Page 68 of Stranded

“Were you the only survivor?” Kingsley asks next.

“No,” I shake my head. “It was me and my dad.”

“Shit,” Bower whispers under his breath. His sad eyes meet mine and I nod.

“When was that?” Weston asks, and I turn to him.

“Hmm?” I ask, not understanding the question.

“How long ago did you crash here?” I squeeze my eyes shut tight, this being one of the hardest questions to answer. I’m not sure why I don‘t want to tell them, but I know it’s a big deal. And I don’t want them fearing they'd never be rescued.

“That depends, what’s today’s date?”

Kingsley glances at his watch before answering. My eyes widen slightly, hearing the date steals the breath from my lungs, even though I was pretty close with my tracking over the years, it’s different to hear the actual date after being stranded for so long.

“Zee? How long ago did you crash here?” Weston repeats his question, locking eyes with me, like he’s afraid of the answer.

“Fifteen years ago.”

Chapter twenty-seven

Weston

No, I must have heard her wrong. This sweet, kind girl has not been stranded on this island alone for fifteen fucking years.

Everyone is silent as we take in the enormity of what she’s finally confessed to us. I knew it must have been more than a year, but I had guessed maybe two, notfifteen.

A sudden thought has my eyes widening. “How old were you?”

“Thirteen,” she answers, biting her lip nervously.She was still a kid.

“At least you had your dad with you. When did he pass?” Kingsley asks gently, because we all know he’s buried on this island, having seen the grave marker, and knowing she’s alone now, it’s easy to put two and two together.

Her eyes drop to her lap at the question, the answer clearly making her uncomfortable. When she speaks, it’s barely a whisper. “I’ll tell you, but I’m not ready to talk about what happened yet.”

“That’s okay, you don't have to tell us the details unless you want to,” Kingsley reassures her. I’m glad he does because I feel like I can’t speak right now, that anything I say will come out sounding angry and upset.Because I am. I’m fuming that she’s been stuck out here all this time. But I’m not mad ather, I’m mad at the situation.

“It was four months after arriving here.”

A pained groan leaves my lips and I drop my head into my hands. It’s all so much worse than I expected. Four months?Four god-damned months?That means she’s been alone for over fourteen and a half years. How is she so normal? She missed her entire teenage years and most of her twenties. While we were in high school and college she was out here on this island with only a lemur and a rock for company. How is she not raging at the world right now? How is she not a crazy savage?

Unable to hold myself back anymore I stand and move over to her as I not so gently grumble for King to move out of my way. I help her sit up and move most of the pillows to the side before slotting myself in their place. I’m careful not to jostle her propped up ankle as I get her situated between my legs, her back to my chest. I wrap my arms around her tightly, dropping my head to her shoulder and closing my eyes.

Her hands come up to grip my arm as she tilts her head against mine. “Weston?” she asks softly.

“I just need to hold you right now, baby.”

“Okay.”

Okay.That one word crushes me even more. She’s the one that should be falling apart right now, and yet she easily concedes to what I need without a second thought.

Bower comes to sit beside King, his hand resting just above her knee as he gently rubs his thumb back and forth over her skin. King regains her left hand, and we all sit there, silently holding her as we try to come to terms with what she’s admitted. She’s barely told us anything, and yet, its magnitude isn’t lost on any of us.

After a while, I press a kiss on the soft skin of her shoulder. “I can’t believe you’ve been out here that long. I knew it had been awhile, but fifteen years? It’s unimaginable.”

She reaches a hand out towards the wall and strokes a finger down one of the marks. I realize now there is a heavy concentration of them around this height, with far fewer at the top of the wall, and my heart clenches, realizing what they are.

“Tally marks,” I whisper in anguish.

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