Page 56 of Wandering Wild

Her words are ringing in my ears, even louder than the water cascading around us. I know I should let this go, that I should retreat and lick my wounds. She’s unwilling to hear anything I have to say—and I’m no longer sure I want to tell her. But there’s something rising within me, a need to defend myself against the injustice of her accusations, and I don’t have the strength to fight it back anymore.

“I know you’re hurting because of what happened to your mom, and I understand why it’s making you feel the way you do about me,” I say, trying to keep my temper in check. “But there are things you don’t know, Charlie.”

Her eyes flash with warning. “Don’t talk about my mum. Not when it could just as easily have beenyouwho killed her.”

Hearing that, my remaining thread of patience dissolves completely, and I snap, “You aren’t the only one who lost a parent to a drunk driver. I was seven years old when both of mine were taken from me, and there’s no way—no way—I would ever willfully risk doing that to someone else. So stop acting like you know anything about me and my so-called choices, because if you’d onlylisten, then you’d know I was drugged without my knowledge the night of my DUI, and I only left the party because my best friend was about tokill himself.”

My voice breaks on the words as I remember that horrible,awfulnight: how I received a text from Maddox that made me know something was so very wrong; how I raced to my car, having no idea why I felt so disoriented but ignoring my lightheadedness in my desperation to reach my friend. The memory returns to me with excruciating clarity, my panic, my dread, my terror that I wouldn’t reach him in time?—

And then the crash.

I’m breathing heavily, hating how everything just poured out of me when I’d intended to share it a much different way. But I’m also hating how angry I am—at Charlie. She has every right to be upset after what happened to her mom, but it’s unfair of her to misplace the blame onto me without knowing my story. I wanted to tell her this morning. I wanted to tell her every moment since then. But now?—

Now I just want to get away from her.

I can’t even look at her, my eyes searching for any other possible footholds so we can get off this damn ledge and put some space between us.

But then she calls my name.

“Zander,” she whispers, her voice wobbling.

I drag my gaze back to her, only to find confusion and uncertainty in her features. And heartache. But it’s not her own pain she’s feeling—it’smine.

“Zander,” she whispers again, and this time she reaches for me, a slow move of her hand, as if to offer comfort. She steps toward me. “I?—”

But whatever she was going to say turns into a scream, because the moment her weight transfers to her new position, the sandstone crumbles out from beneath her.

I don’t think, I just act, diving onto my stomach and lunging for her as she falls over the edge. I manage to grab her hand a split second before she drops too far, my fingers circling her wrist like a steel clamp.

“Hold on!” I yell, even though I’m doing the holding.

“Don’t let go!” she begs, terror in her violet eyes as she dangles into open air.

Adrenaline is zinging through my veins, my pulse is drumming in my ears, but I still take a moment to anchor myself before I carefully begin to pull her upward. “You’re okay—I’ve got you.”

And then I haul her back over the ledge, where she tumbles straight into my arms.

I’m not sure which of us is shaking harder as we hold each other tightly.

That was close—way too close.

But she’s safe. We both are.

Until—

With an almightycrack, the entire ledge gives way beneath us, and for the second time today?—

We’re falling.

But unlike with the mudslide, there’s nothing to slow our descent as we plummet down the waterfall, down, down,down, until we smash through the surface of the raging, icy river.

And then?—

Pain.

It’s the last thing I know.

Because everything goes black.

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