Page 36 of Wandering Wild

“Thank you. You came back for me, and I—” I clear my throat and look down at the ground. “Just—thank you.”

When I peek up at him again, his features are gentle with understanding. “Don’t mention it,” he says. “And besides, it’s not like I scrambled down a four-hundred-foot cliff to keep you from plunging to your death. We’re a long way off calling it even.”

Before I can disagree, Bentley appears out of the crawl space, swaps his GoPro for a larger camera, and indicates he’s good to go. My shoulders twinge in protest when I collect my backpack, but as Hawke promised, the worst of the canyoning is behind us, and it’s only a short journey through a cave-like hollow before we finally exit the fissure into yet more dense forest. It’s notably darker now, the sun moving swiftly behind the mountains, and Hawke urges us to pick up our pace, claiming that we’re nearing our designated camping spot.

I hear it before I see it—the sound of gurgling water, louder than the stream we followed earlier. When the trees part, I’m once again awed by the beauty in front of me, this time a river, perhaps twenty meters wide, with what looks like a shallow, slow-moving current.

“Five-star accommodation, right on the water,” Hawke says with a satisfied expression. “Who can complain about this?”

It’s a rhetorical question, so I don’t bother saying I’d still prefer to have a bed—and a shower.

Hawke drops his pack onto the ground before turning to Zander and me. “There are three things you want to prioritize when looking for shelter: a flat surface, protection from the elements, and enough room for a fire. We have all those here, plus something else: dinner.”

I look worriedly around, expecting to see another dead animal washed up at the water’s edge. There’s nothing, though. Not even any berry bushes in sight. But then I follow Hawke’s finger as he points to the river, and a moment later I gasp as a fish leaps high into the air before plunging back down beneath the surface.

“The Blue Mountains are known for their freshwater fish,” Hawke says. “So let’s set up camp and see what we can catch.”

It takes less than five minutes to retrieve the parachutes from Bentley’s pack and position them around some low-lying tree branches and bush scrub, resulting in two makeshift tents. We follow Hawke’s instructions until they’re almost fully enclosed—something he says is important to offer insulation from the cold that’s beginning to creep in as the sunlight fades. What hedoesn’tmention is that there are only two tents for the four of us, and since he and Bentley are married, the odds aren’t in my favor for who I have to share mine with. But I refuse to worry about that just yet, and instead focus on everything that needs to be done before night falls completely.

Given the clock ticking down on us, Hawke asks me to start a fire while he and Zander go fishing. I don’t object; the temperature is dropping fast and I’m keen to avoid getting my clothes wet.

It’s only after I’ve collected enough firewood to last the night and used Hawke’s flint to get some impressive flames going that I finally glance up and see why Zander didn’t have the same concerns—that being because he and Hawke have both stripped down to their black boxer briefs. The two of them are standing in the knee-deep river like Greek gods on display, complete with a picturesque mountain sunset behind them. I can barely keep my mouth from falling open, and I certainly can’t keep my eyes off Zander, with his tanned skin and chiseled abs. I’m hardly even aware of Hawke at his side, though I have a vague appreciation for his dark, muscled physique.

But Zander...

I’ve seen him shirtless before—the whole world has. So for the life of me, I can’t figure out why this is any different. But regardless, itfeelsdifferent. More personal. More...intimate.

My cheeks heat up and I try to tear my gaze away, but before I can manage that herculean task, Zander moves blindingly fast, his muscles rippling as he reaches into the water and rises again with a large fish squirming in his hands.

I can’t hear what he and Hawke are saying, the gurgling river and crackling fire drowning out their voices, but I can see the proud look on Hawke’s face, and the exultant grin Zander wears. Only—there’s something else in Zander’s expression. Something he’s trying to hide, just like when we arrived at the smaller stream earlier today. Something that becomes much clearer when he leaves the river and approaches the fire, dripping all the way.

There’s grief in his eyes.

And pain—so much pain.

It’s like staring into a mirror.

But then he notices my concern, and I can actuallyseehis walls fall back into place. There’s a plea in his gaze now, begging me not to ask anything while the cameras are on us.

So I do the only thing I can think of: I arch one eyebrow and say, “I’m surprised it took you this long to take your shirt off, given how much your fans love seeing you without clothes on.”

Zander’s shoulders slump with relief, the only indication of his gratitude. Outwardly, his features turn mischievous, which is all the warning I have before he replies, “As my biggest fan, I guess you’d know.”

I walked right into that one.

But thankfully, I’m saved from replying when Hawke leaves the river to join us, a second large fish wriggling in his hands as he grins at Zander, Bentley, and me, and asks, “Who’s hungry?”

I’m not sure if it’s because I’m starving, or because the fish are as fresh as they can possibly be, but our dinner ends up being one of the tastiest meals I’ve eaten in a long time. It wasn’t even awful having to descale and debone them beforehand, following Hawke’s easy instructions, just like with the possum—though much less nausea-inducing. If there’s one thing I’ve learned today, it’s that I don’t have the stomach to live in the wild indefinitely. Neither does Charlie, if the gagging noises she made with both animals are any indication.

After we finish eating, we all sit back on our logs and relax around the fire. Bentley has put his cameras away for the night, so even though the nano drones are still recording us from some hidden place, it’s easier not being able to see them, and my guard drops the longer we unwind after our arduous day. I should have expected Hawke’s sneak attack given that he already launched his subtle interrogation earlier, but I still startle when he begins questioning me again.

“So, Zander, you’ve done a lot of interviews in your life, but you’re usually focused on promoting movies, and there’s always a kind of... I guess amaskthat you’re wearing. Would you say that’s true?”

My mask, as he calls it, is carefully in place as I answer, “I try to be as genuine as possible, but yes, when I’m promoting a film, there’s a level of professionalism I like to keep. I’m not chatting casually with friends—I’m sharing about my work, so that remains at the forefront of my mind.”

“I’m the same when people interview me, especially when it’s to talk about my camps,” Hawke agrees, watching Bentley throw more kindling into the fire. “But right now, youareamong friends, so I want to know the real Zander Rune. What made youyou? We’ve all heard the rags-to-riches story, how you accepted a dare for an audition and it skyrocketed you to fame, but what about before that? And even after that? What was your childhood like? Did you get along with your family? Your friends? How much did your rise to stardom change your life? Tell us everything.”

I can practically hear Gabe in these questions, and I’m certain he must have had a hand in them being asked. I shift on my log as I consider my answers, aware of Charlie watching me, her small smirk indicating she can see right through the charade.

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