Page 45 of My Grumpy Billionaire Soccer Star

A few hops and grips later, I am atop the peach tree, selecting the juiciest fruits and hauling them to the ground. She gathers the fruits into the hem of her dress, creating a makeshift basket. I climb down when I think we have enough, and we start making our way back to the seashore.

As we walk back in silence, she stumbles twice over objects that one wouldn’t normally have any problem avoiding. First, a small, almost insignificant stump, and second, a pile of dried leaves.

I suspect it must be from the fruits she is carrying, so I offer to carry them, but she firmly declines.

“Are you okay?” I finally asked after we’ve walked some more.

She says yes, but her trembling voice causes me to stop and regard her. Her black hair is strewn into a mess, with long, loose strands draping over her forehead and temple, partially obscuring her face.

“Look at me, Rachel.”

She doesn’t need to look at me before I notice that she is shivering, but when she eventually does, her face is as white as a ghost, and her eyes dim.

A pang of worry gnaws at my stomach, and I ask again, “Are you okay?”

Obviously, she’s not. But still, out of panic, I ask.

She says yes again, and I blurt out, “No, you’re not okay.”

I removed my jacket, which, thankfully, has dried from the sea breeze, and wrap it around her. “I am taking these,” I say as I drop all eight fruits on the floor. I remove my shirt and tie the sleeves together into a knot, making a makeshift sling sack. I put the fruits in it and throw it over my shoulder.

With an arm wrapped around her and the other holding the hem of my shirt, we continue toward the shore. But it seems the more we walk, the sicker she becomes. She misses her steps several times, and I have to quickly grab her to prevent her from falling.

“I am sorry for stressing you out, Vaughn,” she says in a faint voice.

“Shh, conserve your energy. You can apologize when you get better.”

At this point, she’s gasping for breath. I contemplate carrying her in my arms, but then an idea strikes me: since we’ve gotten close enough to the shores, we might as well camp here for thenight. The shore will only get colder as nighttime approaches. That won’t be favorable for a shivering Rachel.

She’s your responsibility as long as you’re stuck here with her,a voice in my head says. But what do I do in such a situation?

I lower her gently onto the grass, and she lies sprawled on the floor. What started as a simple shiver now seems to have transformed into full-blown trembling, exacerbating my panic.

What should I do? What if she dies?

I shake my head to dispel the thoughts. I look up and silently beg the heavens for intervention. Still, all I see is the sun’s radiant beams reduced to a mere twinkle—nighttime is drawing closer.

As if our luck couldn’t get worse, rain clouds slowly begin to form, and I swear I almost scream in frustration. I have heard stories of people stranded at sea or abandoned islands, and to think we’re going through all this despite not having even spent a full day is terrifying.

What if this is just the beginning of our suffering?

I imagine several of my teammates lodging in the expensive hotels scattered all around Melbourne in preparation for the promotion tomorrow. I imagine that Coach McLauren has called me several times without success and is probably wondering what happened. I curse my luck for turning out this way. If only, if only there was at least a cell phone in hand!

But what am I to do? It’s my luck. I might as well make the best out of it.

“Are those . . . clouds?” I hear her faint voice again, snapping me out of my self-pity.

“Yes, but don’t worry. We will be fine.”

As if fueled by the panic raging inside me, my survival instincts get triggered, and an idea strikes me: There’s enough material in the forest to make a not-so-bad makeshift tent. I will have tobank on the possibility that it won’t rain heavily, and if it does rain heavily, then I guess we’re cooked.

I get back up on my feet and find some medium-sized branches off a nearby hardwood tree. Afterward, I dig four holes using a stump I found lying around and bury one end of four branches in each hole, angling them so that their other ends meet in the center. I obtained some vine from a passionfruit tree and secured the meeting point to a reasonable stability.

Next, I gather a whole lot of long grasses and palm fronds and layer them onto the framework, creating a tent.

By the time I’m done, more clouds have gathered, so I help Rachel to get into the tent and rest her head on a pile of grass as a pillow.

Rachel falls asleep as soon as her head hits the grass, but she’s running a temperature that only doubles my panic. Her epileptic shivering has subsided, replaced with a lighter version.

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