Page 44 of Thawed Gladiator: Varro

I rummage through the supplies left in the compound, more to keep my hands busy than out of any real need. My fingers brush against a half-empty bottle of lotion. I’d wondered where that went. Goodness knows, between the cold weather and the manual labor, my hands are like sandpaper.

The animal part of my brain, which hasn’t been satisfied in well over a month, shoots me a picture of the rabbit, and then taunts me with the huge monster jerking and leaking under Varro’s gray sweats. The rabbit comes in a distant second place, though I wish I’d had the forethought to have brought it with me. I could take care of business here.

No. I shake my head, pushing the thought away. That’s exactly the kind of thinking that got me into this mess.

“Face it, Laura,” I say out loud, my voice echoing in the empty room. “You’re stuck on an island with the hottest guy you’ve ever met, and you can’t do a damn thing about it.” Not if I want to keep a shred of dignity—or my sanity.

I laugh, but it comes out sounding more like a sob. God, what a mess.

I sink down onto a camp chair, burying my face in my hands. I need to figure this out, need to find a way to coexist with Varro without constantly yearning to do things with him that will ultimately break my heart.

“Okay.” I sit up straight. “Let’s break this down.”

Fact one: I’m attracted to Varro. No use denying it.

Fact two: Varro’s attracted to me. Also, pretty obvious.

Laura, stop picturing the little wet spot that was growing on his sweats before you ran out of the cottage.

Fact three: Varro’s past trauma makes it impossible for him to be emotionally present during intimacy.

Fact four: I refuse to be sexual with someone who’s not fully there.

I nod to myself, feeling a little calmer now that I’ve laid it all out. It’s not a great situation, but at least I know where I stand.

“So that’s it.” My tone is firm. “We keep things platonic. No more mixed signals, no more lingering glances. Not even any more cucumber jokes. Just two friends, trying to survive on a deserted island.”

It sounds simple when I say it like that, but I know it won’t be easy. Still, what choice do I have? I can’t change Varro’s past, can’t magically heal his trauma. And I won’t compromise my own needs and boundaries, no matter how tempting it might be. In the long term, it’s a recipe for disaster.

I stand up, once again full of resolve. This is the right decision. It has to be.

As I gather a few useful items to take back to the cottage, I make a silent vow to myself. No matter what happens, no matter how hard it gets, I’ll stick to this plan. Varro and I will be friends, nothing more.

I climb into the UTV, my heart heavy but my mind clear. It’s time to head back and face the music. Whatever happens next, at least I’m clear about what I want, and why.

The engine cranks to life, and I point the vehicle toward home. Toward Varro. Toward whatever the future holds for us on this forsaken island.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Laura

I wake up to the sound of Varro humming softly as he stokes the fire. The familiar melody brings a smile to my face before I even open my eyes. It’s become our morning routine—him waking first, tending to the hearth, while I slowly rejoin the land of the living.

“Morning, Laura.” His English is crisp and clear. He sings along to the pop music we listen to almost every day. Because of that, his speech is a far cry from the halting, heavily accented words that were his first attempts. Just another reminder of how much time has passed here on our little slice of heaven.

And it really is a slice of heaven. For the last two months, the weather has closed in and without Varro’s help, I most certainly would have died. The stream froze so hard that I can now walk over it.

Each night we batten down the hatches, stoke the fire with logs that Varro felled and chopped, and we huddle in sleeping bags covered with extra blankets as we listen to the howling wind outside, flurries of snow sneaking under the door frame.

Some nights it gets so cold that Varro pulls our beds together in front of the fire and tells me wintery folktales. We’re in our ownfrozen little world, the center of a snow globe, with the outside world whirling around us as we find peace in here.

People pay thousands of dollars for cozy cabins in the snowy wilderness. I guess I’m just lucky that mine comes with a handsome gladiator thrown in for free.

“Morning,” I mumble, sitting up and stretching. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

Varro grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, I thought we might watch trellavision, then put our dirty clothes in the cleaning machine. You know, the usual.”

I snort, throwing my pillow at him. He catches it effortlessly, laughing. “Smart ass,” I retort, but I’m smiling too. “By the way, it’stelevisionand thewashingmachine, but man, you obviously have a gift for languages. Your English is fantastic.”

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