Stranded with the Rockstar (Rockstar #1)

14. Sunny

"So...can I ask you something?" Harry stops mid song.

I'm a little disappointed, I love hearing him sing—which he does all the time now while we're working. I rarely know the songs, but his voice is soft and true and just hearing it lifts my spirits.

But he sounds nervous about what he wants to ask me, which automatically makes me curious. I throw the branch I'm holding onto the wood pile and look at him. He's sitting on the grass, legs sprawled in front of him, resting back on his arms. I guess he's taking a break.

I shouldn't be surprised. He's been arguing against a signal fire since I brought it up yesterday. Although I still don't really understand why he is so against it. It's not like we're too busy.

He's right in the fact that we haven't seen a single boat or plane since we've been here, but if there is even a possibility of someone seeing that there is life on this island, why wouldn't we take it?

"I won't even be able to start a signal fire," he had said over breakfast this morning. "You're the only who can."

"Where do you think I'm going to be if it needs lit? We're with each other all the time. And, anyway, you just need to practice more."

"It's impossible. How long have you been doing it? I'll never be able to catch up."

I shrugged. "I think Brett taught me when I was around...twelve?"

"Brett taught you? He was into that survivalist bullshit too?"

I nodded, taking a bite of mango. "My dad got us both into it. The only difference is that Brett had skills that he learned from the Boy Scouts."

"So he and your dad were pretty close?" I could hear the hesitation in his voice about bringing up my dad, but I tried not to notice.

"Very. Brett's dad and my dad grew up together and built the ranch." I pause, questioning if I should go on. "Barry, Brett's dad, died when we were young, and my dad kind of took Brett under his wing. Brett and I used to joke that we had a pre-arranged relationship."

I gave Harry a small smile to let him know that I was fine, and he returned it. "So Brett liked the camping stuff, and your dad liked the camping stuff, but did you? Because I'm going to be honest, I don't see the appeal."

"Harry, the three of us went almost every weekend during the summer."

One of his eyebrows rose in the way that it does when something intrigued him. "That doesn't answer my question. Did you actually enjoy it? Or did you just go because they wanted to?"

And I've been thinking about that question ever since. I'd always assumed I liked it. But to be honest with myself, I'd never really thought about it.

When we went, I never slept well. It was always either too hot or too cold. And the food was awful. A few times we attempted to 'live off the land' and I ended up eating Reese's that I'd snuck in my bag the whole weekend. So why did I always go? I don't know anymore.

I wasn't sure if I was ready for another thought provoking question, but after working all afternoon, I could use a break too. We're in an open field on top of, from what I can tell, the highest spot on the island. It's actually really beautiful. The grass is thick and bright green and soft. There is a cliff that leads down to the ocean, and I can hear the waves crashing below us, waiting for Harry to speak.

"I'm going to go ahead and say 'Truth' because I know you're not going to want to answer this. I've been going back and forth whether or not I should even ask you, but I figured you and I are past all the usual social niceties. And I really want to know."