Page 49 of The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

I wasn’t sad, but something about the sympathy in his eyes makes ancient grief stir and I have to force it back into its little box. “You’d better go pee before I pull this sleeping bag off. I don’t want you getting excited again.”

“Yeah, you’ll be pretty irresistible in three pairs of sweats. And by the way, just because something happened a long time ago doesn’t mean you aren’t still allowed to be sad about it.”

I swallow hard. It would be stupid to be sad about something that happened fifteen years ago. Especially when there’s plenty to be sad about right now.

He lifts himself from the floor in one swift move and opens the tent to go pee. I follow him out but my exit is way less graceful, my muscles screaming in protest from overuse.

“Shit,” we say at the exact same time as we step outside. The sky is a worrisome gray, the cliffs are shrouded in fog. Everything, absolutely everything, is soaking wet. Chris and Kai are on a walkie talkie with someone. They both look troubled as they explain the situation to us a moment later: the trail will be treacherous, but we only have enough food for today, and if it rains tomorrow, we’re screwed.

They leave it up to us, and as a group we vote to head back. No one wants to potentially be stuck here for several days if the weather doesn’t improve. We agree to skip breakfast just in case the trail’s washed out and we have to return.

The rain is merely a light drizzle, but by the time we’ve packed everything and have the tent put away, I’m soaked through my rain jacket and Josh is so stressed about it all that he’s stressing me out.

“I don’t like this,” he says. “Let’s leave your pack. I’ll dump my sleeping bag and the tent here and you can shove anything you want to keep in mine.”

I stare at him in shock for a moment, and slowly my chest starts to warm. He’s not worried about the trail and he’s not worried about himself. He’s just worried about me. “I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “Besides, if we get stuck up there, we might need the tent and the sleeping bags.”

I can see him trying to find an alternative, but he knows I’m right. “Promise me you’ll be careful,” he says, his jaw locked tight. “Small steps. I’m gonna be right behind you, just…” He blows out a breath and pushes a hand through his hair. “Just promise.”

I can’t think of a time in my life where anyone has cared this much about my well-being, even when I was an age where they still should have. I have to swallow hard as I nod. “I promise.”

We begin. The slope is muddy and slick. Our progress is painfully slow, and as we get higher we discover the narrow path is almost entirely washed out.

“Jesus Christ,” Josh hisses behind me. “Slow down.”

It’s in my nature to snap at even the mildest criticism, except I know he’s not criticizing me. He’s simply panicking on my behalf. I slow down.

We make little progress, and even though we skipped breakfast and don’t dawdle, it takes us far too long to finally hit Crawler’s Ledge. I cling to the side, using vines and trees and anything else I can grab. Adrenaline has my hands shaking, my heart thudding so loud in my chest it seems audible, and when I hear a suspicious noise behind me, I turn, panicked I might find him falling. “Face forward,” he barks, his voice sharp. “Don’t worry about me.”

It takes us hours to inch over the narrow paths that edge the side of the cliff. The ground is slick, the winds are occasionally strong, and the skies open sporadically, spitting just enough rain to make my chest seize up. I know if I start to slip, Josh will try to save me. It’s terrifying, more than anything else, because the odds are that I’d just pull him over the side with me.

It’s late afternoon by the time we begin our descent into the Hanakoa Valley, yesterday’s lunch stop. The trail is slick and muddy, but at least I don’t have to worry I’ll look back to discover he’s gone over the edge.

“What’s the first thing you’ll do when you get to the hotel?” I ask him, as if we are soldiers who’ve long been at war.

“Eat,” he says. “I don’t care how filthy I am, I want the biggest steak you’ve ever seen in your life. And a potato. And maybe another steak.”

I laugh. “I just want a shower. God, I want a hot shower so bad.”

“And then what?”

“Another shower.”

Thirty minutes into our slippery descent we all hear it: the sound of rushing water. Kai’s shoulders sag. “That creek from yesterday?” he says. “It’s now a raging river.”

When we reach the valley, we discover the campers who stayed down here last night are gone. Kai tells us the guide who helped them with dinner last night had the foresight to move them across the river before the bad weather started. But we have no such luck, and are forced to set up our tents inside a covered shelter near the creek’s edge. It’s so tight that we’re practically on top of each other—I could reach outside of our tent and right into someone else’s—but it’s better than trying to set up in the rain, and I don’t care where we sleep as long as I’m dry.

Josh lets me change first. I groan aloud as I remove layer upon layer of wet clothes.

“Are you okay?” Josh asks from outside the tent.

“So good,” I moan, peeling off my sports bra and my socks at last. It’s cold today and I’m in here butt naked and it’s still so much better than being covered in soggy fabric. “Ecstatic. Most importantly, I’m almost dry.”

He grunts. “I’ve never heard someone make dry clothes sound so sexual.”

I use a spare t-shirt to dry off. “It’s better than sex, believe me.”

He gives a low laugh of disbelief. “Then you’ve been sleeping with the wrong people,” he says, and I freeze in the middle of drying myself off, my stomach suddenly twisting with want. I picture him in here with me, pressing me flat to the floor, caging me in with his large body, those perfect arms braced on either side of me. And that’s probably nothing I should be picturing when we’re spending another night together, alone.