my calves.

The sea was abnormally low tonight. We’d all become rather indebted to the tide. It washed away our dreams, our fears, our wishes. Every message we wrote in the sand was soothed by the briny waves.

Kicking the water, droplets rained around me. Back in society, I’d lost the ability to feel pride of accomplishment and beauty in small things, brushing them under a rug of indifference and the endless desire for more. More wealth, more safety, more friends, more love, more, more, more.

But here...our world was simplified. We no longer had to compete with one another; we survived because we fought side by side. We no longer felt envious of another’s happiness because day after day, we garnered joy for staying alive in a hostile world.

The simple pleasures of feeling sand through my fingers or seeing rainbows in droplets had made me full again. The muse for my song writing had become a vicious mistress, driving me to find inspiration in the randomest of places.

Looking toward the camp, something caught my eye. Indents in the sand, lettering scratched by a twig, just waiting for the sea to wash its secretive confession away.

I frowned.

That’s strange.

Pip and Conner hadn’t wanted to do the messages tonight, opting instead for a large bonfire to commiserate the number of months we’d been here. The calendar on my phone helped us keep track, but it also kept us very aware of how long it had been.

If they didn’t write them, then who...

Wading out of the water, I drifted closer.

The honest scrawl slipped down my throat and yanked my stomach from its home.

I’m hurting. I’m angry. I want the memories of what I did to leave me alone. I want to be a good person again. I want her so fucking much. I want to taste and touch. I want to lick and stroke. I want to be off this goddamn island so I might stand one chance with her.

I hugged myself as my heart lost its flying feathers and plummeted.

I’d done this.

I’d hurt him.

Over and over again.

The tide wasn’t close to wiping away the words or the passion dripping from them.

Sucking in a breath, my nipples tingled at the ferocious need permeating the penmanship.

Galloway wanted me.

I had the power to make him happy. I could help him forget whatever he’d done.

This was no longer about me.

It was about him.

Chapter Thirty-Eight