Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
We fall into silence, the kind that lingers, stretching between us like something tangible. My fingers trace absent-minded circles over his chest, and I feel the deep, even rise and fall of his breathing.
When I tilt my head, Henry’s already looking at me.
His gaze is steady, unreadable but intent, and for a moment, I forget about the island, the search parties, the hunger gnawing at my stomach. There’s only this. This quiet space between us, where everything—every unsaid word, every lingering touch—feels magnified.
Neither of us speaks. Neither of us moves.
But I feel the shift, the subtle draw, like gravity pulling us closer. My breath catches. The warmth of his skin radiates against mine, and I don’t know who leans in first, but suddenly, he’s impossibly close. So close I can count the sun-kissed freckles on his nose and feel the heat of his breath against my lips.
Just a little closer—
A rustling sound from deep in the forest shatters the moment.
I jolt, eyes widening as I whip my head toward the trees. “What was that?”
Henry doesn’t seem the least bit rattled, though his muscles tense briefly beneath me. He listens for a second, then shrugs. “Probably a hutia.”
I blink at him. “A hu-whata?”
“A hutia. They’re nocturnal rodents—think big guinea pigs. They live on a bunch of Caribbean islands.”
I stare at him, my entire body still on edge. “You’re telling me there are giant island rats lurking in the woods right now?”
Henry chuckles and shakes his head. “Not rats. More like oversized squirrels. They’re harmless.”
“Harmless,” I echo, unconvinced. “Big island rats doesn’t feel fucking harmless to me, Henry.”
“They eat leaves. Not people.” He smirks, tucking a stray piece of my hair behind my ear. “I promise, they’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”
“That’s debatable,” I mutter, still eyeing the darkened tree line.
He chuckles, his hand sliding into my hair like usual, fingers threading through the strands in lazy strokes. “You’ll survive. I promise. And if one of those big island rats tries to ambush us, I’ve got your back.”
I sigh, still a little wary but too tired to argue.
Henry exhales and shifts slightly. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”
I nod, slowly moving my limbs from their slumber enough to pull my body off his. I move to sitting but don’t get much farther before Henry scoops me up in his strong arms and carries me.
If I weren’t so tired, I’d fight it.
Or maybe I wouldn’t. I don’t know. The longer I’m here, the less I’m starting to understand.
Henry tucks us both into the tent and lies down in the center, pulling me into what’s become our position. I rest my arm across his abs and my leg across his legs, tangling at the ankles. He plays with my hair with the hand behind my back, and I nuzzle into his chest until it feels like a nice pillow.
I’m undoubtedly getting the better end of the deal—all he gets is the hard ground.
And the familiarity of it all should be comforting, but my mind keeps replaying the moment that almost was. I shouldn’t still be thinking about the way he looked at me. About the heat in his gaze. About how we’ve kissed before, yet this—this almost-kiss—felt entirely different.
I nuzzle into his chest, trying to focus on the steady rhythm of his breathing instead of the chaotic beat of my own heart.
“Hush now, little bird with special wings,” Henry starts to sing, the mesmerizing lull of his voice putting me directly into my comfort zone just like it has for the last three nights. “Rest your head and your mind, for now it’s time. Close your eyes, and hush now, little bird with special wings.”
I let him get through another verse, sleep tugging at my every molecule, the soft pull of his fingers in my hair, and when he’s about to start over, I ask the question I’ve been carrying since he sang this the first night.
“What is this song, Henry?” My voice feels harsh despite the softness of my whisper because of how silent it is around us, and his fingers pause in my hair for just the hint of a moment before continuing again.
“My mother used to sing it to put me to sleep when I was little.”
I nod against his chest and then venture another question—one I know I probably don’t have the right to ask, but one I’ve wondered about for a very long time. “What happened to her?”
“She left,” he says simply. “My dad said she had a history of mental health problems, and something broke in her to where she couldn’t handle being a mom anymore.”
My heart beats fast with heartache and a laundry list of follow-up questions, but I don’t ask any of them. I don’t say anything. Between my swirling emotions, Henry’s singing, and the heat of our tangled bodies, this tent feels full enough. So I just hold on to him tighter, like somehow, I can make up for all the years he went without.