For Better or Hearse

Chapter Thirty-Five

N athaniel runs like his life depends on it—only it’s not his life.

It’s Ash’s.

Phone held high, he hikes to the east side of the island. But he still has no service. “Fuck.” He stomps into the wild brush of the jungle. “Fuck.”

Where the hell is his family? When he gets back to Maui, he’ll murder every single one of them. He’s never been so fucking terrified. His blood is on fire; he can barely breathe.

Panic’s set in. He’s trying to hide it for Ash’s sake, but they both know it’s a nightmare scenario. She needs sugar. She needs sugar very fucking badly. Cold permeates him at the thought of what happens if she doesn’t get it.

Her life is at stake.

He squeezes his eyes shut. Fights for calm. Emotion is a luxury he can’t afford.

This is why he works out on that rig. Stay away. Stay unattached. Stay emotionless.

But he can’t. Not with Ash.

That woman activates every fight-or-flight reflex ingrained in him. He wants to take care of her. He’s protective of her. He cares for her. The thought of leaving her, the thought of her getting sick on his watch when he’s fucking helpless to help, carves up every inch of him.

I am yours. And you’re mine too.

Her words last night threw him off balance, right before they aligned within him so completely.

He doesn’t want to go back. Not to work. Not to his rig. Not on his backpacking trip. He wants more than the memory of this vacation with Ash. He wants a life with her.

There will be time to think about the future later. First, he has to get them off this island. Remain calm for Ash’s sake.

Nathaniel clenches his jaw. Stop it. Pull it the fuck together. She needs you.

Crossing a stream, he waves his phone in the air. One last desperate attempt for service. He freezes when four bars appear.

A heartbeat later, his phone lights up. A barrage of texts.

Dawg, you better not be off banging.

Where are you? Dinner’s at seven.

You’re late. You’re never late.

Nathaniel, I’m afraid to admit that I’m beginning to get worried.

He homes in on one text in particular. His mother: We’re coming. The time stamp reads four a.m.

He checks the time on his watch. It’s six.

Any minute.

Any minute, they’ll be here.

Adrenaline coursing through him, he dips his head and blows out a breath. In the stream in front of him, a Coca-Cola bottle bobs. He crouches down and picks it up.

It’s half-full.

Breath held, he twists the cap. A weak hiss. The soda is nearly flat. It’s possible it’s only been here since their tour yesterday. Regardless, it’s sugar. It’s disgusting, but it’s sugar, and it’ll work.

He’s never been so fucking thankful for litterbugs.

Bottle in hand, he runs full speed back to where he left Ash.

As he crests the final hill before the beach, she comes into view.

She’s on the sand.

Lying on the fucking sand.

Not moving.

His world tips sideways. His head goes quiet.

It’s supernatural how fast he moves. He charges across the beach. His heart thunders wildly. When he reaches her, he drops to his knees.

Her body’s slumped face down. Grabbing her by the torso, he rolls her over. Brushes black hair from her pale face. Her eyes are closed. He places two fingers to her throat. Rapid pulse. Clammy skin.

With force, he shakes her. “Ash,” he rasps, desperate for a response. “Ashabelle, wake up.”

Fear blooms in his chest, but before it can take root, a soft groan leaves her lips.

Her eyes flutter, then open. She lifts a hand to her temple. “Something bit me.”

“Yeah,” he says. His attention shifts from her to the small brown orb beside her. He tips his head back, surveys the tree, gauges the height of the fall. “A fucking coconut.”

He picks her up and carries her over to their shelter. He gets her comfortable, then crouches in front of her. “Look at me,” he orders, checking her eyes. Her pupils are fine. “Do you have a headache?”

“No.” She wrinkles her nose. “My brain feels like mashed potatoes.”

“Yeah, well, it’s still in your skull.” He exhales, relieved. If she’s concussed, it’s minor.

“You sound glad about that.”

He lets out a strained laugh. “I am glad, Ash. I am very fucking glad about that.”

For a long second, he can barely breathe. This is his job. He’s a doctor, but this is almost more than he can take.

He strokes her hair. “Stay still, okay? Stay awake.”

Ash squints at him. “You are the tallest tree trunk I’ve ever seen. Did anyone ever tell you that? No, I suppose you’re too worried about being carved up into paper products.”

“Okay,” he says slowly, torn between laughing and crying. “We’re going to sit here. ”

He props himself up against the rock and settles Ash between his legs, her back to his chest. Her skin is clammy, and it’s not from the sun. She has all the symptoms of someone in hypoglycemic shock. The crack on her head isn’t helping.

Leaning back against his shoulder, she looks up at him. “Should we make a swim for it?”

“With a head injury?” The thought fills him with amusement and pant-shitting fear. “No. Help’s on the way.” He pulls out the soda bottle. Tears off the cap and brings it to her lips. “I found this. I want you to drink it.”

Her eyes narrow in suspicion. “Where’d you get that?”

“From the 7-Eleven on the hill,” he says. “Really doing a piss-poor job of bringing in business, if you ask me.”

She pouts. “I don’t want any.”

“Now,” he orders, staving off the frustration threatening to take over. Irritability and confusion are both symptoms of low blood sugar. “Right now, Ash.” He all but manhandles the bottle to her lips.

She gives in, takes a small sip.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “Good fucking girl.”

Ash stops and sighs, as if the effort’s exhausted her.

He’s holding her, heart beating fast, ready to pour it down her throat, when she whispers, “Nathaniel.”

“What?”

“Tell me, even dying, am I still an absolute fox?”

He laughs, low and rough. “You’re not dying. I refuse to let you.”

“Mmm. You didn’t…answer my question.”

“Ashabelle Keller, you are without a doubt the most stubborn, morbid, mean woman I’ve ever met.” He strokes her cheek, sweeps a lock of tangled dark hair back. He keeps talking, his blood roaring in his ears. “But you’re also a beautiful, brilliant pain in the ass. My pain in the ass. You make this bullshit world better.”

“I do?” Her voice is soft, slurred .

“You do, beauty.”

“Why?”

“Because with you, it’s not bullshit. Because you are all I have ever wanted. You make six hours feel like ten minutes. And when you’re gone, I miss you. It’s absolutely ridiculous.” He smooths a lock of sweaty hair from her brow. “I think you’re the greatest thing to ever exist.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Bigger than Bigfoot.” Nathaniel extends the bottle. “Now be quiet and take a drink.”

Silence.

“Ash?”

He ducks his chin, takes her in. Her pale cheek rests in the palm of his hand. Her eyes are closed.

Panic twists in his throat like a blade. He sits up straighter, his heart racing. Brings the Coke bottle to her unmoving lips. “Ashabelle, don’t go to sleep. Ash .”

No response. She’s slumped against his chest, eyes closed.

His heart plummets.

No. Please, God, no. He can’t lose her. Not now.

“Just one more sip, Ash,” he murmurs, adjusting her in his grasp. “Do you hear me, beauty? One more sip.”

She sags in his arms. Nathaniel swears. She can’t drink if she’s unconscious.

Heart pounding in his ears, he lays her on the sand, rubs her sternum with his knuckles in a desperate attempt to wake her. Panic, fear, a primal raging beast inside him.

A horn startles him.

Nathaniel whips his head to the ocean.

Oh, thank fuck.

A ship.

Strike that.

A fucking pleasure yacht. The words MARGE THE BARGE stenciled on the side in bright, brash, glittery letters .

And it’s already docking.

Nathaniel scoops Ash up. With her clutched tight to his chest, he rushes to the boat. His lungs burn. His heart thunders. He doesn’t stop.

He won’t.

Off the ship come his mother and Augustus. They’re wearing matching looks of shock. He charges past them, hustling down the dock and up into the boat.

“I got her,” he tells the medic when the man tries to take Ash from him. Over his dead body is she leaving his side.

He lays her on the bar of the sun deck. Her eyes are closed. She’s still and unresponsive. There’s no time to waste.

“She needs glucagon,” he barks at a second medic, who is waiting with a first-aid kit. “Sugar. Tell me you fucking have it.”

At his side, his mother’s face is pale. “Oh no, Ash.” She looks near tears.

The second the medic opens the kit, Nathaniel snatches the pre-filled syringe from it. He doesn’t trust anyone else to touch her. Quickly, he pops off the cap and jams the needle into Ash’s upper thigh.

He stands at her side, unmoving, barely breathing, as the glucose is injected into Ash’s system. Soon, much-needed sugar will flood her veins.

“Open your eyes, Ash. You have to get up. Please. Come back to me.” The only plea he hears. In his head. His heart. His lungs. The backs of his eyes burn.

Augustus leans forward, face ashen and etched with concern. “Is she—”

“She’ll wake up in about fifteen minutes,” he tells his grandfather. With shaking hands, Nathaniel strokes Ash’s dark hair. Watches the slow rise and fall of her chest.

His brave, brave girl.

He takes her hand in his and feels the beat of her pulse, that bright bloom of life that’s made his world come alive. Only when her fingers flex and tense in his grip does Nathaniel remember the steps to breathe again.

Nathaniel paces. The sandwich, the bottle of water he’s been given lie forgotten on the bar top. He’s too keyed up, too fucking worried, too pissed off to stop moving. To do anything but think about Ash. As soon as the medic took her down to the infirmary to wait for her to wake up, his mother explained what happened.

“I’m so sorry.” Claire worries her lower lip between her teeth. “We didn’t know that the guides hadn’t taken a headcount.” Fucking Brad. “And when we disembarked, we thought you and Ash had already gone ahead to…” A little laugh pops out of her mouth. “You’ve been sneaking off this whole trip. We thought it only logical.”

He blinks at her. “You knew?”

“Oh, honey.” She places a hand on his arm. “Everyone did.”

Jesus. He tears a hand through his hair. “It’s not your fault, Mom.” That’s the least of his worries.

Claire explains that it was midnight before Tate noticed he had Ash’s backpack. That’s when the Whitfords realized Nathaniel and Ash were truly nowhere to be found.

“By the time we got ahold of someone, the charter company was stalling, trying to figure it out.”

He clenches his fists, seething. “Fucking ridiculous.”

The amount of time it took for their absence to be noticed, for the charter company to help, is unforgivable.

Ash could have died.

He’s already planning retaliation. “We should sue them. Buy their company. They’re fucking done.”

“I think your grandfather is already on it.” Claire gives him a sympathetic smile. “We didn’t wait around for help. It was clear the charter company was trying to evade responsibility, so your father went down to the pier and bought a yacht.”

“ What ?” Nathaniel lurches to a stop. “Dad?”

Claire nods. “You know that man. Any way he can get something, he’ll do it.”

Nathaniel peers over at his father. Don sits with Augustus at the bar. Their voices muffled, glasses of whiskey in their hands, despite the early morning hour.

Don looks over, catching his gaze.

Gratefulness seeps into him. Nathaniel gives his father a nod, and in return, Don lifts his glass.

“Doctor Whitford?” The medic’s coming up from the lower deck. “You can see her.”

He doesn’t remember moving. Doesn’t remember taking the stairs two at a time or opening the door to her room. All he knows is that suddenly he’s inside and she’s there.

She’s okay.

Ash is in bed, a blanket pulled up to her waist. A glass of juice sits on the nightstand. At the closing of the door, she stirs. Opens her eyes. Smiles.

“Hi,” she says.

His legs almost give out. His shoulders uncoil. His fists unclench.

“Buried or cremated?” he asks.

Those wide gray-green eyes blink. “What?”

“Buried or cremated?” He shrugs, fighting the urge to unravel. “You look like you’ve thought about it.”

“Neither. Lampshade,” she says with a smile. “Courtesy of Ed Gein.”

He chuckles. That’s his girl.

Itching to be close to her, to touch her, he crosses the room and sits beside her. With her tousled black hair, big black T-shirt and pale skin, she looks like the death’s door heroine of an Edgar Allen Poe novel. To Nathaniel, she’s never looked more beautiful.

With a relieved exhale, he cups her jaw, evaluates her face. Her pupils. “How’s the head? ”

He gets that droll, snarky smile he loves. “Concussed by a coconut,” she rasps. “I’ll never live it down. It’ll forever be on my medical record.”

He gives a low laugh of disbelief. “You’re lucky it’s not a skull fracture.” Slipping her hand into his, he asks, “How’s your blood?”

“Oh, it’s practically vibrating.” A graceful arch of her brow. “If you’ve been waiting for me to be weak and defenseless, now’s your time for murder.”

“And not have it be a fair fight? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She laughs. The sound is the most incredible thing he’s ever heard.

He looks down at her hand curled in his. His mean, beautiful girl. Pushes through the tightness in his throat. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I am too.” She smiles at him, but there’s a fragileness behind it. A hesitation. “Thank you,” she says softly. “For making me feel okay out there. Not so afraid. For taking care of me.”

He squeezes her hand. “I always will.”

Ash squints at him. “Are you okay?”

Nathaniel opens his mouth. Looks into Ash’s eyes.

He doesn’t know how to tell her. That he’s not okay if she’s not okay. That he’d give his own life to keep her safe. That she’s endgame. In his head, heart, blood, soul. She owns him.

Finally, he gets the words out. “I am. I am more than fine now.” His lips twitch. “ Ashabelle .”

“Oh god,” she grumbles, covering her face. “Can we just pretend I never told you that? I will claim you took advantage of me in my weakened condition.”

Grinning, he leans in and kisses her through her fingers. Her warm cheek, her delicate jaw. “No. Never going to forget.”

A kind of whimper escapes her. Then he’s engulfing her in a hug. He crushes her tight against his body, breathing in her hair, her scent of sun and juice. For a long second, he just holds her. Overcome. She’s okay. She’s alive .

“We’re about twenty minutes from Maui,” he says hoarsely, his lips brushing her temple. “We’ll get you back and get you some rest.”

Settling against the pillows, Ash thins her lips. “It’s our last night. I’m not resting.”

“Ash,” he growls, ready to hog-tie her to a bed. Or better, his body. “You almost died. Which means—”

“Which means I’m not missing the luau.” Her eyes flash with determination. “Augustus and I worked hard to plan this night.” Before he can protest further, she holds up a hand. “I’ll be okay. All I need is a cheeseburger and a very long, very hot shower.”

“Done.” In his head, he’s already arranging room service. A soft bed. A fully stocked minibar. Lots of rest.

Toying with his fingers, she looks at him from beneath heavy lashes. “Lost at sea. That’s our story now. We can take it to our grave or tell the National Enquirer .”

We can tell it to our kids . The thought leaps into Nathaniel’s mind, but he bites his tongue.

In an ultra-soft voice, Ash says, “We go home tomorrow.”

He swallows hard, interlacing his fingers through hers. “Yeah. We do.”

She bites her lip, lowers her gaze. “I wish we had another day.”

“Me too.”

Their eyes meet. A sharp emotion passes between them. Their night on the beach, but also this entire vacation. They’ve endured the good and the bad of the trip together. Shown up for each other. That matters.

He’s not ready for this to end. Not when he’s had the best days of his life. Not when he has an emotional connection with this girl that rivals their sex, bests it. Not when being with her feels like home. Not when he…

Not when he loves her.

He whisks his thumb over her knuckles. Takes a hard breath. “Ash. Listen… ”

The door opens. Augustus pokes his head in. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“No,” Ash says, smiling bright. “Not at all.”

Nathaniel leans in to press a kiss to her forehead. Shoves up to standing and turns to his grandfather. “She’s all yours.”

He’s almost to the door when his grandfather lets out a smug, knowing chuckle.

Augustus turns to Nathaniel, his eyes soft and bright. “That’s where you’re wrong, my boy. That’s where you’re wrong.”