Page 43 of Leave Before I Love You
“Help us! We’re down here!” Avery screams animalistically, her voice a mix of a cry and a cheer, and for far from the first time here, I knowexactlywhat she’s feeling. Reality feels stretched and hope restored, and yet, in the back of my mind, I still have all the fears and questions I’ve been packing away for the last two weeks.
Fears of letting in expectation, fears of what’s to come of us when we’re no longer in this tropical bubble.
“Hey!” I yell, my voice cracking ever so slightly as I try to make it as loud as humanly possible.
Avery grabs on to my arm and squeezes, and for the briefest moment of time, both of us look away from the approaching rescue-savior to look at each other.
Her hazel eyes are tired and withdrawn and her body frail, and I know I must look the same. It’s obvious the timing of this rescue is saving us from some truly challenging times, and that if left much longer, the damage to our health might be irreparable.
And yet, there’s a scariness to the idea of going back to everything outside of here without a handbook for how to handle it, and I don’t know the right words to say to comfort her.
To reassure her that it’s her and me against the world, always.
To tell her that this island woke me up to all the things that truly matter in this life—and that at the top of the list is her.
Once, Avery Banks, my best friend’s little sister. But now, so much fucking more.
She turns back to the approaching help and waves her arms in the air, bouncing up and down over and over and over, her stretched-out sweater nearly falling off her.
“Avery!” I yell over the whooshing sound of the helicopter blades. They’re close now, and I feel a desperation down to my bonesto say something to her—anything to convey what she means to me. “Avery!”
She turns to look at me briefly and then back to the orange-and-white Coast Guard helicopter before I can get anything through the dry confines of my thick throat. Thwarted, I follow her gaze back to the helicopter as it turns to the side, revealing the relieved faces of Beau, Ronnie, and Maverick in the open side door.
They’re shouting, waving, alive with relief, but within seconds, the Coast Guard crew pushes them back, stepping forward as the aircraft maneuvers for landing.
And then it hits me. A sharp, breath-stealing realization.
This is it. It’s really happening.
The past two weeks of survival, of desperation, of clinging to each other like lifelines, of pretending that this island was the only world that existed—
It’s over.
The weight of it slams into me all at once, and my knees buckle.
I collapse into the water, my chest heaving, my senses overwhelmed, and my mind unable to catch up to the reality we’ve spent days chasing.
Avery falls next to me, pulling me into a crushing hug and burying her face into the hollow of my neck. I cling to her, one arm tight around her back, the other shielding her from the crushing wind of the blades.
I should be looking at the helicopter. I should be watching as it descends to the sand, kicking up embers from the dying fire.
I should be feeling nothing but relief. But all I can see and feel is her.
It’s really happening. They found us. We’re rescued.
But somehow, it doesn’t feel like I’m being saved.
Avery
Beau hugs me tightly as the sound of the helicopter roars around us, his genuine cries of relief slicking the skin of my shoulder with a sheen of tears Henry and I have long since lost the ability to produce. I know he’s overwhelmed—and I even appreciate it, seeing as I’ve been freaking missing for nearly two weeks and this is the proper response to that—but my insides feel hollow, my emotions nearly empty.
A coastguardsman takes my pulse from behind Beau’s back before smiling and shoving away to head for the front, and another works over by Henry, doing much the same.
I try desperately to draw from my normally quick-trigger well of tears and tantrums, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to feel anything. I don’t know if I’m too tired or too hungry or too traumatized, but my body is in overdrive, and even the feel of my rib cage as my abs try to stabilize with the motion of the helicopter is overstimulating.
“Avery, my God. Oh, Ave, it’s so fucking good to see you,” my brother rambles on, his heart so far down his sleeve it’s practically painted all over his hand. He rubs at my back, and even though the feeling is abrasive against my sun-worn skin, I don’t tell him to stop.
It feels nice to be loved and missed and appreciated, and he smells sofamiliar and clean and real.
