Page 19 of Wandering Wild

I’m going to die.

That’s my only thought as I hit the water, my nerve endings blaring with agony, the cold sinking into the deepest part of my being.

I’m immediately sucked under, tossed and turned by the weight of the deluge falling on top of me. By some miracle, there are no rocks to crash against, but the current is swift and drags me along, making it impossible to gain any control. It’s all I can do to fight my way upward, finally breaking through the surface long enough to gasp in a choking breath before I’m sent straight back under again.

Zander— where is Zander?

I can’t see him anywhere, the rapids tearing at me as they haul my quickly freezing body along the river, around boulders and bends and down even more waterfalls, albeit mere bumps compared to the beast from which we just fell. Every time I manage to suck in more air, I search desperately, but I still can’t see any sign of him.

But then—there he is, swimming ahead of me.

No, not swimming.

He’s being dragged along as helplessly as I am. Only—there’s something wrong. He’s not splashing and struggling and battling the rapids like I am. He’s eerily still, his limbs floating lifelessly as the river carries him along, his face turned upward and his eyes?—

His eyes are shut.

Panic slams into me and I fight harder than ever against the current, swimming with everything I have. I cry out when a sharp turn nearly sends me crashing into a boulder, my lungs burning as I inhale a mouthful of water, but still I swim, harder and harder, until I finally manage to close my fingers around Zander’s arm.

He doesn’t respond to my touch, not so much as a fluttering of his eyelashes.

I act on instinct, hauling his unresponsive body closer and kicking with all my might toward the riverbank, then somehow find the strength to heave him out onto dry land. No longer burdened by his weight, I’m nearly torn away by the current again, but I grasp hold of a tree root and pull myself up until I’m free, panting and spluttering on the rocky earth, my heart crashing against my ribs.

“Zander?” I choke out, kneeling over him. “ ZANDER! ”

I’m so frozen that I’m physically aching, but I barely notice, because something else much more important has my attention.

Zander isn’t breathing.

For one horrifying moment, I’m paralyzed, but then years of first-aid training kick in and I lunge to check his pulse, finding nothing. I don’t allow myself to think before shoving my fingers into his mouth to make sure his airways are clear, and then I immediately begin chest compressions, bearing my whole weight down on him.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” I command, my words breaking. “ D-Don’t you dare. ”

I finish my first set of compressions and hurriedly pinch his nose, placing my mouth over his and breathing air down his throat until his chest rises, once, twice, and then I return to my compressions.

“Zander— please— ” I beg him, tears streaming down my face as a bone-deep fear begins to swallow me.

How long has it been? How long does he have before?—

Suddenly, Zander gives a violent jolt, and then river water spews out of him as he coughs and coughs and coughs, the sound as painful as it is beautiful.

Because he’s breathing.

He’s alive .

My relief would bring me to my knees if I wasn’t already on the ground. I don’t know when I started fully sobbing, but I’m shaking as hard as he is when I wrap my arms around him, holding him close as he gasps in life-saving air. I know I should move him into a recovery position, but I can’t bring myself to let him go.

“Y-You’re okay,” I tell him, rocking him gently. “You’re—You’re s-safe.”

Pulling back slightly, I frame his face with my hands, shifting wet hair away from his eyes. He’s dazed and disoriented, and still breathing hard, but he’s finally starting to come back to himself.

“Please say something,” I whisper, tears continuing to roll down my cheeks. I have no idea how long he was unconscious for—how long he was dead for. The cold water will have worked in his favor, but there could still be brain damage if his oxygen supply was cut off for too long. If I was too slow in getting him out of the water—if I didn’t move fast enough when I?—

“Charlie,” he breathes my name, halting my spiraling thoughts. He leans forward until his forehead is resting against mine. “Charlie.”

That’s all he says, but it causes a new sob to leave me, and I pull him even closer, tightening my embrace.

We hold each other like that for long enough that our breathing settles, but if anything, we’re shaking more now, as both shock and cold set in. Dusk is well on its way, and we need to find shelter, preferably somewhere dry enough to light a fire. It’s already going to be difficult since it’s starting to drizzle again, and a quick look upward tells me there’s more rain coming. We can’t dally on the riverbank, and we should take advantage of our adrenaline while it’s still coursing through us.

Yielding to wisdom, I reluctantly draw back and ask, “If I help you, do you think you can walk?”

Zander nods weakly, but it still takes two attempts before I can get him to his feet. Even then, he has to sling his arm around my shoulders to keep from stumbling, his heavy weight like a sack of potatoes pressing down on me.

But he’s alive, I remind myself. If I have to carry him through the entire forest in order to make sure he stays that way, then that’s what I’ll do.

My determination isn’t motivated by what he confessed before we fell into the river—though I do feel ashamed after what he shared. I have questions, so many questions, but even if he hadn’t revealed what he did, I would still be helping him now. I’m not a monster—I might have loathed him, but I never, ever wanted to see him hurt, let alone dead. And the idea of him drowning because I couldn’t save him in time...

I already know I’m going to be haunted by memories of him being swept away with his eyes closed, then of his motionless chest when he failed to breathe.

“Hey, you okay?” Zander asks me, his voice raspy from coughing so hard.

I realize I’m full-body trembling against him, making our task of stumbling through the trees more challenging, but I’m still incredulous enough to say, “That’s my line.”

“I’m not the one shaking like an earthquake right now.”

“Give it time,” I murmur, looking for any sign of a shelter.

The sprinkling rain soon grows heavier, fueling my urgency to find protection from it. It’s getting later and darker and?—

“Over there,” Zander says, pointing through the trees. “I think I see some rocks. There might be a cave.”

I move us in that direction, hardly daring to hope, and then nearly sobbing all over again when I see he’s right. The cave is mostly buried by the forest and smaller than the one our group slept in last night, but it’s out of the elements, which is all we need.

“Sit,” I tell Zander, not giving him a choice as I lower him to rest against the inner rock wall. “Stay.”

Hurrying back outside, I search until I find a downed tree that still has some dry wood deep within the hollowed trunk. I gather as much as I can and run back to the cave, dumping it on the floor. Belatedly, I realize we didn’t check for any native animals, but I’m past caring now—if they’re here, they can mind their own business and let us share the space in peace.

I must say that last part aloud, because Zander rasps out a quiet chuckle and says, “Here’s hoping they agree with you.”

I ignore him and get to work, stacking the kindling among the larger chunks of wood, my hands so frozen that it takes me three tries to unzip my pocket and retrieve Hawke’s flint, then another four tries to strike a spark from it. But finally?—

“Ahh,” Zander moans as the flames lick the wood and warmth starts filling the cave.

It’s not enough, though.

The river was too cold and our outerwear is too wet for us to get the heat we need as fast as we need it. Practicality has me crouching beside Zander and tugging at his sleeves as I say, “We need to get your clothes off.”

His eyebrows shoot upward. “First you hate me, and then you try to get me naked? I might need a moment to catch up.”

My cheeks flush, but I keep yanking until he’s free of his sodden coat. “I’m not trying to get you naked. Just strip down to your thermals—they’re moisture-wicking so they’ll dry quickly, and then they’ll help you retain warmth.”

I don’t address the hating-him part of his comment, since I’m still confused about what he shared earlier. Instead, I leave him to remove the rest of his outerwear while I brave the rain and run back into the forest one last time, heading straight to the sandpaper fig tree I saw when I was searching for firewood. I wrestle off an entire branch full of fruit before sprinting back to the cave, then toss it on the ground and immediately get to work stripping my own clothes. I stop when I’m down to my long-sleeved top and thermal pants, and then I collapse beside Zander and wrap my arms around him once more.

His entire body tenses.

“Body heat,” I explain.

Slowly, his arms circle me, as if he expects me to pull away—or to push him away—but if anything, I press deeper into him.

I wasn’t lying; we’ll warm up faster this way. But that’s not the only reason I want to be close to him right now.

I need to feel his chest moving.

I need to hear his heart beating.

I need to feel him alive .

And somehow, he senses that, because instead of me offering him comfort after what happened to him, he tucks me in closer and begins to run his hand up and down my arm, a gentle, soothing motion intended to bring me calm. To make me feel safe. All things I should be giving to him.

We sit like that for a long time; long enough for the fire to dry our clothes and burrow into our skin, chasing away the frost of the river, both of us holding each other in silence. Until, finally, I can’t keep quiet any longer.

“You stopped breathing.”

The words leave me in a whisper.

“I’m sorry,” Zander says.

It’s the most outrageous thing I’ve ever heard, and it’s enough to have me jerking in his arms and tilting my head back to look at him. Sure enough, his face is full of remorse.

“You can’t apologize for dying ,” I state, incredulous.

His eyes hold mine as he replies, “I can apologize for scaring you, though.”

I stifle my automatic urge to tell him he’s wrong, that I wasn’t scared. Because we both know the truth—I was petrified .

Softly, Zander goes on, “Thank you for saving my life, Charlie.”

I have to shut my eyes at the tenderness in his voice. It doesn’t feel right to wave his gratitude aside with a trite response like “You’re welcome,” so instead I ask, “How are you feeling? Are you in much pain?”

He grimaces, which is answer enough. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

I touch my hand lightly to his chest, right over where I did my compressions. The bandage he so diligently wrapped around my palm earlier is gone, stolen by the river, but I meant what I told him about it being unnecessary. I can’t feel the wound at all now that the thorn is out. Zander, though...

“Seriously, did I hurt you?” I press. I wouldn’t take it back, but I’ll still feel bad if I cracked any of his ribs.

Zander curls his hand around my fingers, trapping them in place. “I’m a little bruised, but it’s my throat and lungs that are hurting the most. I must have coughed up the entire river.”

“And then some,” I say, remembering how much liquid came out of him. I reach for the fig branch, plucking off some fruit and holding it out. “The juice should help.”

He doesn’t look eager to eat, but when he notices my concern, he forces some figs down. Relief touches his features almost instantly, and his voice is much stronger when he speaks again. “Where did you learn CPR?”

His question is innocent enough, but there are two answers I can give him, one easy, one... less so. I start with the easy one. “My boss, Sandy, makes all of their employees take an annual first-aid course because we work with children. There’s no harm in being prepared, as Sandy always says.”

Zander makes a humming sound of agreement and leans his head back against the wall, his hand resuming its path up and down my arm. I wonder if he knows he’s doing it—or if he’s realized we’re warm enough now that we no longer need to share body heat to stave off the cold. I could move away from him. I should move away from him.

I don’t move away from him.

Instead, I take a risk, and share, haltingly, “But that’s not where I learned it. My—My mum taught me. She was an ER nurse, and since I grew up in a coastal town, she saw so many drownings that she refused to let me go to the beach with my friends until we all learned how to do it.”

Zander’s hand freezes at the mention of my mother. But then he relaxes again, as if trying to keep me at ease.

Unable to stop myself, I ask, “What you said earlier, about—about your parents... is it true?”

For a long moment, Zander doesn’t answer. I wonder if I lost my chance to hear his truth by not being willing to listen when he wanted to share it with me, and my heart shrivels in my chest. But then he leans across to where his coat is drying beside the fire and unzips a pocket to retrieve something, before resting against the wall once more.

I recognize what’s in his hand: it’s the photograph I’ve seen in the media, the one of Zander fishing with the man and woman who I always assumed were his relatives but not his parents, given that I thought his mum and dad were pictured with him at his movie premieres. But now that I know more about his history...

“Are they your birth parents?” I ask quietly, touching the picture. It’s laminated, but it has enough wear that I can tell Zander carries it with him at all times.

“It’s the last photo I have of them—taken the last day I saw them alive,” Zander says, his eyes on the image. “We were on our way home from a camping trip when we collided head-on with a car that swerved into our lane. The driver was seven times over the legal limit, and she still managed to walk away mostly unscathed. But my parents—” His throat bobs. “My parents died on impact.”

I suck in a breath. “Zander,” I whisper, but I say no more. There’s nothing more I can say, my own grief hitting me anew. It was the worst experience of my life to have one parent stolen from me—I can’t imagine how he survived losing both of his, and at such a young age.

He lifts the hem of his thermal shirt, and at first all I can see is the bruising that’s already forming from my compressions, but my guilt is diverted when he runs a finger along a scar traveling vertically down his side. It’s long—about the length of my hand—but faded enough that I’ve never noticed it during the times I’ve seen him shirtless, both in person and on-screen. Then again, I’ve also never been this close to his bare torso before.

“Glass from the passenger window,” Zander explains. “Thirty stitches.” I flinch, even as he goes on, “I don’t remember the pain—I just remember being told my mom and dad were gone, and then all I felt was numb.”

I know all about that.

It’s how I’ve felt for the last six months, ever since that policeman showed up on our doorstep.

I open my mouth, then close it again, unable to summon any words.

But Zander doesn’t need me to. “I meant what I said on the waterfall. I would never knowingly endanger someone else’s life, not after what I lost.” He lowers his shirt again, unable to hold my gaze as he admits, “But saying that, what happened the night of my DUI was still my fault. I was—I was reckless. I was stupid. Even if I didn’t realize just how much.”

“I don’t understand,” I say hoarsely.

“I knew there was something wrong with me.” Zander’s brow is furrowed in memory. “I didn’t know what—I was dizzy and disoriented and nauseous, but I also wasn’t thinking clearly, so there’s no way I could have guessed I’d been roofied. That was—” He shakes his head. “I still can’t believe it, to be honest. But even though I only drank soda that night, I knew I wasn’t feeling right, and that should have been enough to stop me from getting in my car.”

The self-loathing in his tone indicates this is something he’s been struggling with for a while. Normally, I would be agreeing with him—he shouldn’t have driven off if he was feeling that unwell, despite not knowing the cause—but I also remember what else he said earlier.

“What happened with Maddox? You said he was going to—going to—” I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence.

Zander shudders against me, his voice hollow as he answers, “He left the party early—said he had a headache and didn’t feel like being around people. I offered to leave with him, but he laughed and told me he didn’t need a babysitter, while also reminding me that Summer could use the backup after being away from the city for so long.” His gaze turns distant. “There was nothing strange about how he was acting. I’ve gone back over that night so many times in the last three months, and there was nothing to indicate he was even thinking of?—”

He cuts himself off, slamming his eyes shut.

I don’t press him, giving him the time he needs to gather himself.

Finally, he opens his eyes again, staring into the fire as he says, in a voice full of pain, “Even leading up to it, there was nothing. He’s my best friend, and I had no idea what was going on in his head. I still have no idea. I just wish—I wish I understood. I wish he’d told me. I wish I’d known what to look for.”

Now I’m the one rubbing my hand up and down his arm, offering any comfort I can.

A tremulous breath leaves him, and he continues, “I got a text from him while I was at the party, a few hours after he left. I’ll never forget what it said. Just six words: ‘Love you, man. Don’t miss me.’” Zander’s face is haunted. “I figured he must have taken some pain meds for his headache and they’d scrambled his words around, or they were making him sentimental or whatever. But then came one more text: ‘Take care of Wookiee for me.’ That’s when I knew something was really wrong.”

Seeing my confusion, Zander explains, “Wookiee is his dog. He rescued him as a puppy and loves him more than most people. He also hates being away from him, and since he didn’t have any trips planned at the time, his text set off alarm bells, making me read his first one in a new light and realize—realize?—”

He stops talking, and this time I do press, “So you left the party?”

A terse, ashamed nod. “All I knew was that I had to get to him. I couldn’t think beyond my panic.”

I lick my lips. “And—And did you? Get to him?”

“Yes and no,” Zander answers. “I crashed right near his house. It was the dead of night, and the sound of crunching metal—” He winces in memory. “Whatever Maddox was intending to do, hearing that stopped him in time. And then pulling me from the wreckage seemed to give him a wake-up call.”

I latch onto one word: “Seemed?”

“I haven’t seen or spoken to him since it happened.” Zander’s expression shows how much that upsets him. “I’ve called him a thousand times, even gone around to his house, both before and after my time in rehab, but he refuses to talk to me. He’s my best friend and I?—”

Zander’s voice breaks, and my heart breaks with it.

With another tremulous breath, he steadies himself enough to say, “I feel like I failed him. He was always smiling and laughing and I had no idea it was covering what he was really feeling. And now that I know, he won’t let me be there for him.” Zander rubs a hand down his face. “He hasn’t stopped talking to Summer, at least. So I know from her that he’s been getting professional help, and he’s doing better. But he still won’t speak to me. Summer says he’s ashamed—that he blames himself for me rushing to him that night and getting the DUI, which then caused problems with my career. But I don’t think that’s the reason. It’s more likely he feels guilty because he’s one of the few people who knows what I just told you about my parents, so he’s also aware that I’d never get behind a wheel while intoxicated—which means he thinks I made that choice deliberately, for him . He doesn’t know I was clueless about having been drugged, and I don’t have a way to tell him and ease his guilt until he’s finally willing to speak with me again.”

“Can’t Summer tell him?” I ask.

Zander shakes his head. “She doesn’t know I was roofied.”

I blink, surprised. “Why not?”

“Summer already blames herself for my career troubles after I supported her last year,” Zander answers, swatting at an insect drawn to the flames. “If she knew I’d been drugged at her own birthday party, and everything that’s led to—the ‘bad boy’ label, the difficulty getting auditions, potentially losing the role of a lifetime—how much more guilt do you think she’d feel? It’s absolutely not her fault, but Summer has always felt a lot more than most people. Something like this would devastate her, and that’s the last thing she needs while she’s still dealing with all her other industry heartache.”

I understand his point. “Is that why you wouldn’t tell me anything until the cameras were gone?” I don’t need him to confirm, since I already know it’s true. Well, that, plus his sensitivity toward Maddox’s mental health, which I can tell Zander would never want splashed across headlines, even if it could save his own reputation. I gasp as that realization hits me, and I quickly add, “Everything you just said—it’s the reason you took the blame for the DUI even though it wasn’t your fault, isn’t it? You kept quiet about what really happened to protect your friends.”

“It was my fault,” Zander says firmly. “I take full responsibility for getting in that car.”

“That’s a credit to you,” I say, just as firmly, “but it doesn’t mean you’re not a victim in all of this.”

Zander turns toward the fire again. “Nobody likes being called a victim, Charlie.”

“That doesn’t make it any less true.”

We’re at a stalemate, until Zander sighs and says, “My two closest friends both blame themselves for everything happening in my life right now. I hate that they feel that way—and that I don’t know how to make them stop. One of them won’t even talk to me.” His voice turns impossibly sad as he finishes, “I miss my best friend. Maddox has always had my back, and now that he needs me, I wish he’d let me return the favor. Do you have any idea how much it hurts, not being there for him?”

The words echo in my mind—and in my heart. I think about Ember and all we’ve been through, how for years I held her hands as she underwent her medical treatments, and then how in the last six months, she’s been the one holding me together through my grief. I can’t imagine how I would survive if she suddenly vanished from my life.

I curl into Zander, offering the only words I can find. “I’m so sorry. I wish I knew what to say to help make it better.” Something comes to me then. “It’s not the same, but—” My throat tightens, making it difficult to speak. “My stepdad hasn’t been able to look at me properly since Mum died. She was young when she had me, and as I grew older, people always marveled over how similar our faces were. I used to love that, knowing I looked like her. But now that she’s gone, I guess—I guess it’s too painful for him, seeing her in me. So even though we live in the same house, and we go through the motions, I might as well be a ghost to him.”

“Charlie,” Zander whispers, before repeating my own words. “I’m so sorry.”

I try to shrug, as if that will make the pain any less. “Ember says I need to give him time. And while I don’t know Maddox, it sounds like that’s what you need to do, too.” Quieter, I add, “That doesn’t make it any easier, though.”

“I’ve never been great at waiting,” Zander says with another sigh.

We trail off into silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. I stare into the fire, feeling ashamed all over again for the resentment I’ve been keeping toward him, especially now that I know the full story. He’s right that he’s not blameless—he did choose to get into his car that night. But if I put myself in his shoes and imagine Ember texting me the way Maddox did, I would have acted exactly like Zander. I would do anything to keep her alive. Hell, I’d do anything just to make sure she’s happy —as evidenced by me being on this hellish survival trip in the first place.

I want to find a way to tell Zander that I understand what he did. I also want to apologize for how I’ve been acting toward him since we met. And as hard as it will be, I want to explain why —or rather, why him —since it’s not as if I lash out at every person who has ever driven a vehicle while intoxicated. I think they’re stupid and risking so much more than they’ll ever understand, and I wish they knew how devastating their choices can be, but I don’t take personal offense to their actions like I did Zander’s.

However, before I can figure out how to do any of that, the events of the day catch up to me, the flames hypnotizing enough that my head drops onto Zander’s shoulder. I don’t even realize I’m falling asleep until my eyelids flutter shut, and by then it’s too late for me to fight it, or to even think about putting some space between us.

So I don’t.

* * *