Page 71 of Blue in the Deep Blue Sea

My brother was my person, and it’s been almost a week since he was here with me.

I wiped away the tears that had slipped down my cheeks, exhausted by all of it.

Hurried footsteps came towards me, but I didn’t move an inch.

Oliver was beside me within seconds. His arms wrapped around me as he struggled to catch his breath, looking completely lost. I’d never seen him like this.

His breath brushed the back of my neck.

“Fuck, I thought I lost you.”

I closed my eyes. As much as I’d needed someone to say those words, just once in my life, with genuine fear and concern, I still pressed my palms against his bare chest and pushed him away.

“If you were so concerned about me, you shouldn’t have left in the first place.”

My eyes locked onto his.

One hand rested beside me as he crouched in front of me. His linen shirt was torn apart by the storm, and his hair was slick with salt.

“Don’t give me empty promises,” I whispered, my gaze slipping away for a heartbeat. “And if you’re going to leave again, don’t come back. This island is big enough for us never to see each other again.”

He looked at me, searching my face.

A second later, his palm was against my cheek. His thumb brushed gently beneath my eye, catching the tear before it reached my ear.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Can you forgive me?”

I shook my head, swallowing against the dryness in my mouth.

He held my gaze, one brow lifting in that infuriatingly familiar Oliver Sinclair way. Playboy. Arrogant. Complete douche bag.

“We have to get to the lighthouse,” he said. His other hand joined the first until he was cupping my face. “There’s no one else here. It’s just us, and the lighthouse is the safest place, especially at night.”

“What if I don’t want to go?” I pulled his hands away. “I can stay here.”

“I’ll carry you if I have to.”

His eyes darkened as he rose to his feet, straightening to his full height.

I rolled my eyes. “I’d like to see you try,” I scoffed. “Asshole.”

He only smiled, a grin spreading across his face as one brow arched.

I’d rather die than spend the rest of the day slung over his broad shoulders.

“You stubborn…” he muttered.

Before I could react, he moved to my side. One arm slipped around my waist, lifting me onto my feet, then, in one swift motion, he hoisted me onto his back.

“Okay, okay! I’ll walk,” I shouted, pounding my fist against his shoulder.

He hissed.

The movement tugged at his torn shirt, and for the first time I caught a clear glimpse of his back. Half of it was covered in angry purple bruises.

“Oliver,” I said softly, “you can put me down.”

“You’re barefoot,” he replied. “The path to the lighthouse is rough. It’s better this way. Trust me.”