Locked

Chapter Ten

I wake up alone. I’m only half conscious, images of last night spiraling around my head. For a moment, with Noah gone, I think maybe I dreamed it, maybe it was all the makings of my foggy subconscious, but then I remember his lips on my skin, and how warm his body was pressed up against mine, and I know it really happened.

“Noah?” I call. No response.

I snuggle farther down under the covers and allow myself another minute of glee. I can’t help smiling. Despite everything, I feel happy. Really, truly happy. We were together last night, and we didn’t die, nothing happened. I can feel the island bend to us. It’s warming to me, I know it is. Because we are so right together. Nothing has ever felt this true before—I belong with him.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and wrap the blanket around me. I peek into the living room. He’s not there.

I head through the kitchen and out onto the deck. The sun is up, and it’s warming the island. It’s becoming summer quickly. The air is hot and heavy. I slip the blanket off and let the sun shine down on me. It radiates from the outside in. It feels delicious. The sun is reflecting off the water—creating silver sparkles all the way out to the horizon. Everything is so beautiful, I think.

And then I hear him behind me.

I turn around and see him leaning against the doorway. His hair falls into his face, and I notice how much longer it’s gotten since we’ve been here. I wonder if I could track the days that way, the way some people do with the sun.

He doesn’t move, just watches me, but I don’t feel like I need to cover up. He’s seen every part of me now. There is nothing to hide.

“Good morning,” I say.

I walk over and kiss him. I weave my fingers through his hair and then take his hands and place them on my sides. His fingers glide against my bare skin. In the next moment we’re pressed up against the side of the cottage. I feel last night between us like a magnetic charge—drawing us closer and closer.

But something stops Noah. He unhooks me from him gently. He runs his hands down my arms and then crosses the deck and picks up my blanket. Instantly, I feel my body flush. And then he hands it to me. “We need to talk,” he says.

“I know,” I say. “I’ve been thinking—last night, nothing happened.” I blush and shake my head. “I mean, there was no fire. No tidal wave. Think about it. We were together and the world didn’t end. Noah—”

But he cuts me off. “August, you have to listen to me.” His tone is harsh. Set.

“Let me guess—you’re the mayor of this place, too. Does that job come with a better house?” I smile, but it doesn’t catch on. It doesn’t change him. And I know now that what he has to tell me is serious.

Something inside me comes crashing down. Like there was a beautiful chandelier in my chest—high, crystal, illuminated, brilliant, and it has become unhinged. It falls through my body, leaving shards of broken glass as it finally splatters. Please don’t take last night away, I silently pray. Whatever it is, please don’t say it was a mistake.

I slip the blanket over my shoulders. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

Noah sucks in his bottom lip. He paces on the porch. It’s hot out here, but now I want the blanket as close around me as I can get it.

“I went out to get some water this morning,” he starts, “and Asku was there. He said the chief wanted to see me.”

“But nothing happened,” I say again. I suddenly have the intense need to defend us. “No meteors hit. There was no lightning. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know,” Noah says. “It’s not that.” He stops moving and looks at me. I want, more than I ever have, to let him put his arms around me. To tell me that it’s all going to be okay. But whatever it is he has to say, he hasn’t, yet.

“But that’s good, right?” I say. “That’s good. I mean, then you can choose. We can—”

“August.”

I take a step closer to him. The sun beats down, and I see him squint at me.

“Whatever it is, it’s okay,” I say. “We can figure it out now.” I’m directly in front of him. “We can figure it out together.”

“I found out something,” he says. “It’s good news. Really good news.” He looks up at me, and I see how liquid his eyes are—full. Like they’re about to spill over.

I stand perfectly still. If it’s such good news, why does he look like it’s physically hurting him to get the words out?

“Ed is alive,” he says. “Maggie, too. Everyone. They were rescued by the coast guard right after the crash.”

My hands feel numb. A million emotions cascade through my body like a riptide—like they’re carrying me out to sea. Maggie is alive. Ed’s alive. They’re okay. I imagine their faces—smiling. Real. Relief covers my body like the sun.

“They’re still in Seattle,” Noah continues. “They’re still looking for you.”

“Us,” I say. “They’re looking for us.” Then: “Oh my God.”

I blink and look at him. Noah was the one who believed they were okay. He was the one who kept insisting they were alive. And he was right. He had hope.

“I know,” Noah says. “It’s amazing.”

“No, Noah, listen to me.” I hike the blanket up. “If the chief knows this, there must be a way off this island. There must be something they’re not telling us.”

Noah reaches forward. He puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m going to get you off here,” he says. “I’m going to get you back to them.”

His words spear my chest. A steel rod through my heart. You. “I’m going to get you back.” Not us, you.

“Noah,” I start, but he shakes his head.

“I promise,” he says.

I want to ask him a million questions. What did the chief say specifically? They’re alive, but were they hurt? But I get the sense now is not the time. So instead I say, “I know.” I reach my hand out slowly and touch his chest. I can feel his heart beating there—steadily and fiercely. I was so happy to be in this moment. So happy to be just with him. Thinking, maybe, we could stay this way forever. But now the moment has been punctured, and it’s spilling out. There is a future now, which means there is a past. Everything that happened before the crash. Ed. High school. Everything we were. Everything we wanted. What if we can get it all back now? What if the life we were heading toward before the crash is still the one that is meant for us?

“I should go to the stream,” Noah says. “Catch something for today.”

He puts a hand on my shoulder. And then he leans his head down—but his lips don’t meet mine. They land on my forehead. Light. Like a whisper. Like the last remaining notes of a song. “I’ll see you,” he says, and then he is gone.