Rebel: Chapter 5

Las Vegas “Miss Carstairs.” Mr. Schur nodded politely at me as he slid into the limo, scooting down the long side seat toward the driver.

“Mr. Schur,” I acknowledged, well aware that I was definitely not his favorite person on the planet. “Is he okay?” I asked Brandon as he stepped into the limo, taking the empty seat next to me.

“We’re ready to go,” Mr. Schur said to the limo driver.

“He signed,” Brandon said, as if that ended the conversation.

“But is he okay?” I repeated as the limo pulled out of the LVPD station. “It’s been hours since we were brought in.”

He shot me a withering glance, which I gave right back. I’d known Brandon for my entire life; I wasn’t taking his shit.

“I was airborne from L.A. within an hour of you calling, legal counsel in tow. I’m really not sure what else I could have done to get you out of there faster.”

“That’s not what I mean,” I said, properly chastised. “Thank you for coming so quickly—for coming at all.”

“Of course I came. You’re the closest thing I have to a little sister. That doesn’t mean I’m not extremely pissed off at you right now.”

“I know.” I counted three breaths before I couldn’t wait another second. “But seriously, is he okay? Cruz?”

Brandon’s sigh could have propelled the U.S. sailing team. “Yes, the guy you illegally BASE jumped with is fine. You know, the one you took to bed before you even knew his last name? That one? He’s great.”

“You don’t get to give me shit over that, Brandon. Not when your list of one-night stands is half the population of L.A.”

My stomach sickened as we turned in the direction of the airport instead of back to the hotel. “My things—”

“Are already aboard the plane. If we take off in the next hour, we can get you back to L.A. and on the flight to Tokyo with the other Renegades. Or did you forget that you’re due back in class in less than twenty-four hours?”

“You already got my stuff?” I asked, pushing away the knowledge that in less than a day, I’d be back aboard the Athena, traveling the world, taking classes, filming a documentary that I wasn’t sure I should be a part of anymore.

“Yes, between making a generous contract offer to the owner of the property you violated, assuring there would be no charges, and making a donation into the account of the very savvy reporter who managed to get ahold of the cops’ one camera shot that got a decent angle of you getting on the High Roller, I sent someone to your hotel room to pack you up and check you out.” He took out his cell phone and started returning texts.

“Efficient,” I said slowly. I was grateful, but he’d also just taken my last chance to see Cruz. An ache I didn’t know how to process bloomed in my chest, and I rubbed just over my sternum, as if that would soothe it. You knew him for a couple hours; stop acting like a sap.

“Paxton says we have more than enough time to get you to LAX for their flight in a few hours.”

Paxton. Landon. Damn it. I’d have to explain, and I didn’t have the words they would want. “You know, I have to swing by my place in L.A. to grab my bag, so maybe—”

“You were in the States for all of seven days; how much luggage did you bring?” He arched an eyebrow at me.

“Enough that I don’t want to leave it at home,” I shot back, feeling every bit the petulant toddler he’d known me as at one point.

“They can hold the flight. Benefit of them taking the Wilder Enterprises jet,” he said as he flipped another screen on his phone.

“Brandon,” I said quietly, and his eyes jerked to mine. “Please. I can’t see them yet. Just tell them I’m taking a later commercial flight. I’ll be back in time for class.”

He made a few finger swipes and lifted the phone to his ear. “Cynthia. Yes, I know it’s three a.m.”

Guilt slammed into me. Once again, I was making someone else’s life difficult because I couldn’t get my shit together.

“I also know how much I pay you,” Brandon said with an eye roll. “Right. If you could please book Penelope Carstairs on a six p.m. flight to Tokyo out of LAX? Yes, that Penelope. Perfect, thank you.” He hung up and went into his emails. It was hard to believe he shared any genes with his reckless brother. The two couldn’t be any more different.

Within a half hour, we boarded the private jet that bore the Wilder insignia, and I buckled into a soft leather chair across from Brandon as he finished up another business call—this one in French.

For the first time in my life, I dreaded takeoff. I didn’t want to go back to the ship, back to the stunts, back to the friends my ignorance had nearly gotten killed. I didn’t want to go back to the puzzle where I used to fit perfectly, knowing my edges had totally changed shape. I wasn’t sure I fit anymore.

But for just a few moments tonight, I’d fit with him. There had been no pressure, no expectations to live up to, no assumptions. I had simply been me, broken pieces and all, and it had been enough.

“Will you at least tell me his last name?” I asked Brandon. That was all I needed to find him on social media.

Brandon looked away to the strip as we rose above Vegas. “No, I won’t.”

“You don’t have to protect me, Brandon. I’m a big girl.”

His glacial eyes cut through me. “It’s not for your protection. It’s for his. You’re not yourself. Let it go.”

I managed to sit up straighter even though it felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. Brandon was right. In a matter of hours, I’d convinced a gorgeous, phenomenal stranger to illegally BASE jump, and then took him back to my hotel room where he’d been hauled down to the police station. It had been out of character even on my wildest day. I’d been reckless, and if not for Brandon, Cruz would have had to pay the price.

Yeah. It was best that I didn’t know his name, couldn’t search him out.

That didn’t mean I didn’t want to, though.

…

“So you got that cast off,” the Abercrombie model in the elevator with me said in a slow, southern drawl.

“Yep,” I said, keeping my eyes on the numbers that told me what floor we were on.

“Well, let me know if you feel like…working it out, Rebel.”

My fist clenched on the handle of my suitcase. I’d been back on board the Athena for all of twenty minutes and I was already being hit on by horny frat boys. Great.

With a ding, the doors opened on my floor.

“Will do,” I said with a sarcastic, bitchy smile and a little nose wrinkle as I stepped out of the elevator. “Not a fucking chance,” I muttered under my breath as I pulled my luggage behind me down the narrow hallway toward our suite. The ship rocked gently as we pulled out of Yokohama Port. I’d procrastinated at the Tokyo airport for so long that I’d nearly missed the boat. Hell, I almost wished I had. My sense of foreboding grew with every step I took, but eventually I unlocked our corner suite with a swipe of my key card.

The marble entryway welcomed me home. Sure, the Renegade suites were over the top, but so were we. “Honey, I’m home,” I called out, detouring from the hallway into my bedroom.

It looked exactly as it had when I left here over a week ago—down to my discarded bra on the armchair. Neat had never been one of my virtues, and I never let Hugo clean up after me. Hugo was assigned to our cabin for his work-study program, kind of like how Leah was Pax’s tutor for hers. It still felt weird to have him always waiting on us, though. I tossed my suitcase onto the bed and stared out the sliding glass door that led to my balcony, watching the skyline grow smaller.

A noise in my doorway made me turn around.

“Here you are! We were so worried,” Leah said, concern radiating from her whiskey-colored eyes. Pax’s girlfriend was one of my favorite people—warm, wicked smart, and genuinely kind.

“Worried you were going to miss margaritas!” Rachel called from down the hallway.

I smiled, shaking my head as I looped my arm around Leah’s shoulder and led us down the hall to the living room. Rachel—a five-foot nothing, black-and-purple-haired spitfire—was on her tiptoes, pouring tequila into a margarita machine that boasted some Jimmy Buffet lyrics on the side. “Really?” I asked.

Rachel grinned at me over her shoulder. “They’ll be ready after seminar.”

“Shit, we have class today?”

“It’s just seminar class since we officially start third term today,” Leah assured me. No doubt she’d already decided her end-of-year thesis topic and probably had it started by now.

“Which one are you in?” I asked.

“Latin American History,” she answered as Rachel climbed off the counter, her margarita mission complete.

“Oh, good, I think I’m in that one, too,” I said.

“You are,” she assured me. “Actually, we all are. You, me, Rachel, Pax, and Landon. One big happy family!” She grinned, radiating the kind of happiness that I envied, and I couldn’t help but echo her smile. She’d been through so much, losing her high school boyfriend in a horrific car accident that had nearly killed her, too, but her injuries healed, scars formed, and she’d conquered her fears with the kind of grace I could only hope to find.

“Speaking of the twosome…” Rachel gestured to the sliding glass door at the back of our suite, which was currently being opened by my two oldest friends, who were also the last two people I wanted to see.

Pax looked pissed until his gaze found Leah, and then he instantly softened. He was solidly built with muscles he’d honed for motocross, but he turned into a giant teddy bear for his tutor/girlfriend. He hugged her as Landon made his way across the room to me, all six foot four of Hemsworth-looking snowboarder folding down to kiss Rachel first. Apparently those two had finally worked their shit out.

Then he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to his familiar chest. He smelled like summers at the skate park, like cedar, and safety, and friendship. I sagged against him, and he held me tighter. “I was so worried, Pen. When you didn’t show in Aspen…”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” I told him.

“What the fuck happened?” Pax semi-shouted.

“And that, Leah, is our cue to leave,” Rachel said, tugging Leah out the sliding door as Landon let me go.

“Traitors!” I called out.

Leah threw back a look of apology before Rachel pulled her out of sight. The sound of the door shutting reminded me of taking a road trip with my parents when they were pissed at me. That locked door meant there was no getting out, and I’d have to sit there and digest whatever tirade they deemed worthy.

At least then, I’d had Brooke.

“Don’t yell at her,” Landon warned.

“Penna doesn’t need you to defend her,” Pax snapped, his arms folded in front of his Fall Out Boy shirt.

“He’s right. I don’t,” I told Landon. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to Aspen. I just…couldn’t,” I admitted.

“Oh, but you could BASE jump off the goddamned High Roller in Vegas?” Pax seethed. “Jesus, Penna, with a stranger, nonetheless? You could have been killed at that height, let alone the legal ramifications.”

“Brandon,” I growled, my eyes on the ceiling.

“What the hell does he have to do with it?” Pax asked.

“He didn’t tell you…?” My eyes darted between my best friends.

Landon shook his head.

“Well, shit,” I said, walking between the boys to take a seat on the couch. Landon sat between me and where Pax stood, no doubt playing the barrier.

“There was a YouTube video,” Landon told me. “Put that together with the tweet from some kid at your hotel, and what Patrick said—”

“Patrick? Did he tell you that he smacked my ass like I’m some rally girl? Or that he was going to jump with me totally and completely wasted?” To hell with that guy.

“He what?” Pax flat-out yelled.

“Oh, he left that out, I see. Yes, I planned a jump with Patrick, and when he showed up drunk, I took the guy at the bar”—they both sputtered—“who had jump experience in the army. Okay, it wasn’t a brilliant idea, and it could have turned out really bad, but the jump…” I trailed off, and a smile tugged at my lips. “It was amazing, guys. The lights, the distance, the rush. It was all perfect…you know, until the cops realized it was me.”

“They what?” Landon’s jaw dropped.

“Oh yeah.” I studied the immaculately clean coffee table. “Cops showed up at my room, I called Brandon, he fixed everything”—for both of us—“and I hopped a flight back here. See, everything worked out.”

“Penna,” Pax said gently and waited until I looked up to meet his eyes. “You called Brandon? Not me? Not Landon? Not Nick?” The hurt in his eyes made me swallow whatever snarky comment I’d been prepared with.

“You guys were celebrating your X Games medals, and…”

“Say it,” Landon urged.

“And I didn’t want you there, looking down on me, judging what I’d done.”

The only sound was the gentle whir of the slushy-style margarita machine as they processed what I’d said.

“You should have been with us,” Pax finally said.

“Maybe. But I didn’t feel that way. I had to do that jump alone, guys. I had to prove to myself that I had what it took to step off that platform—that under this hot mess, there’s a tiny bit of me left.”

“And?” Pax asked.

I searched my heart, hoping the answer would miraculously appear. “And I’m not sure. I did the jump, but something’s changed. I’ve changed.”

“Do you want some time off?” Landon asked. “I don’t mean downtime here. I mean…” He took a deep breath. “Do you want to go back to L.A. while we finish the documentary?”

“No,” Pax interrupted.

“Shut up, Pax,” Landon snapped. “I told you she needed time.”

“I can speak for myself,” I said, my tone softer than my words. “Yes, I want to go home. No, I don’t want to be here. But I’m scared if I leave now I won’t come back.”

“We’ll be home in three months—” Landon said.

“No, I mean to the Renegades at all.” There. I said it, but the knot in my chest that had been there since the accident didn’t dissipate. Instead it wound tighter.

“Fuck that. You’re an Original. It’s been the three of us since we were in diapers. We built the Renegades from nothing, and we don’t work without you.”

“I think the last two podium trips just disproved that theory,” I replied with a wry smile.

“As individuals, sure,” Pax argued, “but we are the Renegades. Before the movie, the stunts, the publicity, the sponsors, it’s us. We. Are. The Renegades.”

“Maybe I’m not!” I cried. “Maybe…maybe I should go.” Everything felt so topsy-turvy, like one of those paintings where the stairs were the ceiling and the ceiling was the wall. Nothing was right.

Landon pulled me in to his side, and Pax fell from his chair, hitting his knees in front of me. “Penelope Carstairs. I don’t care if you never do another stunt, you’re still one of us. We will wait as long as you need, and we will accept whatever decision you make. You two are my best friends, and I promise we’ll work through this. Just…please stay. Please give us the chance to be here for you the way you’ve always shown up for us.”

These two, the family we’d built, had been the only thing I’d ever been certain of. Nick had come along, Brooke had held me steady, and my future had been so obvious the moment I touched a motocross bike. But then Nick was paralyzed, and Brooke became the most reckless of all, and everything fell to shit.

The door slid open behind us. “Hey, I hate to interrupt, but we’ll be late for seminar if we don’t go,” Leah called out.

“Penna?” Landon asked.

“I’m here, right?” I faked a smile, and the look in Pax’s eyes said he knew the difference. “Let’s get to class. We’ll figure this out later.”

Pax’s jaw flexed, and Landon’s arm tightened around me, but they both agreed. This conversation was bigger than the ten minutes we’d given it. Hell, it was bigger than ten hours, and the problem was, now I’d admitted that I wanted to go home. By saying it aloud, I’d given the words power, and they chipped away another layer of my Rebel veneer.

I quickly changed, needing to get the airplane smell off me. A pair of skinny jeans, my Wonder Woman tee, and Vans later, I pulled my hair into a loose knot on the top of my head and blew the stray strands from my face. It wasn’t like I had anyone to impress so this morning’s—or yesterday’s…whatever—makeup would do.

Ten minutes later, the Renegades had claimed the center chunk of the class, Landon and Pax flanking me like they were scared I would run at any moment. I pulled my notebook and purple pen from my backpack, placing them on the desk in front of me as Pax stared out of the floor-to-ceiling windows in front of us that showed nothing but open sea.

Would Cruz have liked it here? Was he more of a mountain guy or an ocean guy? Or both?

“—so she ended up leaving,” I heard Leah say from behind Paxton, disrupting thoughts I had no business having.

I turned in my seat. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, our teacher from last term for Cultures of the Pacific. Dr. Messina,” Rachel said. “I guess she was supposed to teach this class, too.”

“I noticed the change on my schedule this morning.” Leah nodded.

“I didn’t have her last term, but I did for first,” I said. “Is she gone?”

“I guess she was homesick or something,” Rachel shrugged.

“New term. New teacher,” I said, turning back to my notebook. I started to doodle, concentrating on the purple streaks as I sketched out a rough version of the High Roller. The purple almost matched the lights from the Ferris wheel.

God, he’d looked gorgeous in that light—strong, sure, confident, and in total control even though he was in a situation where there wasn’t such a thing.

The door opened and shut, and I knew I’d have to put my pen down and rejoin real life. I yawned as jet lag caught up with me. I was in desperate need of some real sleep, or some real caffeine.

“Welcome to Latin American History.”

At that deep, lightly accented voice, my pen fell to the paper, as useless as my brain.

“This class will also serve as your Study At Sea seminar, which means I have the joy of getting to know each of you very well over the next three months since you’ll be writing a thirty-page thesis for me.”

The class groaned, and I slowly dragged my eyes from the paper, past the neck of the red-haired boy in front of me, to the man who stood at the head of our class, casually leaning against his desk. I took in the way his pants hugged his hips, the contrast of his rolled white button-down against his tanned skin, and the loose green tie at his throat. My gaze caught on his lips, the strong line of his nose and cheekbones, to the melty chocolate eyes that were focused on the other side of the room as he addressed the students there. His hair looked like he’d run his hands through it more than a few times, and his teeth flashed white when he grinned, those panty-dissolving dimples appearing.

My heart stopped beating and my breath froze in my lungs, as if the slightest motion would make him disappear. A rush of heat flushed my skin, and the knot in my chest loosened, unraveling as surely as my body had the last time I’d seen him.

“So let’s get started, shall we? I just flew in from the States today, but I’ll be sure to learn all of your names by the end of the week. Now if you’ll let me have this moment, I’ve been waiting eight years to say it— My name is Dr. Delgado.”

Two thoughts slammed into me simultaneously.

One—Delgado. At least now I knew his last name.

Two—Holy. Fucking. Shit. Cruz was my professor.