Page 46 of My Grumpy Billionaire Soccer Star

Small rain droplets begin to fall, and I know it’s only going to get colder for me, but more importantly, for Rachel. So, I do the only thing I think will reduce the effect. I wear the jacket and secure Rachel inside it so she can draw warmth from my body as well as the jacket. Her face is still pale but peaceful, which is strange given the circumstances.

Hunger pangs stab at my stomach, but I can’t bring myself to eat the fruits we have collected. My hunger is more than my thirst. But what do I drink, seawater?

What would Rachel drink when she wakes up the next day?

She’s my responsibility for as long as we remain on this island for obvious reasons: if it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t be here.

As I muse on our predicament, I drift into a slow, uncomfortable sleep with the hope that things will work out better the next day than they did today.

Chapter nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Rachel

The warmth of the morning sun caresses my skin as I slowly open my eyes. My body feels much better than it did the day before—less feverish, less weak, surprisingly warm—and my throat is dry as a desert. The sun seeps through the palm fronds, forming a canopy above me, and I wonder why the treetops appear so close.

Tunnel vision?

But when I look around, I realize I am inside a structure that looks like a tent. I jolt to a sitting position and glance around. Then it hits me: I am alone!

Vaughn’s jacket is still wrapped around me. I throw it off and wriggle out of the tent.

Where has he gone? Has he abandoned me?

I glance around, my eyes darting from spot to spot, my heart thumping against my chest—still no sign of Vaughn.

The whiff of salty air and the sound of crashing waves make me run in the direction of the ocean. It is as empty as it was yesterday!

What if he made a raft out of some of the branches he collected yesterday and waited for the perfect time—for me to fall asleep—before leaving? He made a tent; making a raft wouldn’t be difficult for him, would it?

“Vaughn!” I scream his name in desperation. I knew it! I knew it was too good to be true. His kindness and concern had all been a ploy to make me feel comfortable so he could get away.

I break down in sobs, feeling betrayed.

I run back into the forest and keep running. I pass the tent and keep running. My bare feet sink into the damp soil from yesterday’s rain as I keep on running and running, screaming Vaughn’s name repeatedly. How could he even think of doing this to me—all for some stupid contract?

The hem of my dress gets caught in bushes, but I don’t care. I keep running, tears streaming down my face.

“Vaughn!” I scream again. Then, a voice calls out from the distance, making me stop in my tracks.

“Vaughn? Is that you?”

My eyes dart around, trying to figure out where the sound is coming from.

“Rachel!” he calls out again, and I finally pinpoint the location. I run, hopefully, in the right direction and stop at a tree. Looking up, I see Vaughn plucking fruits so casually, like he’s been doing this every day for a long time. He is already eating some, and I can’t help but smile.

A wave of relief and embarrassment washes over me, but I don’t care. I am just glad I am not alone in this godforsaken place. I bend down to pick up a fruit that has fallen, only tobe stopped by a sharp pain in my lower back. I try not to yell because I don’t want to bring Vaughn’s attention to it. I wish I had my medicine with me. When I went to get supplies for the trip to Australia after Vaughn dropped the news, I went home to grab some things, including my medicine. I didn’t have to worry about Archie as the next-door neighbor had agreed to babysit her until I got back. Gosh, I already miss her!

Now, I am worried about how much worse the pain will get since we’ve lost all our luggage.

“I heard you screaming my name from afar. Have you lost your way or something?” he asks, making his way down to the ground.

I grunt, “No. I thought you left me all to myself. I got scared.”

He doesn’t reply until he’s fully come down. Then, his face contorts into an expression of disbelief. “You think I’d do that? You really think I am evil enough to abandon you here all to yourself?”

How do I answer this? A pang of guilt bites at me as I contemplate how to respond.

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