Wilder

“We always do,” I answered, running my finger along the line. “We have a room at home full of gear we’ve busted in pursuit of whatever trick we were trying to pull.”

“Oh,” she answered. “Penna, do you need some help?”

“Sure,” Penna answered under the blankets. “How much shit does he have down here?”

Leah took the other side, sticking that deliciously round ass in the air. Apparently my dick hadn’t forgotten where she’d been a few minutes ago. I blinked and looked back at the breast plate.

The break was too straight. Too clean. Strange.

“He’s got a ton of shit under here,” Leah agreed, throwing some of the stuff onto the bed.

“Got it!” Penna lifted her hands in victory. She slung the pack over her shoulder. “Okay, I’ll be back later. You two…you know…um…study or something.”

“Nice, Penna.” I rolled my eyes at her.

She blew me a sarcastic kiss and ran out the door.

“Everything okay?” Leah asked as she walked over to me.

“The chest plate. They never crack in a straight line. It’s always along the ridges, or the point of impact. Never straight. It’s strange.”

“Huh,” she said. “Maybe it’s the handlebars or something?”

“Maybe,” I answered.

“Let me get this stuff put away,” she said, motioning to the bed.

The girls were right. Landon was a freaking pack rat. Harnesses, protective gear, a helmet— “No fucking way,” I whispered.

“Okay, I won’t put it away,” Leah grumbled.

“No, that’s not it.” I dropped the chest plate and sat on the only clear spot on his bed, reaching for the two black rigs I’d been missing since we zip-lined onto the ship. “These are mine. They’re the ones we used that first day.”

“Oh,” she said, not understanding. How could she? Even I couldn’t put everything together.

I took the rigs back to my room and, while she sat on my bed sipping the latte that had gone nearly cold, I disassembled the rigs, looking up every now and then to watch the tour of the Vatican.

Landon’s voice was in my head at every age. When we were kids jumping off the roof to the trampoline, to the first time I’d strapped a snowboard on my feet, to the night he’d chosen the team over love and broken his own heart, to right…now as he took the tour for me so I could heal.

Did he hate me so much for forcing him to choose? No way. Don’t even fucking think it.

He’d been my best friend since grade school.

It didn’t compute.

I picked up the braking mechanisms one at a time, my heart sinking, then shattering.

I looked at them twice, then a third time.

“What’s wrong?” Leah asked.

“They were under Landon’s bed.”

“Yeah? It looks like half the gear for your team was under his bed.”

I looked at her, and anger swelled through my limbs. She could have been hurt, or worse, killed that day. So many things could have gone wrong, all because I hadn’t kept my gear on me at all times. I’d been too trusting.

“The brakes were tampered with.”

Chapter Thirteen

Leah

Istanbul

“To your right you can see the area in which the Holy Roman Emperors were crowned when the Hagia Sophia was Christian.” Dr. Williams pointed to the Arabic symbols hung high above the floor. “As you can see, this served as a mosque before it was declared a museum.”

“Everything changes, doesn’t it?” Paxton said next to me as we walked around the massive structure.

“You could…you know, talk to Landon,” I suggested.

“No point,” he said.

“Okay.” I exhaled slowly, counting to ten. We’d gone rounds for the last few days about what he was going to do, which was a big fat nothing.

“I told you, Landon didn’t do this. There’s zero chance. It had to have been an accident during assembly, or if someone opened it up to check it…or anything but Landon.”

“Right,” I said. Keep quiet. But of course I couldn’t. “Because that’s what happened to your chest protector, too, right?”

He shot me a go-to-hell look, which I shot right back. “Let’s just look at some history, okay?”

He’d been this sour the whole damn time. On board, in class, during study sessions, all week. The worst? He hadn’t so much as kissed me again. The minute I suggested that he look into Landon, he shut me out like I was a direct threat to his best friend.

For God’s sake, I suggested he talk to him, not practice waterboarding.

“How’s that going for you?” Hugo asked as Paxton walked ahead of me.

“He’s an ass.”

“He sure likes you, though,” he answered, stopping to snap a picture on our way out.

“What makes you say that?” The treatment I’d gotten the last few days definitely didn’t support that theory.

“We may have run out of that French roast you like while we were at sea.”

“No!” I gasped. “My lifeblood!”

He laughed. “Yeah, well, Paxton knew and made sure that you got all of his.” He watched for my reaction.

“Really?” I glanced forward to where Paxton walked, his thumbs tucked into the pockets of his jeans. Jeans that hung on nice hips and were accented with an incredible ass. Ugh.