Page 8 of Wandering Wild
I’m still half asleep when Ember and I meet Zander and Gabe in the lobby at the crack of dawn and follow them into a waiting van, the few hours of restless dozing I stole after midnight doing little to ease my nerves about today.
In a way I’m glad Ember’s wake-the-dead snoring led me to the garden last night, since it was good to speak candidly to Zander. We know where we stand now, with each of us holding the cards to what the other wants: me, his career, and him, Ember’s dreams.
I haven’t told her about the deal I made, and I don’t intend to, just in case I can’t keep my side of the bargain. But I’m willing to try, since Zander wasn’t lying about the doors he could open for her. It’s worth putting up with him for a few days, especially since, as much as I loathe to admit it, he’s not entirely awful to be around.
I’d hoped he would be a troll. A miserable ogre who offered smiles when on camera but was haughty and vain in person. He’s... not. But I don’t want to think about what he is—how he gave Ember the best day of her life yesterday, how he didn’t lose patience with me no matter how intolerable I was, how he was kind and compassionate and even funny—because if I do, then I might forget what he’s done. I might forget why I hate him.
Deep down, I know I’m being irrational. But irrationality isn’t something I can simply wish away. Nor can I wish Zander away—as much as I might want to.
“We’re nearly there.”
I look out the tinted window of the van. Ember is beside me, Gabe and Zander behind us, and there’s a driver up front. I can barely recall leaving the hotel, but as our chauffeur’s words penetrate, I pinch myself awake and focus on the forested landscape passing by, searching for a hint of our destination.
My stomach dips when we turn down a gravel driveway and the dense trees disappear, revealing a grassy clearing—never a good sign in Hawke’s Wild World , since it almost always means a dramatic aerial departure. For the millionth time in the last few days, I wonder what I’ve gotten myself into, and whether it’s too late to back out.
But then I feel Ember jiggling with excitement and I remember that whatever is ahead, I can handle it, for her.
We drive until we reach the far side of the clearing and stop at a cluster of large shed-like buildings. People are moving around in the misty early-morning light, hauling gear between vehicles and checking camera equipment. Their confident actions imply they’ve done this many times before, and that helps ease something within me. Slightly.
When our driver opens the side door, Ember leaps out, and I follow more sedately with Zander and Gabe at my heels. Now that we’re here and this trip is imminent, adrenaline begins to flood my veins. Despite myself, I’m looking forward to meeting Rykon Hawke—I just wish my mother could have been here with me.
That, however, is an impossible wish.
Even having my stepdad here would be a comfort—and a less impossible wish—but Jerry had only mumbled a quick “Stay safe” after confirming he signed the liability forms, and that was the last I saw of him before Ember and I had to catch our flight to Sydney. I learned six months ago that I can’t count on him in challenging times, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting all the same.
“Zombie-Charlie, are you awake?”
I jerk backward when Ember waves a hand in front of my face, nearly clipping my nose.
“If I wasn’t, I am now,” I say. “But feel free to tell me I’m still asleep and this is all a dream.” More like a nightmare, I add to myself.
Ember links her elbow with mine as our driver beckons us toward the nearest shed-building, his suit contrasting starkly with the casual wear of everyone else in sight.
“It is a dream,” Ember says over the sound of frosted grass crunching beneath our feet. “The kind that happens while you’re awake.” She squeezes my arm. “You’re going to have the best time. I’m so jealous!”
I bite back my retort, since I know she’s telling the truth. She would swap places with me in a heartbeat if she could—and I would absolutely let her.
“In here, if you please,” the driver says, opening a door built into the side of the shed, revealing a small, dusty office. “Ms. Quinn will be with you momentarily.”
The man vanishes, leaving Zander, Gabe, Ember, and me alone for all of three seconds before the door reopens and a woman walks through. She has a solid figure and short auburn hair, with both her puffer vest and beanie featuring a front-facing hawk in flight—the logo on all of Hawke’s survival merchandise.
“Gabriel, lovely to meet you in person,” she says with a hint of a South African accent, offering Gabe her hand, before introducing herself to the rest of us. “I’m Scarlett Quinn, EP of Hawke’s Wild World . We’re so thrilled to have you here.”
“We’re just as thrilled to be here,” Gabe says with a smile.
It takes everything in me to hold my tongue, since it’s not him who has to go without basic amenities for the next few days. I make the mistake of looking at Zander and find him already watching me, a sparkle in his unnaturally blue eyes as he reads me like a book.
“Rykon’s a few minutes away,” Scarlett says, moving toward the nearest desk and wiping it with her sleeve. “Once he’s here, we’ll film some sound bites and take a couple of photos, but we’re on the clock so we’ll keep things brief.” She winks at Zander and me and adds, “Don’t worry, you’ll be out in the wild starting your adventure soon enough.”
The word “wild” echoes in my ears, along with all that it means. I remind myself that it won’t make for good television if any of us die on this trip, and that Hawke’s team is too experienced to let it come close to that, anyway. My confidence takes a hit, however, when Scarlett places a tablet on the desk and declares, “Time to sign your lives away.”
Ember chokes beside me. I can’t tell if it’s the sound of laughter or—no, it’s definitely laughter.
“I’m not eighteen until next month,” I say when Scarlett nudges the tablet my way. “My stepdad already signed your forms.”
“You still need to confirm your consent to be filmed, and for the footage to be shared publicly,” Scarlett explains. “You too, Zander.”
He looks at Gabe, as if waiting for him to object, but his agent just says, “I’ve already read it all and made the necessary amendments. You’re good to sign.”
I wish I had someone to tell me that, since when I open the digital document, I have to scroll and scroll and scroll before I reach the last page where Jerry has already filled in his guardian part, and a space remains for me.
“It’s going to take forever to read this,” I say. “At least three years.” I’m exaggerating, but not by much.
“Unfortunately, we don’t have that long,” Scarlett says, looking out the window at a large black vehicle pulling up. “Rykon’s just arrived, and he’ll want to get things moving fast.”
“I don’t care if the King of England just arrived,” I return, crossing my arms. “I know better than to sign anything without reading it first.”
“Charlie, I assure you it’s fine,” Gabe says placatingly. “I read it thoroughly and?—”
“No offense,” I cut him off, “but you’re not my agent. You might have Zander’s best interests at heart, but I could be signing away my firstborn child for all I know.”
Scarlett laughs and jumps in to say, “I promise we don’t want your children, firstborn or otherwise.” Her features soften with understanding. “You’re smart to be careful, but don’t you think your stepdad would have done his due diligence?” She taps Jerry’s name, and I realize she’s right. His mother was a lawyer, so he knows not to mess around with contracts, nor would he sign anything without reading every single word.
Ember shifts closer, as if she’s preparing to have my back should I refuse to cooperate, and that alone gives me the courage to mutter, “Fine,” before I autograph it with a flourish.
“Your turn, Zan,” Gabe says.
There’s a crease in Zander’s brow as he copies my actions and scrolls, scrolls, scrolls , but then he too gives in and signs the last page.
“Wonderful,” Scarlett says, reclaiming the tablet. “With that done, let’s go introduce you to Rykon.”
Butterflies swarm in my stomach as we follow her back out into the crisp morning air. My nerves don’t make sense, since it’s not as if I’m a superfan of Hawke’s—but then I realize they’re likely covering the deeper heartache I’m feeling at being so close to someone who my mum would have given anything to meet.
I swallow and shove that thought away, burying it with all the emotions I’ve locked deep inside for the last six months.
“I’m so excited I can barely breathe ,” Ember says as we walk toward the second shed-like building, this one bustling with the most activity.
“I take it you’re a Hawke fan?” Zander asks, matching his pace to ours.
“Don’t worry.” Ember grins at him. “You’re still my favorite.”
His eyes are bright as they catch mine. “At least someone likes me.”
“You’re hardly short on admirers,” I reply. “One person not falling at your feet is good for you. Keeps your ego in check.”
“Are you saying I should thank you?”
“No.” I smirk. “But you’re welcome.”
Right then, as we’re looking at each other, a flash goes off.
“Perfection, my sweetlings!” crows the man holding the camera as I blink away stars. He’s slender and has wavy brown hair, and I’m instantly envious of his eyeliner skills. “Now let’s try again, but this time smile at each other.”
“Give us a minute, Ollie,” Scarlett cuts in. “I want them to meet Rykon first. Then they’re all yours.”
The photographer—Ollie—nods, but continues taking candid shots as we step through the open entrance to the shed-building. It’s large enough to be an aircraft hangar, but there are no planes in sight, only a small fleet of vehicles all with the hawk logo on the side.
Another flash of Ollie’s camera has me rubbing my arms self-consciously as I realize this is going to be my life for the next four days, my every move recorded. There will be times when physical exertion will leave me red-faced and sweaty, moments when my unfiltered words could be misinterpreted, camera angles showing unflattering bulges and make-up-free skin and?—
“Rykon! Over here!” Scarlett calls across the hangar, yanking me from my inner spiraling.
I take a deep breath and remember that even if I end up publicly humiliated, it’ll hardly be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. And when Ember is a big-time movie star thanks to the opportunities Zander creates for her, she can pay for any therapy I need resulting from this trip.
Resolved not to dwell on what’s ahead, I watch as the survivalist legend breaks away from a group of people loading gear into a vehicle and strides our way.
Rykon Hawke is even more impressive in real life than he is on-screen. My mum once described him as “the epitome of masculinity” and I can see why. Standing at well over six feet, with dark skin and hair, coupled with an easy smile behind a neatly trimmed beard, everything about Hawke exudes warmth and kindness. But it’s the muscles rippling along his arms and shoulders that emphasize his strength and remind me of just how long he’s been in the physically demanding survival business, going all the way back to his park ranger years. Seeing him in person, any lingering fears I have for the next few days dissolve, since it’s impossible not to feel safe in his presence.
“These must be my VIP guests,” Hawke says once he reaches us.
“Ryk, this is Zander Rune and Charlie Hart,” Scarlett introduces.
“Zander, love your work,” Hawke says, shaking the actor’s hand.
“Right back at you.” Zander seems almost embarrassed by Hawke’s praise, though I’m sure I’m imagining his humble reaction.
“And Charlie, a pleasure,” Hawke tells me.
“You too,” I say, before adding, somewhat stupidly, “You’re taller than I thought you’d be.”
Hawke’s smile returns. “My father always said, ‘Eat your greens if you want to grow up tall and strong.’ I guess he was right.”
Before I can say anything more embarrassing, like how he must have existed solely on leafy vegetables during his formative years, Scarlett thankfully continues her introductions. “And this is Zander’s agent, Gabriel, and Charlie’s best friend, Ember.”
Hawke offers handshakes to them both, holding Ember’s the longest, but only because she grips him like a monkey and breathes, “I freaking love you.”
A chuckle leaves Hawke and he moves his free hand to clasp hers gently between both of his. “That’s very kind of you. It’s always nice to meet a fan.”
I step closer to Ember just in case I need to catch her when she melts into a puddle at our feet.
“Rykon, we’re so grateful for you agreeing to this competition on such short notice,” Gabe says.
The survivalist waves off Gabe’s gratitude. “Not at all. I was already planning to film this episode here, so my team only needed to make a few adjustments for a guest to join me. Or guests, in this case.” He winks at me, and I wonder if Ember will have to catch me instead. It’s easy to see why my mum was obsessed with him. There’s something so endearingly charming about him, from his handsome features to his Canadian accent to his overall physicality.
“As much as I’d love to get to know you all better, you two especially,” Hawke says, indicating Zander and me, “we need to leave soon to make the most of the daylight.”
“Ryk, don’t forget, we need some photos and?—”
Scarlett is interrupted when someone calls Hawke’s name, and he glances across the hangar, dipping his chin at them before turning back and saying, “We can spare ten minutes for promo once they’re dressed—will that be enough?”
Scarlett looks to Ollie, who has been taking surreptitious shots the whole time we’ve been talking.
“I can make that work,” the photographer says.
Hawke claps Ollie on the shoulder. “Good man.” With a polite nod to the rest of us, he adds, “See you soon,” and walks purposefully away.
Scarlett immediately leads us toward a table holding an array of survival paraphernalia, some of which—like the grappling hooks and carabiners—cause a cold sweat to break out on my skin. Scarlett, however, ignores those items and gestures to the rack standing beside the table.
“These are your clothes.” She hands garment bags to Zander and me. “The base layers are a moisture-wicking merino blend, and the outer layers will keep you warm and dry without making you overheat. We pride ourselves on the quality of our Wild World apparel, so rest assured that you’ll be as comfortable as possible over the next few days.” She points to a door in the hangar’s wall. “Bathrooms for changing are over there.”
Ember gives me a “Go on” nudge and turns her attention to the table, asking Scarlett about the climbing equipment. Since I’d prefer to remain in denial about why it’s there, I hurry after Zander, lock myself in my half of the bathroom, and unzip my bag. The attire is simple—gray hiking pants that brush my boots, a white long-sleeved thermal shirt, and a fleecy lilac pullover, all featuring the small front-facing hawk logo. There’s also a cream-colored waterproof down jacket, but as soon as I put it on, I have to take it off again, since the pullover is already plenty warm.
I step back into the hangar at the same time as Zander, and come to an abrupt halt at the sight of him. While my clothes are pale, pretty colors, his are darker, his hiking pants a deep navy and his pullover a royal blue that—God, how is it possible for his eyes to be brighter than before? Worse, how can everything about him be even more attractive than when he was in normal clothes?
I hate the betraying flush I feel staining my cheeks, and cover it by scowling and demanding, “Why did I get the girly clothes? You look like you’re about to James Bond your way into a high-security vault, while I look ready to jump on a unicorn and go frolicking over a rainbow. Sexist, much?”
His stupidly, stupidly blue eyes flash with mirth. “I’ve never heard ‘James Bond’ used as a verb before.”
My scowl deepens, but before I can reply, Ember skips toward us and says, “It’s my fault. They asked for your color preferences when I gave them your sizes. You look amazing , Charlie Bear. I did good, if I do say so myself.” She dusts her hands together, clearly proud, before her gaze flicks to Zander. “You, of course, look ridiculous. In the best possible way.”
His mouth curls upward as he folds his waterproof jacket—black, naturally—over his arm. “Thanks, Ember.” To me, he says, “She’s right, you look great. Any unicorn would be honored to go frolicking with you.”
The teasing glint in his eyes only makes my indignation grow, but I bite my tongue, partly because Ember is so pleased with herself, but also because I don’t actually have a problem with my clothes. It’s not the attire that has me so flustered—it’s Zander. On an intellectual level, I can acknowledge that he’s good-looking, but I didn’t expect to be so... affected by him. It’s infuriating that my hormones are going rogue, and I yank them firmly into line.
Blessed distraction comes when Ollie’s flash goes off—reminding me that I need to heed caution with everything I do and say from here on out—and a moment later Scarlett calls us back to the table. Gabe is a short distance away talking on his phone, but his eyes are on us as Scarlett hands Zander and me identical wristwatches. I strap mine on, noting the analog face, compass, and light.
“Keep these on at all times,” Scarlett instructs us. “We’re experimenting with next-gen nano drones this trip—cameras unobtrusive enough that you won’t know they’re following you.”
She pulls a small silver box off the table and opens it to reveal what appears to be a set of metallic winged insects no larger than her fingernail.
“The technology is military-grade and scarily impressive,” Scarlett continues, “but while they can film in crystal clear HD, their audio strength is limited.” She taps Zander’s watch. “That’s where these babies come in, since they’ll act as your microphones. They sync up to the drones via GPS and work in tandem with them, so we can still record what you hear and say without the cameras flying in your faces.”
Zander peers at his wrist with renewed interest. “I’m not a fan of cameras in my face.”
Scarlett chuckles. “I figured you’d be on board with this tech. Our aim is to one day use the nano drones exclusively on these trips, but since they’re still in the prototype stage, you’ll have a cameraman with you on the ground capturing everything as a backup. And speaking of...” She waves to a cute, nerdy-looking man heading our way, someone I’ve seen in numerous photos and videos standing beside Hawke. His light brown hair is tousled and his black-framed glasses sit in front of warm chocolate eyes, his skin as pale as Hawke’s is dark.
“Everyone, this is Rykon’s husband, Bentley,” Scarlett says, before turning to Zander and me. “He’s our lead cameraman—he’ll be with you the whole time you’re gone, but he’ll also remain mostly silent to keep the focus on you two and Hawke.” She then adds, “We try not to have too many people tailing you and ruining the authenticity of the experience, so outside of regular support check-ins, it’ll just be the four of you alone together.”
I’m thrilled by this news, since it means there will be another buffer between Zander and me. The more the merrier, as far as I’m concerned.
“Delighted to make your acquaintance,” Bentley says in a lush British accent, his tone as friendly as his husband’s. He indicates the camera already in his hands, then taps a smaller GoPro version strapped to his shoulder. “I’ll do my best to catch your good angles, but no promises. In the wild, anything goes.”
“That should be your company slogan,” Ember quips.
“I’ve tried to make it happen,” Bentley says with a conspiratorial grin. “Along with many others. Alas, Rykon is set on Live now, not later .”
I’ve seen those words accompanying the flying hawk logo, so they’re not new to me, but hearing them spoken yields a gravitas that I wasn’t anticipating. Live now, not later —the phrase calls to me, prompting both guilt and longing.
“Are we all set?” Gabe asks, re-joining our group and quickly introducing himself to Bentley.
“Pretty much,” Scarlett says, inspecting Zander and me. Satisfied, she tells us, “We have backpacks for you both with spare clothes and other essentials, but we’ll get those to you right before you leave. For now... Ollie, are you ready for them?”
“Sure am,” the photographer says, beaming. “We just need Hawke.”
“I’ll get him,” Scarlett says, glancing over to where the survivalist is standing with a group of black-clad crew members studying a map spread across the hood of a vehicle. “Start with Charlie and Zander, and I’ll bring Ryk to you in a few minutes.”
She and Bentley move off together, leaving us with the still-beaming Ollie.
“This way, my darlings,” he says, ushering us toward the hangar’s exit. “I didn’t introduce myself before, but I’m Oliver Arton: creative genius and content manager for Hawke’s Wild World . I normally work behind a screen, but I pulled rank to be here with you two cuties today. You have no idea how excited I am.”
Once outside, he guides us to a quiet spot away from the flurry of last-minute gear checks, gesturing for Zander and me to stop beside the hangar’s corrugated iron wall while Ember and Gabe watch on.
“The lighting here is perfect ,” Ollie gushes. “I’ve got some nice candid snaps already, so these are for the posed media blasts. Try to look natural. Relax. Smile . You’re excited about your upcoming adventure, remember? Share everything you’re feeling with your new BFF Ollie.”
Given my tumultuous emotions, it’s not the best suggestion. But I have a bargain to uphold, so when Ollie asks me to step closer to Zander, I do so with a big, fake smile over my gritted teeth.
“Gorgeous!—Amazing!—Spectacular!” Ollie’s praise is as constant as the photos he’s taking. “Zander, can you put your arm around Charlie’s shoulders? And Charlie, can yours circle his waist? Then lock eyes and smile like you’re sharing a secret. Nice and intimate—our viewers will eat it up!”
I tense as Zander moves to follow Ollie’s instructions, but his arm doesn’t leave his side. In a voice meant only for me, he asks, “Is this okay? If you’re uncomfortable, we can?—”
“It’s fine,” I say, staunchly ignoring the warmth his concern prompts, and once again wishing he was a heartless ogre, since it would make it so much easier to keep my resolve around him.
“You don’t look like it’s fine,” Zander says, though he hesitantly wraps his arm around me. I curl mine around his waist, touching him as little as possible. “You look like you’re about to face a mountain lion.” His eyes widen in alarm and shoot toward the distant mountains. “You don’t have those here, do you?”
Something in me eases at the panicked look on his face—or perhaps it’s because I know it’s not real, and he’s only trying to keep me from thinking about how we’re practically half-hugging. “They’re not native,” I answer, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if Hawke’s team brought one along for the sake of entertainment.”
“In that case, survival rules apply from here on out,” Zander says, dead serious.
“Survival rules?”
A mischievous grin tugs at his lips. “Surely you’ve heard the saying, ‘You don’t need to run the fastest, as long as you’re not the slowest’? My legs are at least fifteen times longer than yours, so I’m thinking you’re fresh out of luck when it comes to carnivorous felines.”
I play along, making a pfft sound. “Oh please, we all know Hawke will be the first to get eaten. He’s obviously just a poster boy for the company, with zero survival skills.”
“Per- fection , my lovelies! Absolutely flawless !” Ollie cries, breaking the spell between us. It’s only then that I see we’re doing exactly what he asked for: locking eyes and smiling, with our arms around each other. I hadn’t even noticed, wholly caught up in our banter.