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ANGELINE

Milky light diffused into the dim of the room; she stared at the white of ceiling where a faint crack looked like a bird. Dawn. Angeline loved the moment before . The pristine, quiet edge between what was planned and what would be.

The permits, as Anton had promised, had come in late last night. The generator and the trailer, both of which had been a bitch and a fortune to acquire, were fueled and ready. She glanced at the faint green glow of the clock. Gustavo should be on his way to the airport soon to pick up the last two contestants.

She took a deep breath, released it.

The game would start today as planned. In spite of her many misgivings.

“Wild Cody? Are you fucking kidding me, Mav?” she’d railed yesterday, her voice too shrill, anger and disbelief getting the better of her.

“What?” His eyes had widened with innocent surprise, a look he had perfected. “He’s cool. I looovved him when I was a kid.”

Mav had leaned back in the big chair, legs spread, arms winged behind his head like a cobra, the very posture of arrogance. There was no way he didn’t know how messed up this was, right? She stared at him.

“Do you know how huge this will be?” he’d asked. “People will tune in just to see him.”

She’d tried for that patient voice she sometimes had to use with him. Outside a light rain had been falling from the too-blue sky, the tall grass of the field swaying in the wind that seemed to be picking up. There was a storm coming, according to Gustavo and Hector, a big one. But Mav didn’t seem worried about it.

“Wild Cody was canceled ,” she’d said, heat coming up her throat. “For killing a lion. At one of those fucked-up big-game hunting properties.”

Maverick blew out an annoyed breath in response. “That was bullshit. Total CGI fake news.”

She’d wondered, not for the first time, Was he really this clueless?

“It doesn’t matter whether he did it or not , Mav. People think he did.”

Maverick leaned forward, face earnest, fatigue purpling his eyes. “He’s like the original conservationist and survivalist. He was doing that shit before anyone else, before WeWatch. Like he was really doing it, not just for the cameras.”

Mav tapped something out on his phone and held it up for Angeline. It was Wild Cody’s Times redemption piece. Wild Cody Goes Back to Nature: After addiction and rock-bottom, the adventurer turned climate-change activist returns to the deep love of the planet he’s held since childhood.

“ And he’s like an environmental activist now.”

There was a big color picture of Wild Cody, his long blond-gray hair pulled back. He looked different than she remembered him. Once he was a kid’s-show character. Now he was chiseled, eyes serious and thoughtful, jaw stubbled. Was he actually…hot? How old was he even? Had to be ancient—like in his fifties. She could tell, just by the smile that teased on the corners of his thin mouth, that he was trouble, a loose cannon.

It didn’t matter, though she grudgingly acknowledged that this might, in fact, be good for views. It was only a question of time before Wild Cody screwed up again. Please, please, please let it not be on her watch.

She pushed the phone away. “You’re not supposed to make decisions like this without talking to me.”

“Ange, come on.”

“I remember Wild Cody,” Hector had chimed in.

He’d sat at the long dining table they’d been using as command central upon which there were three open laptops, two standing mics, ring lights on tripods, a stack of paperwork that Anton had dropped off, Angeline’s pile of books about the islands. Boxes of other equipment—tile trackers, wireless mics, body cameras, spare phones, camping gear of all kinds, most of it given by companies that wanted mentions on their broadcasts—were stacked around the room.

Under the table, there were two big duffel bags that Mav wouldn’t let anyone touch. Some big surprise. Angeline had found herself staring at them on and off, trying to discern from their heft what might be inside.

“Man, I wanted to be him ,” said Hector. “You know, like out there , one with nature and shit. That hat. Remember that cool hat he wore?”

“I thought he was dead,” said Gustavo, who’d made himself comfortable on their couch, considerate enough to keep his tattered Merrill climbing shoes off the fabric. He was scrolling on his phone, the case covered in worn, faded stickers. “Didn’t he like OD?”

Angeline looked around her at the men.

Boys.

Only Alex had matured, become a husband, a father. And where was he?

She could feel him drifting from their group, and it scared her. Because a lot of times he was her only ally, the only one who seemed to get that there was more to running a company than just following whatever idiotic impulse you might have.

“Anyway,” Mav had concluded, his tone final, “Cody’s already on his way. Adele Crane and Malinka Nicqui are on-site. And we got Scotty G, the gamer kid who won the contest. Man, he’s got mad followers. More than I do.”

“Kid?” asked Angeline.

“You know, like nineteen or something.”

“Legal? You’re sure?”

“Of course,” he said. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“Don’t make me answer that.”

“Damn,” said Hector, pulling out the syllable, mock-serious.

None of this was unfamiliar, the tension before every event, the tug of war between Angeline and Mav, the barely controlled chaos of each situation. Sometimes, right before a challenge, she got an eye twitch. Or her jaw might start to ache from unconscious clenching. This time it was both. Also, she’d bitten her nails to the quick. The cuticle of her right index finger was raw and bloody.

But maybe they all thrived on it a bit, even Angeline, little as she cared to admit it.

* * *

Maverick, bare-chested, now snored loud and rumbling beside her. He had a deviated septum, one of the many injuries from stunts gone bad. Face, meet concrete , he liked to say.

The reels of Mav’s many fails got far more views than any of his successful stunts. It was funny when he wiped out, only because he was one of those people whose natural athleticism was so astounding. There was no game that he could not play, no sport at which he didn’t excel. To watch him on skis or a snowboard was mesmerizing, not only because of his grace and strength but because of his daring. And to see that powerful, six-foot frame go toppling when it met with forces beyond its control was undeniably amusing, even when it was terrifying.

And he was good at laughing at himself, one of the things Angeline had first loved about him. How he got up with that sheepish smile, dusted himself off and was at it again right away. Except that he was really tearing himself up, and it was starting to take a toll on his body: a badly healed broken foot, a knee that gave out, his back, headaches. Which worried Angeline. He’d had three concussions since she’d known him, and last time the doctor had been stern.

Life is not a video game, Mav. You don’t get another body when your luck runs out. And it will.

He’d laughed then, too. But she thought that maybe the words had resonated. He got that look, that kind of sad crinkle around the eyes he sometimes had. It was the look that told her there was more to him than his Extreme Maverick persona. The adventure hound, the thrill-seeker, the adrenaline junkie. Laugh too loud. Play too hard. Hurt himself for a laugh.

After that doctor’s visit, in the limo on the way back to their place in Hudson Yard, he’d been contemplative.

Maybe it’s time to slow down, Ange. What do you think?

But then the next week Mav took off to Argentina for heli-skiing, leaving Angeline behind to run the company. Which was fine: she was no daredevil. And someone had to do payroll, manage the social media team, and deal with the lawyers. The lawsuits—currently there were three. The conversation with the doctor was forgotten as soon as he was feeling better. It was almost as if he couldn’t slow down.

Angeline rose from the bed now, heavy fatigue clinging to her eyes, her stomach queasy. She pulled on a robe over her tank top and undies. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt more tired.

After this , Mav had promised, we take a vacation. Just you and me—rest, relax, restore. Pick your spa, anywhere in the world. It will be all detox, yoga, and meditation. Couple time.

She didn’t believe him, not at all. But she wanted to. Because there was a guy she got to see when they were alone, when the cameras were off and the entourage had fallen away. Someone tender and kind, someone who gave with his whole heart—to her, to causes, to his friends, to his followers. He gave away millions of dollars a year, had a staff member solely devoted to answering personal pleas for money: my mom needs surgery ; my car broke down and I can’t get to work ; my brother has cancer and he’s never seen the ocean .

That was the guy Angeline wanted Petra to see. Though why Angeline should care what the supposed town elder thought about her and Mav, she didn’t even know. Anton, slim and smarmy with a pencil mustache and heavily-lidded gaze, obviously had all the power. He wanted what Extreme brought to their little island. Eyes. Tourist dollars. Mav had obviously been right about that. Might didn’t make right. Money did.

She pushed from the bedroom into the large living room suite.

“Ange.”

She issued a startled cry. In the corner, a form hunched in the dark. A light flipped on. Alex.

“Jesus,” she said, releasing a breath, nerve endings tingling. “Why are you sitting there in the dark like a weirdo?”

“We have to talk.”

Something about his expression, a mingling of anger and sadness, struck at her center. He was slim and boyish, with big glasses and a wide mouth, every bit the nerdy CFO. He wore what was basically a uniform for him: gray zip-up hoodie over a graphic T-shirt, baggy jeans. Alex looked as exhausted as Angeline felt.

“What’s going on?” she asked. She didn’t have the bandwidth for more problems.

Alex was worried, Angeline knew that much. They’d gone over the books recently, and things were…not great. Revenue was falling precipitously. Followers were dropping off by the thousands a day. There had been some bad press, rumors of an FBI investigation into Mav’s charitable giving. The investigation into the disappearance of Chloe Miranda was ongoing, the case being amped up by a popular podcaster.

“Is this about the lawsuits?”

There were several, including complainants who claimed they were injured during stunts they’d mimicked from Maverick’s escapades. The online group Moms Against Maverick was vigorously campaigning for WeWatch to drop Maverick altogether.

One of the founding mothers had a kid who would be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. No amount of money offered so far would satisfy his mother or get her to stop campaigning against Extreme. Her last email had been scathing, sizzling with rage and heartbreak.

You’re a role model to young boys. They worship you. Look at my son. He had everything ahead of him. Now he can’t walk—won’t walk again. Ever.

Before they’d left the country, Alex had doubled their previous offer. The family of the injured child had not responded.

“No,” he said. “Not the lawsuits.”

He ran a hand over the crown of his head, didn’t seem to want to meet her eyes.

“Then, what?”

“Yeah, Alex.”

Maverick came up behind Angeline; she felt his heat on her back. He dropped a hand on her shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Maverick’s tone was heavy and dark, unfamiliar. Angeline turned to look at him and didn’t like what she saw on his face. Maverick was slow to anger. But when he lost his temper it was a train wreck.

Alex rose and folded his arms around his slim middle. On his T-shirt, a chubby cat held an enormous bloody knife, eyes innocent. What? the graphic’s text read.

Then Hector came in through the suite door. He was trying to be quiet, looked up, startled to see everyone.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Alex thinks we need to talk,” said Maverick.

“There’s no time to talk,” said Hector, pushing inside. “We’re T-minus twelve hours. Permits are in, contestants arriving. Time to pack up and go to the site.”

Angeline and Alex locked eyes. She felt a little jolt of dread.

“We can talk later,” he said. “Just administrative stuff.”

“Alex,” said Angeline.

“It’s cool,” he said, still not looking at her. “Later.”

Then he pushed by Hector and was gone.

“What’s his problem?” asked Hector, looking back and forth between Angeline and Maverick.

“He needs to chill,” said Maverick. “All he does is worry these days.”

“There’s a lot going on,” said Ange, wondering if she should go after Alex.

“Don’t you start, too,” Mav said, an unpleasant edge to his voice.

She was about to throw down, but then she just ran out of steam.

Last night, after Maverick had fallen sound asleep, she’d logged onto WeWatch at two in the morning and started digging through the comments on the live broadcast, looking for the one that had upset Mav. Because when you couldn’t sleep it was always a good idea to go on social media and seek out the people who actively hated you and everything you stood for.

After scrolling for a while, she finally found it. MavIsALiar with the three skull emojis.

MavIsALiar: Keep playing, Mav. But you will pay for what you’ve done. Tell the truth. Where is Chloe Miranda?

Then, because she was truly masochistic, she went hunting for news on Chloe Miranda. But there was nothing new. That famous podcaster was investigating. But he wasn’t going to find anything, nothing that could hurt Extreme. Because they’d fully cooperated with police, and there was nothing left to tell. She believed that with her whole heart.

“Ange,” said Maverick now, putting a hand to her cheek. “You look wrecked. You need to try to get more sleep.”

Before she could respond, he looked at Hector. “Are we ready to do this?”

“Yaaas!” said Hector, drawing out the word long and deep the way men do when they think they’re being cool but are really just being douchebags.

She gave one last look at the door, wondering what was wrong with Alex and what he wanted to talk about. Should she go after him?

But then, like everything with Maverick, the tide of events swept her away and she turned all her focus on him and the game ahead.

It has to be bigger, scarier, better than anything we’ve ever done.

And if everything went as planned, it would be.

Mav grabbed the two duffel bags, shouldered them with effort.

“Are you going to tell me what’s in those bags?”

She’d asked him twice what was inside. But all he’d offered was that mischievous grin.

“You’ll see,” he said. Then he was walking out the door.

Hector started packing up the rest of the stuff. Angeline turned to look at him.

“Go ahead,” Hector told her. “And I’ll get the other Rover packed up and follow you guys with the luggage and all the equipment.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Of course,” said Hector, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s my job.”

He’d taken the Chloe thing the hardest. It was his job to keep everyone safe, and he took it seriously. The fact that Chloe Miranda had hid during one of their games and was never found was something he carried. A kind of permanent look of sadness had etched itself around his eyes.

“Call if you need help,” she tossed behind her as she hustled after Mav. It would not be out of the realm of possibility that he’d take the car and leave her behind with Hector.

When she turned to look at him one last time, just to make sure he was really okay, he was already at work packing up the equipment.