Author's Note: "Barring the concrit, I really, really, really like this story. It's refreshing to read a story with excellent sentence structure, and this story has it in spades. You know how to wield a comma, also refreshing, and your characters are well written. Please don't take my concrit poorly, as that is honestly not my intent. I just wanted to let you know about a few errors. This is a very enjoyable story and so far I'm rating it in my top ten. Not like that might mean much to you, seeing as how I'm but one person in a sea of 600 favorites and 1k follows, but it does to me. I'll be following this lovely story. To be honest, you have a very real talent. I could easily see this being a published book. Not too many people can juggle multiple characters, but you're good at it. Keep rocking on!"

To reply to the aforementioned review, I just want to say: whoever you are, thank you! I appreciate your criticism - it helps me, don't worry! I oftentimes need a reminder that will make me conscious of grammar and punctuation - as I edit and write my own stories, catching that stuff can be tricky when you've read and re-read a hundred times. And, thank you so much! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story among the mistakes. I most humbly accept your criticism and your words of praise. And a published book - pfft! I'm not anywhere near that!

I want to let all of you who have the same mindset know: just because you are one of 600 favorites and 1k follows, you mean the world. I take each and every one of your reviews super seriously and I crave them - as an aspiring author/screenwriter, I live for feedback. I cannot say enough how marvelous you all are - your reviews are so important to me, as they are the lifeblood of a story. Without them I wouldn't be so confident to press on! Just because you are just 1 person among hundreds and among thousands, you are still important and your voice is still necessary.

Here we go - brace yourselves!

Chapter Thirty-Two

It was dead quiet.

Marianne's mouth was slightly agape at Alan's montage of speech, which equally matched the look on Simon's face as well. Everyone had stopped eating, utensils at hand, and were staring at the paleontologist, who didn't seem phased in the least by his statements and platitudes. He'd quieted, dropped his look from Masrani and twirled his fork through his pile of buttery green beans, casual – as if he hadn't disrupted the entire philosophy and theology of the tables company.

Marianne felt her throat constrict as if it were within the grips of a python – she'd never been more uncomfortable in her entire life. Suddenly she felt a stare, hot and icy all at once, pierce through her conscious bubble – and she looked down the table to Wu, who was glaring at her. Claire's face was entirely red now, not even a light shade of pink, and she seemed just as entirely shocked as Marianne felt – her eyes were wide and her mouth slightly agape too. She darted a look to Marianne and wrinkled her brow in a glare. Marianne challenged her with an upturn of her chin and looked back to Alan.

"Well, I –" Simon had finally collected himself and blinked a few times as if to focus himself on the conversation, " I, well – Dr. Grant, I'm not entirely sure what to say." He interlaced his fingers, propped his elbows on the table, and leaned forward slightly towards Alan, giving a side-look that was intended to be cautious, but looked to Marianne like it would be contemplating, "In all of my features and precautions I thought you would at least be open to the idea of Jurassic World's success and pursuit of science – that you," he wagged a finger at Alan, squinting his eyes, "that you of all people would appreciate the lengths of what my company has accomplished having been drawn from the ashen dream of John Hammond."

Ian jutted in across from Marianne, her brows rising at Masrani's assumptions. "And, and what? Forget what happened twenty years ago?" He slapped the table, jostling the plates and dining ware on table – Claire jumped and squeaked, Sophie lifted her gaze from her plate and stopped mid-bite, and Owen lunged to save his water glass from colliding with the edge of his plate. He gave Marianne a weary look, and she reached under the table across Sophie to squeeze his knee reassuringly – if she could be reassuring at this point. "You can't just, just expose people to that kind of scientific catastrophe and then expect them to be over the PTSD when you've come up with something better." It was his turn to wag his finger at Masrani, "Did you forget that we watched people die, or did that get left out of the corporate history? You really don't believe we could ever come to accept this idea and 'endorse'", he made quotes with his fingers, "this idea all over again – can you?"

Masrani, slightly startled by Malcolm's outburst, shook his head and waved his hand as if to clear the muttled mess, "I am fully aware of the technicalities of Jurassic Park, Dr. Malcolm," he looked to Marianne briefly and then to Alan, who had looked up from his silent staring of his green beans to the corporate god, "Mind you – more than fully aware. But, I will remind you that I have spent the better part of this company's investments and research in security and animal control and scientific breakthrough. I took what John Hammond had left and then recreated it –"

"You glamorized it," Ian interjected, "You slapped a nice label on this place and now you're selling it," he slapped the table again, punctuating his speech for emphasis, "You didn't enhance anything –"

"John Hammond's research –"

"This isn't about John Hammond!" Marianne's hands, which had somehow balled into fists, found the table hard and her chair flew out behind her, toppling over as she stood over the table.

The entire atmosphere went cold. Silence erupted like a nuke, causing all life to extinguish within the restaurant. Everyone was looking at Marianne Randal, the woman shouting and standing and causing a scene among some of the most renown scientists of the age.

Marianne wasn't exactly sure what had come over her, but she was enraged. She'd had enough of these arguments over John Hammond's Jurassic Park and Simon Masrani's Jurassic World. She was tired of the numbers, the ignorance, the control, and the precautions. She was tired of this being about what everyone had accomplished and not what they'd failed to understand. She was tired of this façade, when in all honesty she was in a place where the naked truth was on parade.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Randal?" Masrani's tone was shocked, perplexed, and condescending all at once. That, mixed with Wu's glare and Claire's gape was enough to send her deeper into the fury pouring throughout chest and into her stomach.

"Miss Randal –" Claire reached across the table as if a gentle pat of her hand through the air would settle Marianne. It wouldn't, Marianne would make sure of it. She was tired of being polite and gracious and reserved – she was tired of keeping it bottled up inside and feeding the truth on a silver spoon with a sugar coat.

"This is not about John Hammond," she looked at Masrani – "Hammond's park had its show and now that's done and accounted for. This is about you, Mr. Masrani." She pointed a finger at him, "Your mistakes and your ignorance. You can't push this back on Hammond just because you took over his legacy. You can't cover up the mistakes and disaster of Jurassic Park with the successes and accomplishments of Jurassic World." She slammed her finger on the table as if pinning her point in place, "The fact of the matter is that what you're doing – what you've already done – is dangerous and reckless and wrong, and you are so entranced with the idea of success and scientific discovery that you've failed to see it. That's the truth, without the sugar coat."

It was Wu's turn to interject now, and he cleared his throat. "What you're failing to realize, Miss Randal, is that our understanding of these animals has far surpassed that of what we knew twenty years ago – and that's the reason we've been successful. We've seen what these animals are capable of and we've adjusted accordingly – just like with any animal in any zoo."

She shook her head and guffawed at him, "Really? Because, if I remember correctly, fences haven't changed all that much in twenty years. And neither has luck," she bent over the table, looking down at her dinner plate, hands braced against the top and her fingers digging into the fine cloth. She sighed, "These animals aren't your pets anymore, Dr. Wu – they aren't in your labs and aren't subject to your spreadsheets. They don't know you created them in a test tube with chemicals and genes and formulas," at this she shot her attention to Masrani for half a second and then looked back at Wu, "They don't know and they don't care. They are packed with instincts now, with gut feelings, and you can't just expect them to be suppressed because you put them behind some plexi-glass and schedule their feedings." She took a step back from the table. "When I first came here I was amazed by what you'd done – what you'd accomplished, I'll admit." She put her hands in the air as if to surrender, "But the longer I stay the more weary I get – with all this genetic hybrid talk floating around the air and all this 'pushing the understanding of nature' ideology, I'm not so much amazed as I am worried."

Alan, unnerved and staring at her with a look of disbelief and confusion, reached out his hand and turned in his chair. "Marianne," he warned her. She shook her head and looked to Owen, who slowly stood up from his chair and looked down at Sophie. Past him, Marianne had forgotten Claire's nephews had occupied the end of the table, and were staring at her – Zach; the older boy, with an open mouth, and Grey, with wide eyes and a startled look.

"This is completely ridiculous," Simon laughed nervously, "Your argument is entirely based off of presuppositions and inferences, Miss Randal!" He chuckled at her, "You do not have one shred of evidence of failure in this park," he shook his head, "Not one. I have made sure that this park is as safe as it can possibly be. Miss Dearing has had hundreds of inspections and security upgrades," he gestured to Claire, who looked abashed to be included in the argument, "Progress happens, Miss Randal. That is a fact of business. Success, and misfortune. John Hammond was unfortunate in his endeavor with these animals because the world was not ready for him. But, I can assure you, the world is quite ready for us now," he looked across to Claire and gestured to her with a hand, "To be quite blunt with you, Miss Randal, it would appear to me that you expect Jurassic World to fail because you want it to fail. But, I can assure you – you cannot stand in the way of progress, Miss Randal, otherwise, I'm afraid you will be –"

"Trampled? Dismembered? Eaten?" Ian quipped, snorting. "Because those are all logical possibilities."

She quirked a brow at him , then looked to Masrani. She couldn't believe what she was hearing – it was almost on the point of ludicrously. It was beginning to fall into place around her brain, and she felt her stomach drop. It was worse than she had imagined. She looked to Alan, who dropped his gaze back to his plate, and then to Owen, who was standing and staring at her silently, unmoving. Claire; who had her face in her hands, Wu; who was boiling mad and tight-lipped, the three kids; who were beyond confused and embarrassed, Nick; who had taken to his brandy and bread as if engaged in a film, and Ian – who was smiling at her and nodding, as if egging her on.

She finally could form words decently. "So...you're saying this all rides on chance?"

Simon shrugged a shoulder and puffed out a breath, "Chance, and much, much hope, Miss Randal."

With that, Marianne stepped away from the table, her arms dropping to her sides as if they'd turned to heavy sacks of brick. Marianne imagined her stomach was somewhere on the floor, because her heart had lodged itself in the pit of her abdomen, taking its place. Her head began to swim and blood pooled in her ears and clogged her hearing, and she felt as if the entire heat of the universe were poured into her body. Hot stares from everywhere bored into her, and she wondered if a hole had appeared in place of her face. She looked to Owen, who was staring blankly at her with a set jaw and tight lips – and she, for the first time since knowing him, couldn't read what he was thinking.

Simon sighed and then messaged the bridge of his nose. Then, he looked up at Alan, and then to her, ending his gaze with Ian. "It is clear to me that your presence on the island is more distressing than invigorating," he cleared his throat, straightened his tie and then gave her a sympathetic look, "so I will arrange for you to be seen off the island and back to the mainland first thing in the morning, and that you have your belongings with you – though I am sorry it has come to such. I was very, truly hoping you would come to understand my vision, all three of you –" his eyes landed on Marianne, and he pointed a finger at her and narrowed his eyes, taking her in as if he was confused by her presence, "especially you. Because I like your spirit and your passion – it is exactly what I hope will come out of all this." He waved his hand. "But, I'm afraid that fear has deeper roots than reason when it comes to the human psyche."

With that, he pushed himself from the table, and smoothed down the front of his suit. "Good evening, everyone." He dipped his head to them, and extended a hand to Dr. Grant, "It was fantastic to meet each and every one of you." He ended with a handshake to Ian, a dip of his head to Marianne, and then was gone.

There was silence for a few moments before Nick jutted in from his place at the table, mid-sip of brandy, "So…that's the guy who owns the place, isn't it?"

Marianne sighed and covered her face with a hand, the other arm wrapping around her abdomen. She nodded slowly and sighed, whispering without looking up. "Yes, Nick," she sighed heavier, if possible, "…it is."

He snorted, "Then that explains it." He took another drink and grinned at her. Marianne peered through her fingers and he winked at her, and she sighed and groaned as quietly as she could.

"You and your big mouth," was all he said.

. . .

The dinner group said nothing of significance after Masrani had left, Claire and Wu being the next to excuse themselves, along with the company of Zach and Grey. They'd left the restaurant as the other guests around them had watched, whispering and chattering as onlookers did. It wasn't long after that when Ian, Nick, and Alan said their goodnights and departed – Alan giving a reassuring rub to Marianne's shoulder before he did so.

That left Owen, Marianne, and Sophie to disperse at their leisure, and they did, quietly and uneventfully. Marianne couldn't imagine anything more embarrassing or shameful or horrific happening that night, and in hopes of not seeing anything manifest, she kept her mouth shut. Owen escorted her and Sophie back to her car, and they dropped Sophie off at the resort quietly, him taking her inside.

Parked out front with only the rumbling of the Camaro's engine to soothe her, Marianne shamed herself for what she'd done. She'd ruined everything – literally everything. She'd ruined all hope of Alan ever working with raptors on the field, getting any research from the biopsy, stopping Hoskins in his psychotic plan to develop the raptors as weapons for the military, all chance of ever having anything substantial come out of field study and assessment. She'd blown it – all because of her big mouth and her opinionated persona.

And then there was Owen – she'd ruined that too. He'd seen this side of her far too early in their relationship – less than twenty four hours! – and in even more voracity than before. He'd already known she was opinionated and stubborn, but defensive and harsh? She sighed and slammed her head back into the head-rest of the Camaro's vinyl seating, closing her eyes and letting out a deep sigh. He'd want nothing to do with her now that he'd seen her blow up like a child – she hadn't expected to have to cross that bridge so early into their friendship.

You've ruined everything, you stupid little brat. She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip, pushing back the rage and the fear and the pain that had taken shelter inside of her. Why do you have to open your mouth?

The thought of going back to the mainland genuinely scared the daylights out of her – she'd been here four weeks and had it already felt like four years. Marianne couldn't picture being without Barry and Briggs and Silas, or not seeing Delta, Blue, Charlie and Echo ever again. And Owen – being without him was probably going to kill her. The thought wedged itself in her chest like a hot and searing coal. The thoughts wound a constricting serpent of pain and sorrow around her heart, one that was ebbing the life out of her as the minutes ticked on and on inside the Camaro, waiting for Owen to return. Waiting for the reality to set in.

You ruined everything, Marianne. The words echoed and rolled across her brain like they were broken records reminding her of a song she wanted to forget. You had to go and ruin everything you had going for you the first time in six years.

Only when the car jostled and the door slammed back into place to her left did Marianne open her eyes and jar out of her pity party. She rolled her head across the seat and found Owen settling into the driver's side, one hand draped over the wheel, the other fumbling with the lights. She watched him, studying all the intricate details of his hands and his arms and then his face, remembering how hot his breath had been on her skin. She couldn't imagine living life without those details. It was impossible to formulate in her brain.

Once'd managed the lights, they drove on in silence back to his bungalow. It seemed like neither one of them were breathing, much less talking, and Marianne chided herself most of the ride back. The tension in the air was unbelievable – utterly suffocating, and she wanted nothing more than to open the window and rewind their lives, back to what it had been just hours before. She watched the darkness fly by them, unbreaking in her window, until he slowed and Marianne realized they were at his place.

He flicked the car off, the lights still on and blazing a path of light across the yard and out to the lake behind his bungalow, casting shimmering waves of light across the sleek surface. The moon was already illuminated in a grand circle of light above them, and the stars were beginning to come into view from behind the clouds of the night sky. The sounds of jungle floated in her open window – far off screeches of monkeys and buzzing of insects and rustling of leaves all played like music for Marianne. She engrained the sounds in her mind, reasoning this place was the only place in the world that could make such beautiful, meaningful music – music that she'd never get to hear again.

They sat, staring out the windshield and across the lakebed into nothing, silent. Their breathing was the only thing reminding Marianne that she was alive and not dreaming – because this felt like a bad dream. A nightmare. She looked down, pulled at the hem of her dress awkwardly – suddenly feeling exposed before she inhaled a breath and looked back out the windshield. She glanced at him in the darkness of the car.

He was like a stone – unreadable and steady, his gaze unmoving from the glass in front of them. Actually, she realized everything about Owen was steady – is schedule, his demeanor, his life – everything besides her. She'd come into his life and in four weeks and had rocked him upside down, and tossed chaos into his life as if she were giving out candy. He probably felt overwhelmed and shocked, like he'd been abducted and taken captive and now was so free. She'd done nothing but damage their relationship since the moment Delta had gotten sick – she'd challenged and fought the system that kept him employed and steady, and she'd bucked the rules and had ironically thrown caution to the wind.

She sunk farther into the Camaro's seat and sighed again, pinching her eyes shut as if to make it all go away, and she balled up her fists and let them rest on her thights, uncovered and exposed and making her feel naked. Maybe Alan had been right – maybe this had all been such a huge mistake. Maybe she was immature and inexperienced and just too naïve for all of this – maybe it was far more dangerous than she realized. Alan's words of warning came running back to her and seized her gut in remembrance. This was all such a bad idea, no matter how much she wanted Owen or this life or this job. And she wanted it – oh, did she want it.

It was overwhelming, all the thoughts coming to mind, and she blurted, "I'm sorry about everything and what I –" Marianne gestured wildly with her hands and felt the once fantastic bun she'd put her hair into begin to fall down her back.

Without time to think, her breath was stolen from her lungs when he leaned over the console and took her face in his hands and seized her mouth with his own. Like a captivating spell hypnotizing her into obedience, she fell against the door and brushed her fingertips on his hands, gesturing for him not to let go.

Her hands, however, suddenly began to tremble, as did the rest of her body as he moved up into his seat, easing slowly over the console and letting one hand trace gently down her jaw and to her neck, his fingertips moving across her skin and down her arm, until his calloused hand gently traced the skin underneath her thigh, him letting his palm fall perfectly into there. His lips parted her own forcefully, willing her forward, and he dropped the other hand from along her jaw to hold himself up. Marianne turned her body to face him in the seat, one leg up under her, and his hand on her thigh suddenly tightened into a grip and pulled it down, causing her to slink farther in the seat. She obliged his gesture, moving her foot over the console and to the floor on his side. Owen, however, didn't cease kissing her in all their repositioning, and instead held himself up over her.

Marianne was sure her heart was thrumming so hard it would burst out of her chest, but she realized that the intense beating on her chest wasn't just her own heart – it was Owen's, too. Mixed the furious breaths coming from his nose and the rumbling moans rolling from his throat, Marianne's own thoughts were lost in this moments – nothing else mattered. Masrani, Claire, Alan, Wu – none of them mattered compared to this man; this man she was desperately trying to woo and desperately trying to figure out. This man, who had her outside herself and had slipped into her mind and taken her captive. This man, Owen Grady, who had breached her insecurities and conquered them like a king taking new land.

This man – who she was leaving in the morning.

She willed herself to stay in his kiss, to forget the burning tears not falling down her face and the sobs choking the life out of her lungs – she willed herself away from reality to stay here, in this Camaro, with this man she was so infatuated with. Marianne forced from her mind all her insecurities and all her concerns about her own self and her own existence, about her career the future of this place, forcing from her mind the harsh reality of what awaited Owen the four raptors. But, as much as she tried to rid her mind of such negativities – she couldn't.

She was leaving.

A stone of regret ricocheted through her chest and plummeted into her stomach.

She squirmed beneath him uncomfortably, overcome.

He broke apart for an instant, only to take a breath and scour her eyes, as if to make sure she was alright. They were both wet with sweat – his shirt stained on the front and down the back, her skin slick with a sheen coat, the curls around her face plastered. Marianne's chest was blazing with heat, her lungs swimming in fire and feeling as if they were boiling alive. Only pausing enough to check on her, she was thankful he couldn't see her tears. Moving her farther down into the seat, he lowered himself over her before a sob escaped her throat.

"I can't do this," her sob was deep and throaty, and she turned away from him. As if finally releasing all the stored up anguish and anxiety, she let out another cry, and the tremble from her hands spread throughout her entire body.

He pushed himself up on his arms and gave her a surprised – and flummoxed – look. Misunderstanding, he shook his head and moved in again, "You're doing fine," he murmured, his voice throaty and husky and dangerously low. It sent spikes of satisfaction through her gut.

She shook her head and pushed him off of her, sniffling horribly, "No, Owen. I can't do this," she gestured between them, "I can't do this knowing I'm leaving. I…I just can't." Anger overcame her and she sat up, buttoned up the buttons on the front of her dress, and turned in the seat. She grabbed the door handle and was about to shoulder the door open when Owen grabbed her wrist and pulled her back roughly. He had a scowl on his face, from what she could tell in the darkness.

"No." He said forcefully. "I'm not letting you run away again. I'm sick of that crap." He released her wrist and aran his hands through his hair, then looked at her, giving her a side glance.

"It's better this way," she whispered, looking away from him, "It's better if I just go quietly." She rubbed her arm carefully, then glanced up at him sheepishly as if expecting a punishment.

Anger overcame him and he slammed his fist against the dashboard of the car, "Dang it, Marianne!" He turned to face the steering wheel and lowered into his seat, sliding his hands through his hair and letting his elbows drop onto the wheel. He then fell hard against the back seat and beat the wheel again, his foot slamming into the floorboards in rage. She bit her lower lip and sobbed again, putting her hands over her mouth.

She shook her head, "I'm sorry," she murmured, "I'm so, so sorry –"

Quickly Owen turned and grabbed her wrists, practically pulling her across the console and into him. She gasped, falling on top of him, Owen falling against the door roughly and rocking the entire car. He wrapped an arm around her, and rested her head against his chest and played with a curl around his finger, "Stop being sorry for crap that isn't your fault," he chastised her, "God, I swear – one minute you're a Warrior Goddess and the next you're a church mouse." This made her chuckle and sniffle, and a chuckle too rumbled around his chest, mixed with the beating of his heart, "I really honestly have no idea what to do with you."

She didn't say anything, just closed her eyes and focused on his heartbeat, and the rising and falling of his chest – rhythmic and steady, soothing her nerves. She was hot and sweating, as was he, but she didn't care – and for the first time, she didn't think he did either. He was holding her, in her Camaro, on one of the most beautiful islands in the world. He had told her she was beautiful – the first man in her entire life to use the rare, precious word. Emotion flew through her chest and swelled her heart, and she took in his masculine scent again.

He had told her she was beautiful, good enough.

She was good enough for Owen Grady.

She was good enough to get kissed by him -and kissed hard.

"I don't want to leave," she murmured, her voice sounding childish compared to his deep and seasoned presence, "Please, please don't let me leave." She was referring to staying in his arms, but she might as well have been referring to her departure from the island as well – because she didn't want to leave then either.

He sighed, "I don't want you to leave either," he buried his nose in her hair and inhaled her scent, "Man, I don't," he pushed her off of him to look her in the face, taking a hand to grab her chin lightly, "But I think you kinda have to."

She nodded and took his wrist in her hand and closed her eyes, sniffling, "I know I have to." Another tear slipped out of her eye and she forced a chuckle, "Here I am crying again. It's like a whole new me," a blush rushed up her neck and blossomed on her nose.

He gave her a goofy smile, "You should really get that checked out."

She swatted his hand away playfully, "I blame you. That's checking it out." She swiped at her eyes and moved back to her own seat, "As nice as this was, I'm exhausted. Let's go inside."

Marianne let herself out of the car and was blasted by a night breeze, which instantly cleared the sheen of sweat from her skin and brightened her mood only slightly. She rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms, Owen getting out of the Camaro on the driver's side. Catching a glimpse of the stars over the lake, Owen clicked off the lights and she rounded the car and started towards the bungalow.