Nash didn’t handle stress well. Especially when he didn’t have a bottle of liquor to chase the nerves that often had his hands shaking. Nash wasn’t brave. He was careless, a self-involved fool who always let others pick up the pieces of his mistakes. He didn’t know how to look the face of his troubles in the eye and make sense of it.
But, when he’d watched Declan stumble into the jungle – in, to where that thing was, he had to do something. Otherwise, Declan was going to end up just like Ryan and Erik. Chewed up and spit out, a bloody mess, a message for the rest of the survivors whatever it wasn’t finished. That set his heart into a panicked rhythm, adrenaline flooding his veins.
Fear. Nash nearly choked on the intensity of it.
And then Declan was standing in front of him, annoyed and drunk, but okay. Nash’s whole body was tense, the usual devil-may-care playboy facade he wore so well gone, forgotten and shoved into the shallows, where it belonged.
The relief was immediate. Then came the anger – an emotion that was foreign to Nash. He didn’t know how to process it, not alongside the fear and the relief.
Shit. What was it about Declan King that made him so emotional?
“What the fuck am I doing here?” he echoed, his voice sounding strange, even to himself. “Do you even know where you are?” The question was a challenge, the anger winning out against the relief, the fear. He lifted a hand to run through his hair, irritated at himself, at Declan. Pissed that he’d followed the other into the jungle, the immediacy of the danger they were in beating like a second heart inside of him. “You’re drunk.” He said it like it disgusted him, like he had any right.
Nash Calloway, shaming someone for finding solace in alcohol? What was this island turning him into? Or maybe it was just Declan. Everything seemed to keep coming back to him.
“No,” he said tightly. “I can’t.” And then he was reaching forward, grabbing Declan roughly by the arm, too wound up to give a shit if he hurt Declan. He could yell at him, kick him the balls, throw fucking coconuts at him for all he cared, but only once they were safe on the beach. So help him, Nash would throw this drunk idiot over his shoulder and haul hiss ass there if he had to.
‘We’re going back to the beach,” he said, with some force. “Right now, Declan. Don’t make things difficult for once.” And then, god, Nash felt so weak, his gaze betraying in that moment with how scared he was, how vulnerable and unworthy he felt. “Please,” he added, like that would somehow persuade Declan not to be difficult.
Declan wasn’t sure what he expected. Nash had become like his unbearable, alcoholic shadow. No matter where he went, the man turned up. Even the jungle. He sighed loudly, maybe a little too dramatically, but the whiskey swirling in his stomach made him not care.
Nash was angry. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen him anything other than petulant. It was new and the twist in his gut tightened again. It was almost like the other man cared about him. The thought made his stomach roll. He was going to be sick if he thought about it anymore. Nash probably found out he’d allowed the redheaded kid face fuck him, while all Declan did was abuse him. That had to be it.
As always, the dirty blonde was astute. He gripped the branch harder so he wouldn’t fall. “Yeah, I’m drunk. Jealous?” The words came out less catty than he intended. His voice soft and teasing -- almost sultry. What the fuck was happening? He was off his game. Maybe River had done something to the whiskey -- watered it down or put antibiotics in it. That’s something field medics did, he was fairly certain.
Then Nash was grabbing him hard -- hard enough to leave bruises. The thought sent a thrill through Declan, but he quickly sobered. At least enough to yank his arm away. “How many fucking times do I gotta tell you to not touch me? What is your obsession with me? I don’t wanna suck your cock, Trash. I don’t want you to get near me. I know what I’m doing it. Get it through your thick skull.”
The inclination to flee came up strong. It seemed to surface quickly whenever Nash was around. Declan didn’t want to deal with how he felt, mostly because he felt nothing. Or it was easier to believe that. Because the other option made his chest tight with something foreign -- something fucking dangerous.
So without thinking, Declan let go of the branch and took off into the jungle -- deeper than he had ever ventured before. It felt good to have the air whipping past his face, away from Nash and whatever the fuck feeling had settled in between his ribs.
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