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Thirty-Seven
BROOKE
It wasn’t until we reached the next checkpoint that we learned it would be a double-leg, with a double-elimination. That meant we’d be racing all the next day. Stopping only for mandatory periods of brief rest, during which we’d wolf down some granola bars before plunging on.
For some bizarre reason I was actually looking forward to it.
It might’ve had something to do with me wanting the Race to be over. Yes, I wanted to win. Yes, I was thrilled about how far we’d come. In the back of my mind though, I was also looking forward to something else. Something that, for right now at least, seemed even more exciting than a million dollars.
I just wanted tostop.
The whole last few weeks had been a whirlwind, without even a moment to sit down and think. I’d gone from relaxing in paradise to a sexual fantasy camp. From solitude and rest to dashing around the world on a constant timer, with a few dozen people I’d only seen on television.
On top of that I was emotionally drained. My feelings for the guys extended well beyond what we’d done on the island, or even in the bedrooms beyond. I was definitely falling for them. Falling for the veryideaof them, anyway. And although I wasn’t entirely sure, I was pretty certain they might even be falling for me.
It was impossible to tell anything though, during the scope of the Race. Everything that came out of our mouths was filtered by the specter of knowing it would probably be on camera. Whatever true feelings they’d developed for me had to be kept under wraps, at least while we were still in the running. And I barely had enough time to examine my own feelings, beyond the overwhelming physical chemistry and emotional attachments I could see on the surface.
“BLOOD SOUP!”
Noah’s cackle rang loudly over the viking village, where we’d gathered no less than six hours ago. Our brisk, ten-kilometer run had wound down into the ancient gathering of huts and longhouses, where we’d split into pairs and each been assigned a different task.
“That’s gonna be a disgusting one,” said Hayden.
“They’re all disgusting,” I shot back.
“Yeah, but I think they make that with congealed goose blood.”
I’d been paired randomly with Reese. The challenge we’d been given involved hurling axes end over end, and embedding them into viking shields. It wouldn’t have been so bad except that only bulls-eyes counted, and the shields were moving. But it turned out we were fairly good at it, and completely it quickly.
Devin on the other hand had been paired with Hayden, and of all things in the world they’d been tasked with braiding hair! Two beautiful Norse women sat there for three hours while they wove and unwove their long, gorgeous hair into what were supposed to be traditional viking braids. The process of finally satisfying the judges had taken almost forever, and had cost us more than a few position ranks as well.
Even worse, Reese and I had to sit back and watch, powerless, as the whole thing went down.
“Why couldn’tIget the hair-braiding?” I’d cried in frustration. “I used to braid my sisters’ hair all the time!”
“Wanna know a secret?” Reese had grinned. “So did I.”
For the next hour or so he went on to talk about his family, his friends, and his childhood. Apparently they’d grown up poor, working for the tourists that would vacation in the Ozarks. His father and mother still weren’t retired. She was still working a convenience store back home, and he was still repairing and maintaining a fleet of paddleboats.
“I grew up resenting the place I was raised,” Reese had explained, as his friends unbraided their work and started over for the third or fourth time. “Later on though, I realized I didn’t resent Missouri at all. It wasn’t the place, it was the situation. The people. I ended up missing it in the end.”
“And yet you stayed up north after school,” I pointed out. “With friends instead of family.”
“These friendsarefamily,” Reese had told me, in a rare moment of seriousness. “Besides, I wouldn’t trade the world for the Minnesotan weather. It’s a whole new world up there, and nothing feels as good as filling your lungs with that crisp, mountain air.”
“HÁKARL!”
Noah cried out again, and I immediately wrinkled my nose. I wasn’t the only one. The rancid, fermented shark-meat had been a part of the Race’s infamous eating challenges before. Apparently it smelled like death, although right now I was too far away to tell.
“We have to make up time,” Devin whispered unnecessarily. “We botched that stupid braid thing, big-time.”
“Ya think?” Reese teased.
“We have to eat fast!” he cried, ignoring his friend. “Whatever it is. However much of it there is.”
“I’m not eating anything with bacteria on it,” said Hayden. “Or anything that’s been dead for too long. Or anything alive, for that matter.”
He was referring to the live sushi debacle of three seasons ago, where a contestant had basically thrown up a live octopus on camera. The scene in the restaurant had been sheer pandemonium. But the ratings had been through the roof.
