Wilder (The Renegades)

by Rebecca Yarros

  My lungs subtly protested their lack of oxygen, and I swam back up, taking a breath before heading back down. Paxton kept pace with me, pointing to certain pieces of the wreckage, lingering when I did, breathing when I needed to.

  This was incredible.

  I’d always loved the water. Even…after, when it had become more of a prescription than an enjoyment, it had always welcomed me home with open arms. There was something about being infinitely weightless, of living in a world without walls, that was simply blissful.

  We swam through the fish, across the wreck, explored the shallower shorelines, and seemed to find a perfect harmony together without uttering a word.

  After over an hour, when we broke the surface for the last time, we both removed our mouthpieces and masks, facing each other as we treaded water about thirty feet from the boat.

  “Worth it?” Paxton asked.

  “Every second. This is amazing—seriously one of the coolest things I’ve ever done. Thank you.”

  The smile he gave me was more beautiful than the scenery around us and more intimate than a kiss. It was soft, open, with a touch of vulnerability that was sexier than any of his performances. “I’m glad that you enjoyed it. You know, if you’re stuck with me the next nine months, you may as well get perks. If there’s something you want that’s not on the excursion list in any port we come to, just tell me. I know it’s going to suck for you at times, and that you got yanked into my world without having a fair choice, but I swear I won’t let you regret it.”

  “And what about you?” I asked. “I’m your tutor. You’re stuck with me for study sessions and test prep and papers. None of this was what you agreed to. You don’t have to spend your free shore time entertaining me. I know there are a lot of…demands on you.”

  The brief internet search I’d done on him hadn’t only turned up his X Games medals, but pages of party pictures with tons of different women. Add that to the mug shots from the few times he’d been arrested for jumping off things he shouldn’t have, and it painted a different picture of Paxton from the one swimming in front of me.

  He tilted his head, making the tattoo along his neck flex and ripple. “No bullshit?”

  My chest tightened in a way I knew had nothing to do with the workout I’d just had. “No bullshit.”

  He moved closer, until only a couple of feet separated us, until I could imagine crossing the distance and finding out how a saltwater kiss tasted. He took a deep breath, like he was trying to decide how much to say. “I like being around you. I can’t explain it any better than that.”

  As much as I wanted to analyze that comment, decipher what he meant, the immediate fear that slid into my peaceful afternoon stole the show. “Don’t play games with me, Paxton.”

  “No games,” he promised. “Just my…friendship. Nine months is a long time not to get to know someone.”

  That pause meant nothing, right? That pause is everything.

  “Right.” I silenced the joyful thirteen-year-old girl who was dancing around in my stomach with the reminder that Zoe had come out of his room a few days ago. “I’d like to be friends,” I admitted. But no further. No deeper. No chance for him to rip through my scars.

  Then he led me back to our ride, helping me up the ladder onto the smaller ski boat. As we headed toward the dock, he gave me that smile again—the one that felt like it was only for me—and those damn butterflies were back. Why did he have to have such different sides to him?

  Wilder I could shut out. He was a pompous, reckless ass who would no doubt get me hurt in more ways than one.

  But Paxton? Yeah. I was defenseless against him, and that was even more dangerous.

  Chapter Six

  Leah

  At Sea

  I glanced at the door as Dr. Westwick droned on about the principals of inertia. Physics had to be the most frustrating class I’d ever taken, and honestly, I didn’t care when the ball I’d rolled would stop rolling.

  Unless that rolling ball would explain to me where the hell Paxton was.

  We’d been at sea four straight days, and he had already missed two of our World Lit classes, one of World Religion, and now all of our Physics. How the hell was I supposed to keep his grades up if he didn’t come to class?

  My eyes drifted to the window, where the waves of the Atlantic were currently affecting the pitch of my stomach.

  “Make sure you turn in your answers via eCampus by midnight tomorrow, and look over the guide for the quiz on Monday. Don’t slack off just because you have a couple days in Barcelona,” Dr. Westwick warned, ending our class.

  I gathered my things to leave, shoving my binder into my bag a little harder than necessary.

  “Miss Baxter?” Dr. Westwick called from the podium.

  I plastered a tight-lipped smile onto my face before turning to him. “Dr. Westwick?”

  His fingers trailed down a list I couldn’t see. “You’re Mr. Wilder’s tutor, aren’t you?”

  Shit. “I am.”

  He pushed his square-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Well, if you could persuade him to attend, that might help his participation grade a little. Tell him that watching from his room isn’t quite the same.”

  I’m going to kill him. Dead. Then I’ll throw the body overboard where no one will find it. “I’ll tell him, Professor.”

  He nodded his thanks, and I took off to my room—our room. Sharing with Penna was actually pretty enjoyable. She wasn’t around much, and when she was, she respected my space but was still easy to talk to.

  “That asshole!” I shouted as I slammed our door behind me, throwing my bag into the hall closet.

  “Who?” Penna called from the living room, where I found her painting her toenails. Her perfect legs stretched out in front of her, all tan and smooth, and I tried to ignore the stab of sheer envy that lanced through my heart. You are grateful for the life you’ve been given. These scars are a beautiful reminder of your second chance. The second chance he would have wanted you to have. I repeated the mantra in my head until the pain faded into a sense of peace. Dr. Scott would have been proud. Because that only took two years of therapy.

  But even with therapy and two years, there were moments when everything hurt like hell, where the pain was still so rough that it scraped my soul until it bled. Those were the scars only I saw, the ones I picked at every once in a while so I didn’t forget him.

  “Leah, who’s the asshole?” Penna repeated, jarring me.

  “Oh.” I shook my head and collapsed into the armchair. “Paxton.”

  “Well, that’s not the first time I’ve heard that word associated with his name,” she said. “What did he do?”

  “He’s skipping classes. I’m about to do some experiments with inertia and my fist to his freaking face.”

  She snorted. “Pax hasn’t ever been one to do what he’s supposed to. That’s why he has you.” She lifted the brush as the ship pitched slightly. “This is impossible in these waves.”

  “Well, I guess I’m failing that one.”

  She lifted the construction-cone orange polish and raised her eyebrows. “Want to do yours?”

  I shook my head. Toes, I could handle, but if something slipped… “No, thank you. I may as well go kick Zoe out of his bed or whatever. He’s blown off all of today, but I’ll be damned if he misses anything tomorrow.”

  “Zoe isn’t sleeping with him. She hasn’t in the last six months or so. It doesn’t stop her from trying, but that ship sailed a while ago, and Paxton isn’t one to climb the same mountain twice, if you know what I mean.” She closed up the polish.

  “Yeah, of course, right,” I rushed. “Why would he be? Half the women on this ship would jump at the chance to…well, jump him, and the other half are lying to themselves. Why would he want someone twice?”

  Penna flinched. “Shit, that’s not what I meant. I don’t want you to think he’s a man-whore or anything.”

  I raised my eyebrows at her, and she looked around the ro
om briefly before finally nodding. “Okay, so maybe he’s a little man-whorish, but his heart, that’s solid, untouched…for the most part, at least.”

  I never understood people who could differentiate the two. Where my heart went, there my body did, and so forth. But if Paxton offered… I shut down that line of thinking and locked the door on it. “Why are you telling me this?”

  She leaned forward. “Because he’s my oldest friend, and I care what you think about him. And I know he cares what you think about him, too.”

  I swallowed. “Well, right now I think that he doesn’t know what an alarm clock is.”

  She smiled. “How about I take you to him?”

  “He’s not in his room?”

  “Nope. And besides, I’d like to see what happens when he gets a load of how pissed you are. If you want to wait a few minutes, I’ll make popcorn.”

  “Penna!”

  She threw out her hands. “Just kidding. Give my piggies a chance to dry, and we’ll track him down.”

  We didn’t have to wait long before Landon came in through the sliding door, dripping sweat. “Hey, asshat, knock!” Penna chastised, throwing a pillow at him.

  “What? It’s not like I haven’t already seen you naked,” he shot back.

  Penna snapped her gaze to me. “He didn’t mean it that way. We’ve been friends since we were kids, all of us.”

  “Chill out, Penna. I don’t think Firecracker cares.” Landon laughed and sank into the couch across from me. “Damn, I’m wiped out. Pax is a fucking machine these last couple of days.”

  Penna’s hand popped up. “He didn’t mean that, either. Pax hasn’t been fucking anyone, especially not Landon.”

  “That’s none of my business,” I said, smoothing the lines of my leggings. As if leggings could have wrinkles.

  “Yeah, anyway, he sent me to get you, Penna.” Landon lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face, and my eyebrows shot skyward. In some parallel universe, the Hemsworths were searching for their lost brother, because he was here. Landon was hot. Not in the walking sex-dream kind of hot that Paxton was, but a broodier hot.

  “I want nothing to do with that damn trick.” She crossed her arms.

  “It’s not like he has his bike out, Penna. He’s working on the BMX for Barcelona, and he’s going to need your advice before he gets himself killed.”

  Killed? I sat up. “What is he doing?”

  “Trying to nail a Five-forty Double Tailwhip in these waves,” Landon answered. “He’s going to break his damn neck.”

  “Show me.”

  …

  “How the hell did he…?” I shook my head as I stared at the monstrosity onstage. “You know, I’m not sure I even want to know.”

  “Yeah, that’s a question for Wilder,” Landon answered.

  “He looks a little busy at the moment.”

  Little was an understatement. Paxton was currently riding his BMX bike on a monstrous half-pipe that consumed the entire stage of the auditorium. My breath caught every time he rose over one end, flying through the air, the bike twisting while he turned above it, only to gracefully fall back to the pipe and glide to the other end so it could all begin again.

  He was magnificent.

  “How tall is that thing?” I asked Landon.

  “About six meters. A little under twenty feet.”

  “Isn’t this a little dangerous on a ship?”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty moronic,” Landon agreed. “But he’s as stubborn as they come.”

  “He’s a reckless idiot,” I whispered in equal parts awe and fear. I knew reckless guys, knew what happened when they mistakenly thought they were in control. He’s not Brian. Pax might be worse.

  “That, he is.”

  At least the idiot wore a helmet.

  But he was a driven idiot. His movements were hypnotizing as we walked down the aisle toward the stage.

  The ship pitched slightly. I caught myself on the back of a chair and gasped as Paxton hit the side of the ramp, sliding down in a heap of limbs. “Paxton!” I yelled.

  He sat up and blocked the stage lights from his eyes. “Firecracker?”

  Shit. Was I supposed to be using his real name in front of the cameras? Well, too late.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  He stood, holding his handlebars. “Watching a Gilmore Girls marathon. What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “It looks like you’re being an absolute imbecile. Have you seen the waves out there?”

  “What? No.” He walked the few feet between the ramp and the edge of the stage. It was only ten or so feet from the base of the stage to the bottom of the orchestra pit, but my stomach tightened all the same.

  “He hasn’t left the theater during daylight hours in the last two days,” Landon said quietly.

  “You’ve missed six classes,” I called up as we came closer, my neck craning to keep him in eyesight.

  “What? I can’t hear you,” he said with a grin, putting his hand to his ear.

  “You can hear me just fine, Paxton Wilder,” I shouted.

  “Come on up. I don’t want to have to yell back at you.” He motioned to the ladder that led to the stage. “Or there’s a ramp right there.”

  I opted for the second, heading for the side of the theater.

  “Hey!” Brooke said from a seat at the edge, her notebooks perched on her lap. “Did you come to watch?”

  “More to yell at Paxton for missing class,” I said, passing behind her.

  “Nothing better than a nagging woman hanging around,” Zoe bit back, kicking her feet from the edge of the stage.

  “I’m getting tired of telling you to stop being a bitch, Zoe,” Brooke snapped. “I’ll walk you up, Leah.”

  “How is Wilder juggling schoolwork and practice?” Bobby asked, a camera not far behind him.

  I stole Landon’s line. “That’s a question for Wilder, don’t you think?”

  He tipped his hat with a smile. “You’re a fast learner.”

  “You’re always in my face,” I said with an overly sweet smile.

  Brooke tugged me past the crew and up the ramp.

  “Come on,” Pax said with a grin, now at the top of the half-pipe.

  “Would you stop going higher?” I asked, my heart jumping.

  “How much do you want to yell at me for missing class?” he responded, motioning to the ladder that led to the platform at the top of the half-pipe.

  My hands grasped both sides of the ladder in a death grip. The landing had a railing at the back of it, no doubt to keep his idiotic ass from falling off when a trick went wrong. I could easily make it up there. It was only twenty feet, and by God, he was not killing my scholarship because he couldn’t get his ass to class.

  Rung by rung, I climbed the ladder, humming Katy Perry’s “Firework” to distract me from the distance to the ground.

  My head popped over the rim of the half-pipe, and Paxton offered his hand, his eyes shining with a kind of victory.

  “What are you so happy about?” I mumbled as he pulled me onto the platform, which was wider than I’d expected. My hand immediately sought and found the railing, and I loosened my death grip on Paxton.

  “Look at you, up on my pipe.”

  My eyebrow arched. “Your pipe is distracting you from class.”

  He smirked. “It always does.”

  “Oh my God, you two.” Brooke laughed, climbing up behind me. “I’ll give you some space,” she said as she skirted around us, heading to the other end.

  The camera was on the opposite side, giving us a tiny bit of privacy. “It’s good to see you,” Paxton said, his eyes skimming my features.

  “That’s because you haven’t been to class in about two and a half days. You’ve missed every single Physics class since Bermuda.”

  “I’m studying physics right now,” he joked. “Shouldn’t that count as extra credit?”

  “No.”

  All traces of joking left his fac
e, and he absentmindedly rubbed the tattoo on the side of his neck with his empty hand. “Look, I get kind of in the zone and forget that things outside this exist.”

  “You can’t do that,” I snapped, keeping my voice quiet to avoid the microphones on the opposite side. “You’re losing participation points, and your homework—”

  “I turned it in on eCampus,” he interjected.

  “And the discussion in Lit?” He was not getting off the hook that easily.

  “Did you take notes?” He lifted his arms behind his neck, his biceps flexing.

  Don’t get distracted. “Of course I did.”

  He shrugged. “Then what’s the issue?”

  My mouth hung for a second before I managed to close it. “What’s the issue? You’re not in class!”

  “But you are.”

  “And?”

  “And you’re my tutor. So you have notes and can catch me up, right?”

  Do not smack him. Don’t do it. I sucked in a deep breath through my nose. “I am your tutor, not your teacher. You have to be there! Damn it, Paxton, there’s more than yourself to think about. My scholarship rides on your grades, too!”

  “So do all of their jobs,” he said quietly, his hand sweeping to encompass everyone on the pipe. “Leah, if I don’t make grades, the documentary is canceled.”

  “Wait. What? What kind of producer would tie a movie to your academics?”

  “The kind who shares my last name.” He wiped away his sweat the same way Landon had, by lifting his shirt, and I kept my eyes locked on his face. I knew one look at those cut lines and I’d be a puddle of hormones, which wouldn’t do either of us any good.

  “Your last…” His dad owned the boat on Bermuda, but how much money did he really come from? “Is your dad the producer?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, and he agreed to the movie as long as my grades held. It’s his way of getting me to finish college.”

  The ship pitched again, and my hand tightened on the railing as Paxton’s gripped my waist. He inhaled with a hiss and then dropped his hand like I’d burned him. I knew my waist was thicker than the athletic goddesses he hung out with, but really? “Well, you can’t finish college without making grades, so maybe you should get your ass to class.”