Wilder

“Paxton!” I screamed as the camera hit the dirt of the landing ramp right before his bike did. The front tire impacted, the bike flipping and flinging him off, where he tumbled over the side of the dirt ramp, falling twenty feet to the ground.

“No!” The sound was nearly inhuman as it ripped from my throat, seeing his leg at an unnatural angle as people rushed to him, the motors suddenly quiet. “Paxton!”

“I’m here, baby,” he said from above me. “Hold on!”

My head swiveled between my arms to see him on the supported length of catwalk, not in a crumpled mess beneath me. “Pax.” He was alive. He was okay.

My fingers slipped a fraction of an inch, but it was enough to send my heart into overdrive, beating out a panicked rhythm.

“No!” Brooke shrieked. “This can’t be for nothing! You’re supposed to be on your bike!”

“Yeah, well, Penna is!” he yelled as he gripped her forearms, yanking her onto the platform.

“No!” she yelled. “Penna!”

I wanted to look down, but my hold was too precarious. Let her be okay. God, please.

The metal creaked as he leaned back over. “Brooke?” I questioned.

“Security has her,” he said calmly as he headed toward me, Little John lowering him by his feet. “Firecracker, I’m going to ask this time that you not let go.”

“Smart-ass,” I said, my breath shaky. “Is Penna okay?”

“I hope so,” he answered. “Just hold on.” His hands gripped my wrists. “Now let go. I’ve got you.”

We locked eyes, and I knew with utter certainty that if he dropped me, I would die. Without another thought, I let go of the railing, trusting my weight to him.

“Pull us up!” he yelled, and we started to rise, the metal creaking and groaning as the screws began to give way. I wanted to close my eyes and wait for the inevitable fall, but I didn’t look away from him.

“Move!” I heard the ground crew screaming.

Paxton and I slid onto the catwalk, and as he gathered me into the safety of his arms, the last of the supports gave way, and the catwalk crashed to the now-empty ramp below.

So close. It had been so close.

“Is she okay?” he called down, his arms firmly wrapped around me. I rested my head on his chest, listening to his heart and trying to match mine to its steady beat. For every ounce of bravery that had somehow surfaced, I felt that much weaker lying in Paxton’s embrace, like my body was completely depleted of adrenaline, energy, whatever it was that had kept me on that catwalk.

Landon hovered over Penna, his hands running the length of her body.

“Landon!” Paxton yelled, but still didn’t move when Landon threw him the universal one-fingered wait sign.

“She’s breathing! Give us a second!”

I felt the war within Paxton rage, the need to be with his friends versus the need to stay with me.

“You can go,” I whispered.

“Not until you’re okay,” he responded, resting his chin on my head. “God, when I saw you up here, I didn’t know if I could get to you in time. I’ve never been that scared in my life.”

“Me, either,” I admitted. “Thank you for coming for me.”

“God, Leah,” he said, tipping my face up to his, “all I wanted was to trade places with you. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe.”

Now my heart was racing again.

“Pax!” Landon shouted. “I think just her leg is fucked up.”

We both sagged in relief. “Are you okay?” Paxton asked.

“Let’s get down there,” I said.

“It was supposed to be you!” Brooke shrieked from behind us, where she was held by two huge security guards. “She’s supposed to be fixing her bike!”

“She wanted to use mine instead, you traitor! You could have fucking killed her!” Paxton railed. “You nearly killed Leah, you had me tossed in jail, and you messed with our equipment? I know you’ve had a hard time, Brooke, but she’s your sister! We’re your family!”

“It was supposed to be you! How could you leave him behind? How could you do his trick? How could you use everything he built and just step over him, forget him, knowing what you did to him?”

Paxton helped me to stand, keeping my hand tucked in his. “Because he’s helping me!”

Brooke stilled, her eyes blinking rapidly, sanity itself coming back into them. “What?”

“That’s his design, Brooke. That’s his ramp technique. That’s his kicker. Who do you think mapped out the drop zone in Madagascar? Helped design the pipe layout in Barcelona?”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, panic creeping over her features.

“Then ask him yourself,” he snapped and pointed to the end of the motocross track, where a young man sat in a wheelchair, looking up at us.

“Nick,” she gasped.

He simply shook his head at her.

“Take her,” Paxton ordered the guards.

We all descended as quickly as possible, Paxton and I both breaking into a run to get to Penna. Never once did he let go of my hand after we hit the ground. My lungs burned by the time we reached the main level, where Penna had been neck-braced and placed on a stretcher.

“I need to deal with the arena, but I need to go with Penna, too,” Paxton said, ripping his free hand through his hair.