He chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “Chivalry is only dead to those who don’t give a damn anymore, angel. I give a damn.”
Despite the pain, she suddenly felt sleepy. So very sleepy. Realization dawned. “I’m going into shock,” she told him.
Sleep promised reprieve from the pain, but she couldn’t risk it. If she gave over to it, she might never wake up. Sarah…
“Jonathon, I have to tell you something.” Her tongue felt thick, and she swallowed several times. “Something…important.” She sought more words, but her mind couldn’t pin the next ones down. No… “Sarah.”
“What about Sarah?” Jonathon asked. “Tell me about your daughter, Phoebe. Angel. Stay with me. Tell me what Sarah looks like.”
Everything had a dream-like quality, and she felt drunk. “She…” Looks like her father. Silvery gray eyes, hair with hints of auburn…
“Phoebe, stay awake. Phoebe. Angel. Baby, please, for the love of God.”
Jonathon sounded sad, desperate, and far, far away. She pulled Sarah into her mind’s eye. Her little beauty, if only Jonathon could meet her just once. Just once and he’d love her. He’d have to love his daughter. He couldn’t be like Phoebe’s father.
“Phoebe. Please angel, don’t go.” He stroked her hair, her cheek. She felt the warmth of his lips on hers. “Please. I’m crazy about you. Head over heels. I know it sounds crazy, but you stole my heart the day we met.”
Was he crying? Phoebe drifted in twilight. In a dream. A familiar dream, and she saw a hospital room. A young woman on a bed, her sobs bordering on hysteria, while nurses and a doctor huddled close…
“Push,” the nurse instructed. “Bear down and push through the contraction.”
But Phoebe’s strength was gone. Why didn’t I take the epidural? she wondered. She’d been stupid and stubborn, determined to have her baby naturally, but she hadn’t had any idea of the pain. Now it was too late. She had to do it. She would do it.
“Push, Phoebe. I see her head,” the doctor commanded, his voice stern, authoritative.
She clamped her teeth together as another contraction ripped through her body. Back to back, they gave her no reprieve. No moment to catch her breath. The pain became part of her existence, stringing her tighter and tighter. Her baby was tearing its way out of her womb and Phoebe feared death.
Regardless, she pushed. Pushed and pushed and pushed until her head might explode. She poured every ounce of energy she had into the moment, until she fell back, gasping for breath. She counted silently—one, two, three… The next contraction slammed into her and she screamed. Why wouldn’t it stop? Five seconds, five seconds to know what life had been like before the pain. There was no beauty in childbirth, people had lied to her. She’d only found agony. An absolute all-encompassing agony. She wanted her mother. Cybil was on a different continent, stuck in the snarl of layovers and delayed flights, abandoning her to a sea of strangers.
“Good girl, Phoebe, good girl.” The nurse patted her knee. “Your baby’s head is almost free. She has a mop of thick hair.”
Phoebe glared at the kindly woman and wanted to slap the excited smile right off her face.
“One more push, Phoebe,” her doctor commanded in a loud voice. “She’ll be free.”
Phoebe tried, but her muscles wouldn’t obey. She had no strength left, and sobbed in frustration, shaking so hard the bed rattled. Her doctor stared into her eyes, the rest of his face hidden behind his hospital mask, covering the snow-white beard giving him a gentle, grandfatherly appearance. She didn’t want to disappoint him.
Phoebe grabbed behind her knees. Just one more try… She pushed down, pouring into it every ounce of frustration and heartache she’d been through since finding out she was pregnant. The loneliness and fear of what would come. All of it, every last ounce of it she put into the moment. Her body tore itself apart as sacrifice to free the child.
“Reach down and grab your daughter.”
She saw the excitement in her doctor’s eyes and obeyed, reaching between her thighs. She felt something warm, slippery, moments before a piercing shriek filled the hospital room. He helped her place the infant on her stomach.
Her baby.
She stared at the top of her daughter’s head in a stupor before the nurse took her away to clean her. Afterward, Phoebe cradled her close to her skin, nestling her between her bared breasts. Her baby’s hearty cries filled her ears. Nurses and the doctor hummed in the background like bees over flowers. Meaningless gibberish, because only she and her daughter existed in the world. Her beautiful, perfect child with her ten little fingers and ten little toes. She counted each one in reverence before dropping a kiss upon her soft crown then cheek. Awe filled her, and her vision blurred. Tears washed down her cheeks.
One of the nurses helped her baby latch onto a nipple and Phoebe watched, fascinated as her baby had her first greedy meal. Milk dribbled from the corners of her mouth.
“How is it possible this came out of me?” she asked the nurse. “I can’t believe it’s possible. She’s so…perfect. I made a perfect human being.”
“It seems a miracle, especially after so much pain,” the nurse replied, wiping sweat off her own brow. “But in the end, it’s worth it. What’s her name?”
“Sarah,” she answered. A name she’d always been fond of. She stroked the damp curls on the crown of her daughter’s head before dropping another kiss upon them. “And I’ll never leave you, Sarah. Never.”
“Phoebe, angel, wake up.”
The male’s voice didn’t belong to anyone in the hospital room. She blinked, and suddenly everything became cold. Her daughter was gone, Sarah was gone.
“No,” she gasped, clawing around, trying to find her, and only coming up with handfuls of icy dirt. Water dripped down her face, and thunder filled her ears. Slowly, comprehension dawned.
“That’s it, stay with me, angel. Soon this rain will pass, and we’ll get the hell out of here. I for one can’t wait to have that pizza. Extra sausage, extra cheese. I might even share a slice with you.”
Jonathon had both arms around her, and she realized he was trying to cover her as best he could, but the downpour above had left both of them drenched.
“That’s something special too, ask any of my sisters how well I share pizza.” He chuckled, but despite his lighthearted words, it didn’t cover the strain in his voice. “I want you to meet my sisters. They’re a noisy bunch, but I think they’ll take to you. Maggie especially, she’s the one closest in age to me. We’re fifteen months apart. We look like twins, but I have to admit the Breck genes look better on her.”
He sniffed, and Phoebe heard his shaky intake of breath. He shivered nearly as hard as she did in the dank space. Rain pooled under them, and the whole place had turned into a mud pit. His hands kept a constant motion up and down her arms, but the friction couldn’t warm her. The thrum of pain from her injury had dulled, most likely due to her chill and the mud they had sank into.
Phoebe thought of Sarah. The way her infectious giggles would end in a little snort when she couldn’t catch her breath. And she thought of how hard it had been in the beginning—doubting, struggling, second-guessing every decision she made.
Jonathon should know in case Phoebe didn’t make it out of the sinkhole. I promised I’d never leave her, she recalled as she looked skyward. The opening to the sinkhole seemed miles away. Could Jonathon climb out? The phones, where are they?
“The phones?” she said, her throat raw.
“They must be up above.” Jonathon stroked her hair. “We’ll get out of here though, don’t worry.”
She remembered shouldering her third drop bag, before laying the bag with the phones aside where she wanted to make camp seconds before she must’ve fallen through the earth. Damn it. There was something else… It took a moment to remember what it was. “The baby bird?”
He let out a breath and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Phoebe. The fall was too much.”
They’d managed to keep the bird alive a week by working together, and the loss hit her hard. She would’ve cried if she’d had the energy.
The rain finally eased up. They sat in several inches of water, but the cold had numbed part of the pain. She let out a big sigh, still fighting sleep every inch of the way. But it was a lost cause, and eventually it took her.
Chapter 15
While Phoebe slept Jonathon explored the confines of the cave. Outside of a few serious bruises, and soreness, he’d handled the fall better than Phoebe. Her leg had swollen, she’d quickly grown feverish and needed medical care. As he circled, he saw no way to climb up the walls. The space was about twenty feet in diameter with walls made of sand, silt, and old coral that crumbled when he tried to find a toehold. Fifteen feet above, the cloudy sky taunted him.
He laced his fingers over his head and let out a frustrated yell. Without the phones he had no way of calling Malé. He returned to Phoebe and dropped down into the mud next to her. His knees sank in the muck, they were both covered in it. They needed dry land. Phoebe needed dry land, and he was the only one who could get them out of the sinkhole.
“I’m so sorry, angel.” He’d failed this adventure at every turn, but this failure broke him. He gritted his teeth, fighting despair as he stroked her hair. They wouldn’t be missed until they failed to show up at the pickup spot—the producers kept track of their movements through the GPS in their cameras to make sure they kept to their contracts. Too many days lay between them and that day. Their water wouldn’t hold out. Phoebe wouldn’t hold out more than a couple of days if she got an infection.
No, I won’t quit. Not yet. Her third drop bag sat nearby which he guessed had another cooking pot inside or something else equally as useless to them. They should’ve each kept a phone, he thought for the umpteenth time, but he’d needed room for the bird. He grabbed the bag, needing to wipe the mud off his hands, when a picture frame dropped out. He picked it up and turned it over. His mouth fell open.
Maggie stared up from the photo. He blinked and rubbed his eyes then looked back at his sister as a young girl. Her gray eyes, her hair, but when he looked closer, the face shape wasn’t right. This girl had a heart-shaped face. It wasn’t Maggie but…
“Sarah?” He looked at Phoebe. “Who are you, Phoebe Heart?”
She slept on, her chest rising and falling in a steady, comforting rhythm. The producers are fucking with my head. But how? How had they found a child that looked so much like a Breck? Like him? Had the picture been photoshopped? He brought it close to his face, tipping it toward a shaft of sunlight which had pierced the clouds. The girl smiled in a completely sweet and innocent way. A smile complete with a little chin dimple.
Jonathon doubled over, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut. He grew lightheaded, and he had to work to right the world around him. “Oh, fuck.”
It couldn’t be possible…could it? You really don’t know who I am, do you? He remembered her question, and the hurt flashing in her eyes because he didn’t know. At least he’d thought he didn’t know her. He studied the picture of Sarah, again looking for signs of photoshopping. Surely the producers wouldn’t go to such lengths for a show and ratings. No blurring, no pixilation, not a sign of tampering. Had he hoped to find tampering? Of course he did, he reasoned. He’d have a way to distance himself from Phoebe. Betrayal would be an excuse to leave her behind once they left the island. If they left the island.
His gaze rested on her. His heart softened, and feelings whirled inside of him with the impact of a cyclone. A part of him hidden deep surfaced, a mountain he’d found harder to suppress the past few years. The trials of Paradise, and the shock of the fall left him too tired to deny it.
Jonathon wanted it to be true as he traced the photo with his finger. He wanted to be a father, he wanted to be the young girl’s dad. His sisters were popping out kids one after another, and each time he held a new little addition to the family, he’d felt a longing to be grounded to something greater than good times and women. He wanted to see what his own genes could create. To experience the birth of his own child and to have his own newborn grip his finger.
He had to remember Phoebe, because somewhere, somehow, at some time he’d met her. He’d slept with her, Jesus, why couldn’t he remember? Twelve years ago he was in college. He ran through his girlfriends, his female friends, acquaintances, but none fit Phoebe’s description.
Then he found a murky memory of a frat party buried in the dusty recesses of his mind. He’d had a bunch of beers, several shots of something or another, and a blonde had caught his eye. A shy woman who’d told him she was a biology major. And a virgin. They’d found a room upstairs… Things grew hazy afterward. Flashes of her sweet face, her lips, her big brown eyes. They’d had sex, he knew that much. She’d told him her name, but his brain refused to reveal what it was. Jonathon knew who it had to be.
He cupped Phoebe’s face and stroked his thumb over her bottom lip. “Why wouldn’t you tell me, angel?”
God, he had a kid he’d never known about. He was a father. He knew he should be angry with Phoebe’s deception, or afraid of the idea of being a little girl’s dad. Maybe he was in shock, because all he felt was heartache with failing Phoebe in such a monumental way. Had he been cruel to her that night? Had he been a jerk which had made it impossible for her to come to him with the truth?
He’d left for London a few weeks after the party. How would she have found him in London? Had she even looked?
The day wore on. Phoebe awoke, and Jonathon offered her a drink from a bottle, keeping his hundred questions to himself. After she swallowed a bit, he took a sip, just enough to dampen his parched throat. He’d drink sparingly, she’d need it more.
“My leg hurts,” Phoebe mumbled. She tried to shift, but gasped in pain.
He cradled her head in his lap. “Don’t move, angel, you’ll do more damage.”
“I’m uncomfortable and cold.” Her eyes held a distant look as she peered at the blue sky above. “We need a fire.”
He frowned. Without wood or the flint still in her bag on the ground above, they couldn’t have a fire. She should know that. Chills raced over his skin, and his chest squeezed in worry.
“Phoebe, do you know where you are?” he asked. His heart beat an erratic rhythm, she looked pale and her lips were bluish. Internal injuries? He hadn’t thought to check. A cold sweat broke out on his brow.
“I-I’m not sure.” She squinted, seeing his face. “Jonathon?”
“Yes, it’s me. We’re in the Maldives, remember? We fell down a sinkhole.”
He placed his hand on the flat of her stomach. It felt soft and yielded beneath his pressing fingers. His required first aid course said internal injuries would’ve made someone’s stomach hard due to blood pooling. He sagged, hoping he remembered the little tidbit right. He hadn’t paid a huge amount of attention to the boring class.
“That’s right, I fell. I remember now.” She winced. “I’m thirsty.”
He offered her more water. Why didn’t you tell me? The moment we met on the island you could’ve told me about Sarah. He held his tongue—now wasn’t the time.
“How will we get out of here?” she asked. “Can we climb out?”
He chewed his lip and stared at the blue sky above, thinking how close the phones would be. “No way to climb out. I haven’t figured out how to escape, but we’ll find a way.”
Because come hell or high water he’d make sure Phoebe returned to her daughter. His daughter.
She let out a shuddering sigh of pain. He stroked her hair, wishing so much to take the injury within himself. Jonathon would do it in an instant because he was stronger, and Phoebe looked so fragile.
She gave him a small grin, but her face was drawn. “Jonathon, I have something important to tell you. About Sarah.”
“Shh, you’ll see her again soon.” Jonathon cut her off, her voice sounded too shaky to have the coming conversation. I already know. “We’ll t
alk about her later, okay?”
“But…” Her eyelids drooped down. “I need to tell you something…”
Phoebe let out a soft breath then was out. The cavern loomed around them. A cage, a crypt—he shuddered at the last.
“I’ll get us out of here,” he promised, sliding from beneath Phoebe’s head.
He explored the walls, searching and testing every inch he could reach. By the time afternoon threw the hole into deep shadow he’d made the circle more times than he could count. Their escape didn’t lie in climbing out. So what then? He reached up and scratched his forehead underneath the headband with the camera. The producers would be able to upload the whole thing. Would they still televise it if the worst happened?
Jonathon scowled. Yes, it’d be worth a fortune in ratings.
A lightbulb went off. He yanked the camera off his head, then went over and pulled Phoebe’s free as well. He grabbed their machetes, laying one flat on the ground. He gripped the other and placed the first camera on the flat blade. He brought the machete down. The camera cracked, and another couple of whacks assured Jonathon he’d destroyed it. He did the same with the other camera. Once the GPS vanished, the producers might get concerned and send out a search party.
It seemed the one chance they had, and he could only pray it’d work.
Chapter 16
Phoebe drifted in and out of consciousness. She fought the dark sea in her mind each time it pulled her under. Fought with everything she had, but her reserves of strength were waning. A chill had settled deep in her bones, the pain in her leg had seeped into every nerve in her body. But she was grateful for it, because as long as the pain thrummed it kept her restless. Sleep only came in snatches before she’d shift this way or that, and wake in agony.
Jonathon’s eyes glowed in the darkness. He clutched her hand and kept up a steady stream of one-sided conversation. About each of his sisters, each niece and nephew. Soon she knew everything about them. Favorite colors, husbands, birthdays, holiday gifts, even a secret about his favorite sister Maggie he’d promised not to share with the rest of their family.
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