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CHAPTERFOUR
Day Two—Sixteen teams remaining
Lauren
The soundof breaking waves was interrupted by pecking. It hit me all at once—I was on a remote island with Archer, and that sound was probably a bird. Our first night was in the books, and we’d survived.
I shifted and sat up, sand sticking to the side of my face that had been on the ground.
“Morning,” Archer said from the log he was sitting on near the fire he’d built yesterday.
I squinted against the bright sunlight, licking my dry lips and tasting grains of sand on my tongue.
“Ugh,” I tried to wipe the sand from my mouth, but my hands were covered in sand too.
I scratched my thigh, but it just kept itching. Upon closer inspection, I saw that my legs were covered in little red welts.
“What the…?” I looked at my arms. Also covered.
“Might’ve been fire ants,” Archer said. “Or no-see-ums.”
I sighed. He’d told me to sleep in the shelter, but I’d refused. I’d wrapped myself in the mosquito net and curled up on the sand instead. The mosquito net was now in a jumble next to me. I vaguely remembered tearing it off last night, while dreaming I was being buried alive by essays written by my freshman literature class.
Standing, I brushed the sand from my skin and shook it from my hair while our second camera operator, Linda, filmed. Awesome.
“I’d offer you coffee, but all we have is water,” Archer said.
“I’m going to fill my canteen.”
“I already filled them all. And I wouldn’t pee in the spot by the well where you did a three last night. There’s lots of poison ivy there.”
I scowled. “A three? Are you a child?”
He grinned. “You want me to say ‘where you pissed and took a shit?’”
“First of all, I was just peeing. And second, can you just sit quietly? It’s too early for your bullshit.”
“No one takes that long to pee, Lo.”
“Go fuck yourself. It took me a long time to start peeing because I was wondering if you could hear me.”
He shrugged. “Either way, I recommend you go in the ocean. You definitely don’t want poison ivy on your corn chute.”
I looked at him in stunned silence for a couple of seconds. “You…pooped in the ocean?”
He’d traumatized sea life. Archer really was the worst.
“Survival’s not always sexy.” He stood from the log. “If you’re cool with keeping the fire going, I’m going to see if I can catch us some fish for breakfast.”
“Yeah, just let me go wash the sand off in the water.”
I walked to the shoreline and took off my shorts and T-shirt, wading into the water in my suit. I went shoulder deep, and though I wasn’t going to tell Archer, I did pee.
The bright turquoise water and lush jungle still felt like a photograph. I’d never even been outside the US until now.
After getting out of the water and putting my clothes back on, I walked up to our fledgling camp. Archer had built the base and one wall of our shelter from bamboo yesterday. He’d also started a fire ring, which only needed a few more rocks to be complete.
“I’ll watch the fire,” I said, picking up one of my canteens and taking a drink.
Archer stood, and I felt his gaze on me. It was a warm, achingly familiar sensation, but now it also brought a feeling of trepidation.
I still clearly remembered when we’d first spoken in Geometry sophomore year. I’d seen Archer around school, but that was the first class we’d had together. When he’d asked me if I knew what time class was over, I’d answered nonchalantly, but taken notice of the cute hockey player. The next week when he’d asked if I wanted to be partners for our first assignment, I’d gotten butterflies. How could I not? He had the bluest eyes I’d ever seen, but it was his smile that did me in.
His smile reached his eyes every time. It was confident, but not cocky. When I daydreamed about him during all my other classes, I always pictured that smile.
“I didn’t dump you,” he said out of nowhere. Clearly he’d been thinking about what I had said yesterday.
I looked at him, my brow furrowed. What was I supposed to say to that? He most definitely had dumped me. Why else would I have listened to Taylor Swift’s Red album on repeat, eaten more pints of Ben & Jerry’s than I cared to admit even now, and cried myself to sleep every night for weeks?
“I wanted us to stay together, Lo,” he continued. “I really did. I wanted you to come to Minneapolis with me.”
Why was he telling me this, all these years later? Did he want to be right somehow? To seem like a good guy rather than the disappointing, detached one I remembered him as?
“I’m sure you did,” I said, holding his gaze. “But it wasn’t fair to ask me to move without making a commitment.”
His eyes darkened in the way I remembered they did when he was in a serious or angry mood.
“I was always committed to you.”
I knew what it was like to have a younger Archer’s gaze intently focused on me. But this man, with broader shoulders and dark stubble coating his face—he intimidated me. I couldn’t let it show, though.
“It doesn’t matter now,” I said softly.
He kept looking at me in silence for a few seconds, and I thought he might say something more. But then he picked up his fishing gear and walked away, heading down the beach. I watched him go, both relieved and disappointed he hadn’t said anything else.
* * *
Our first fullday at our camp was quiet. After that morning exchange, Archer and I only spoke when we had to. We finished our shelter and explored the area a little, and after a day spent exerting myself in the heat, I went to sleep as soon as the sun set—in the shelter with my back to him.
“How much water have you had today?” he asked as we were about to leave camp on the morning of our second full day on the island.
“Enough,” I replied shortly.
Nutter had silently delivered a note and a map telling us when and where we needed to be for our first challenge. I was nervous about what we’d have to do, because while I got some exercise as a coach at my school, I wasn’t much of an athlete myself. I didn’t want to fall flat on my face while being filmed for the world to see.
“This heat is no joke. You’ll get dehydrated,” Archer said, running a hand through his dark hair and putting his Mammoths baseball cap on backward.
He looked hot. Not sweaty, on the verge of melting hot, but sexy, take me now hot. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing I thought so, though.
“I don’t need you telling me how much to drink,” I said, pulling my ponytail through my own University of Iowa baseball cap. “Or where to pee. Or anything else. Let’s walk to the challenge in contemplative silence.”
He shook his head. “We’re going to be stuck on this island for a while. There’s no one else to talk to. Can’t we bury the hatchet?”
He was over our relationship. Ready to move on to the friendly phase. And before coming here, I thought I was over it too. But for me, the hatchet was still sharp and very much able to inflict pain. I wanted to put it all past me, but I couldn’t.
“We need to get going,” I said, ignoring his question.
“Lo…” He sighed heavily.
My heart pounded. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t let him smooth things over with me just to make things easier here. If he was uncomfortable being around me, he’d just have to deal with it.
“We don’t want to be late.” I put the strap of my canteen over my shoulder and set out in the direction of the site on the map we’d been given for today’s competition.
Machete in hand, Archer followed, passing me on the beach to lead the way.
The site was more than a mile from our camp. I was drenched in sweat by the time we arrived. Several of the other teams had already arrived and waited by a flag.
The sand had been neatly combed into lanes on what I assumed was an obstacle course. My stomach churned nervously at the thought of what we’d be doing. I’d just gotten here, and I had a lot more to prove. I didn’t want to screw up and get sent home on only the third day.
“Hey,” Andrea said, walking up from behind me.
I hugged her, happy to see a friendly face.
“Hey, how’s it going?” I asked her.
She rolled her eyes. “I haven’t kicked him in the balls yet.”
Rod met Archer’s gaze, and they exchanged a knowing look. Like it was such hell dealing with their annoying exes. What a couple of saints we had on our hands.
Josh arrived and the producers positioned us in our teams so we could be interviewed. Once the cameras were rolling, Josh asked a few teams how the first night was.
“I woke up next to my ex-husband this morning, so it was basically my worst nightmare,” one woman said.
“Same,” her partner echoed.
At least Archer and I hadn’t been married. I couldn’t imagine having to sleep next to a man I’d married and divorced.
“On Exiled, you never know which day will be your last,” Josh said. “Let’s talk about this competition. We’ve got sixteen lanes ready and we’re going to play some sand hockey.”
A production assistant demonstrated what we had to do. The men had to use a hockey stick to get a puck down a three-hundred-foot lane of sand and into a goal. Then they had to grab a flag with their team logo from the top of their goal and run it back to their partners.
“The women will take that flag and swim out to a pier and put it on one of the poles set up for your team in the water,” Josh said, sounding way more excited than I felt about it. “The first team to finish gets the contents of this treasure chest, and believe me, it’s worth it. The final two teams to finish will be eliminated from the competition. Who’s ready to play?”
Everyone cheered, and I plastered on a fake smile. I was screwed. Andrea was an Olympic swimmer. Winning wasn’t even an option, unless Archer could get me a thirty-minute lead. I was just hoping to finish ahead of two other teams so we could stay. I wanted that prize money more than ever.
The men lined up at the starting line with hockey sticks, and Josh counted down from three. If there wasn’t so much money on the line, it would have been comical to see pro players trying to slap their pucks through sand. The pucks either moved a few inches or got stuck.
