Island of Secrets and Scars

Chapter Two

Present Day – A nameless island off the east coast of South America

Sunlight filtered through the tapestry covering the window of Cameron’s tiny bedroom, pulling her from a restless sleep. Despite the familiar nightmare of flames and agony still clinging to her, she did what she’d done every morning for the past five and a half years—she thought of her old life and what she’d be doing right now if she were still living it. She let her mind wander to the man who’d lie next to her and what her day would hold. Then she shut the door on those musings, set them away in the little compartment inside her heart where her deepest secrets hid, and climbed from the bed to start her day.

There was no use trying not to wonder about the choices she’d made, no use not to second guess herself or pretend her life hadn’t turned out vastly different from the one she’d planned. Instead, she allowed herself a few moments every morning to wonder, before moving on with the life she’d chosen. She slid on a clean pair of bathing suit bottoms and secured her slight breasts in a top, then covered the suit with a pair of loose shorts and a tank top.

When she reached the small front porch of her cottage, she found her four-year-old daughter Arabella still asleep, curled into the wicker rocker with her loyal mutt, Creek. In her old life, Cameron would never have allowed her child to sleep outside with only a dog for protection. But here, on this island sanctuary, they had nothing to fear.

Cameron’s bare feet padded over the worn planks of the porch as she crept past. At her approach, Creek lifted his head, then, satisfied his girl remained safe, went back to sleep. Picking her way across the yard, Cameron found the path she and Arabella had worn to the ocean. Once she reached the beach, she turned her face toward the sun, hoping the warmth would help shed the chill left by her dream. Only it hadn’t been just a dream. Dreams could be forgotten. Brushed aside. Memories, on the other hand, haunted with tenacity.

She inhaled, lifted her arms above her head, then exhaled and folded at the waist. Another inhale, and she planted her palms in the sand, extending her left leg behind her. Her body came awake slowly with each inhale and exhale. Each stretch and bend. Finally, she stood in Warrior’s Pose. Her arms reached toward the sky. Her face turned to Heaven. Still, she couldn’t push away the feeling today would not be a good day. The dream crept back in, only now she saw the rest.

She remembered slowly coming to as the bright light of the sun shone through a makeshift window, her body bare, and her womb bereft of life. Trying to push the memory away, she fought to focus on the long lean lines of her arm, on the stretch of her thighs, but today her heart ached too much. On the next move, she stumbled, falling to her knees in the sand. Tears swelled in her throat until she found it hard to swallow and almost impossible to breathe. Willing the tears to stay away, she begged silently to a God she didn’t think had ever heard her not to let her fall apart, not now, not here, not with the possibility of Arabella waking and finding her. She forced herself to breathe, made herself forget the pain, tried with all her might to put her dreams and her memories back into their tiny compartment. But some days, like today, they proved too strong for containment.

* * *

Ian walked like a man who knew what the hell he was doing, whether he ever did or not. Because of this walk, people rarely questioned him. After all, he was a man of experience. He’d traveled to forty different countries, performed hundreds of surgeries, and saved more lives than he could count. As he walked through the halls of the ER, this was the image people saw, what they whispered about him—when they weren’t whispering about his amazing ass and gorgeous smile or speculating about what he looked like with his clothes off. What people didn’t know, was that when Ian Gauthier woke each day, he never thought of any of the lives he’d saved. He only ever thought of the one tiny life he’d lost.

Loss consumed his thoughts now as he made his way past the nurse’s station and out the door of the hospital toward his ‘74 FJ Land Cruiser with his backpack slung over one shoulder. Sometimes he wished there was a drug or a laser or, hell, even a sledgehammer that could eradicate the memories from his mind. In five years, he’d forgotten plenty of things: people’s names, his keys, his address, how to have a meaningful conversation, how to go about his day without pretending he felt something other than abandoned and desolate. Gritting his teeth, he chunked his bag through the open top. Fuck depression and self-pity. He despised the emotions and rarely tolerated them. Today could be no exception.

“Hey Ian.”

Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply before turning. “Natalie.” He forced a smile for the dark-haired nurse whom he slept with occasionally when he couldn’t shake the worst of his memories. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” She returned his smile, leaning in close for a quick peck.

At the last moment, he turned his head. The kiss glanced off the side of his mouth. She pulled back with her smile slightly dimmer. He should feel like an asshole, but even that took more energy than he had today.

“You want to grab a bite?” she asked.

Sighing, he scrubbed a hand over his unshaven jaw and weighed his choices. He couldn’t eat. Moments ago, he’d lost a man on the operating table. He just wanted to crawl into a hole or a bottle and forget. At the thought of a drink, his mouth watered and the scar on his abdomen burned.

He pulled open the door to the FJ. “It’s not a good time.”

“Oh, come on.” Her thin bottom lip protruded. “I heard you had a rough night. I could make it up to you.”

A memory of Cameron slammed into him then, knocking the breath from his lungs. In his mind, his former fiancée stood before him with her brown hair pulled back, revealing deep sapphire eyes that reached to the very depths of him, leaving no place to hide his secrets or his fears. It had been almost a decade ago when Cameron had first joined his team in Haiti. One night he’d returned to his tent after he hadn’t been able to save the man they’d pulled from the rubble of a fallen building and found her waiting on him. Wordlessly, she’d taken him by the hand and led him to her tent. Without question, he’d followed her inside, as if he’d been born to follow her every wish. Unlike most women he’d encountered, Cameron hadn’t tried to seduce him. Instead, she’d curled against his side and rested her head on his chest until he drifted to sleep. When he awoke from a restful sleep later in the day, she’d still been there. That night had been the first time he hadn’t had nightmares after losing a patient. Shaking the memory away, he tried to erase the feel of Cameron’s head on his chest to no avail.

Climbing into his vehicle, he offered a weak smile. “I think I just need some sleep.” He lied. Without Cameron, sleep, when it came, offered nothing but nightmares.

* * *

Cameron pulled her board from the water, dropping it onto the white sand away from the waves. When Keso had first brought her here to raise their daughter in his childhood home, he’d claimed the more she came out, the more comfortable she’d get in the water. Although he’d never given her reason to call him a liar, she called bullshit on this theory. For four years now, she’d lived on this island trying to get over her fear of the water. And for four years, she’d failed. If she stayed close to the shore on her board, she could manage the panic. But she never made it further than a few feet before her palms started to sweat and her heart raced. Because of this fear, she made certain she never fell into the water. As a result, she had phenomenal balance.

Flexing her fingers to relieve the tension from gripping her paddle, she scanned the beach for her daughter. “Ara. Come out, come out wherever you are,” she sang.

Creek’s happy yip sounded to her left, followed by Ara’s quiet giggling and gentle shh. Cameron smiled and crept closer to the rocks lining the shore.

“Bonjou, Doc.”

At the familiar voice, Cameron turned back to the ocean. A boat floated on the calm water. She raised her hand, offering a wave to Esmerelda Hunte and her husband, Brodie.

“Morning Esme. How’s the little one?”

The other woman let out a laugh that reminded Cameron of sunshine and warmth. “Which one?” She wrapped an arm around her daughter, Vea, who rested her head against the swell of her mother’s ever-growing belly.

Cameron’s lips tugged up. She shrugged. “All of them.”

Esme and Brodie seemed to be single-handedly populating the island with beautiful little girls. So far, they’d had three in the time Cameron had been on the island. She hoped, for Brodie’s sake, the baby Esme currently carried was a boy. Brodie might claim not to care either way, but she suspected he secretly wanted a little version of himself.

Even from the shore, Cameron heard the happiness in Esme’s voice when she replied, “Everyone is well. The others are helping Aimee with the garden this morning.”

Cameron nodded. She needed to stop by the island garden on her way to the clinic later. Although the islanders claimed her medical services were more than enough to allow her access to the community garden everyone helped tend, she enjoyed helping when she could.

“Where’s Arabella?” Esme called as her husband cast a net into the water with long practiced efficiency.

Cameron turned back toward the rocks, surprised Ara hadn’t already appeared to see the Huntes. Esme and Brodie were as close to an aunt and uncle as the girl would ever have. She never missed an opportunity to chat with them or finagle a trip on their fishing boat.

“I don’t know. She—”