Chapter Nineteen
Sabine was usually quite good at holding her alcohol.
And it wasn’t because she had built up a tolerance with copious amounts of drinking.
It was because she only ever had one drink.
A mimosa at a birthday brunch, taken slowly between bites of eggs Benedict.
A single Sex on the Beach at a bachelorette party she’d been guilted into attending.
A flute of champagne at a wedding, just enough to toast and blend in, but never enough to blur.
She’d learned very early on that alcohol wasn’t harmless.
Not after eight years in the ER. Not after watching nights unravel because someone thought they were fine to drive, fine to take one more shot.
Head injuries. Broken bones. Blue lights and sirens.
She’d seen it all. Which was why she was entirely shocked she’d accepted that second glass from Isla and was now on the verge of getting mortifyingly wasted.
She reached for her glass again and found it empty.
That seemed rude. When had that happened?
“Shh,” Talia whispered quickly, looking terrified as she dropped the edge of the placemat and smoothed her hands across the leather.
“I saw it earlier, before everyone came down. I thought it was an advantage. I didn’t think it was probably just a letter to explain why we’re being treated to a whole fricken breakfast.” Talia cleared her throat when Charlize shot her a look across the table.
Sabine wasn’t sure why Talia was on edge. It was fine.
It was all fine.
Sabine leaned a little closer and considered sniffing Talia’s hair.
Then she imagined running her fingers through the strands, pulling her toward her and kissing her so hard and so long that everyone at the table gasped.
She didn’t, of course. But she did check if anyone was listening before she whispered, “Maybe it is an advantage.” The more plausible explanation, however, was that Talia had fucked up.
“What should I do?”
Sabine had no idea. Although she was fairly certain that if she were sober, she’d already have come up with something foolproof. Still, it didn’t feel catastrophic. In fact, it felt oddly manageable. Like this was a problem for later Sabine. Sober Sabine.
Right now, Sabine was warm and pleasantly fuzzy.
The nearly finished stack of pancakes in front of her, which was still glistening with syrup, the last one soaking it all up like a sponge, was calling her name.
She picked up her fork and reached for it.
But then Talia’s hand closed around her forearm.
“Please, I need your help,” Talia muttered softly.
Sabine dropped her hand back to the table.
For a brief, merciful second, something like sober clarity punched through the champagne fog.
Talia was panicked. She had the same wide-eyed look Sabine had seen a hundred times before.
Patients who were rushed into the ER on a gurney, still conscious, still terrifyingly aware just how close to death they were, had a similar look.
It wasn’t the same thing. But Sabine’s reaction was the same. She wanted to help. She wanted to save.
“Don’t do anything,” she said softly. “Wait until everyone leaves, then slip the envelope into your pants.” She glanced down at the basketball shorts Talia slept in every night. “I’ll meet you at the rock pool, and we can read the letter together.”
Talia nodded. The relief on her face was so immediate it was almost physical, like someone had finally loosened the noose around her neck.
“Okay.” Her shoulders dropped from where they were perched at her ears, and she calmly reached for a cup of coffee.
She placed the cup in front of Sabine, who took it gladly.
She was already beginning to feel a simmering headache and hoped the caffeine would counteract it.
If it didn’t, she’d consider asking the medical team for some Tylenol.
Connie was the first to stand up. She lifted her leg over the bench, wobbled precariously for a moment, before reaching for the edge of the table to balance. “I think the champagne has gone to my head,” she said before touching a palm to her temple.
“I think it’s gone to all our heads,” Sabine said, though she never would’ve made that comment if she’d been sober. She would’ve secretly judged everyone for their lack of control and found herself superior. But today proved she was human, just like everyone else.
“I think I should’ve eaten slower,” Marloe said, fisting her belly. She looked like a woman who was about to be sick. Which, considering she hadn’t eaten anything more substantial than rice and beans for eleven days, made sense.
“And less,” Amy said, nodding. She burped and then gushed pink. “Sorry. Excuse me.”
Charlize laughed and scooped out the last of the creamy yogurt. Connie was already halfway up the beach to the shelter. Isla was sipping the rest of Monique’s champagne, which she’d graciously swapped for the last croissant, and Lucia was finishing the last slice of toast.
“I’m going for a walk,” Talia said, also standing up.
She scooted out the side and seemed confident on her feet.
“After Christmas lunch, my family always walks the mile around our block. Even when it’s snowing,” she explained, which Sabine found unnecessary.
“My dad believes if you don’t walk it off, it will—”
“I’ll come with you,” Sabine interrupted, already standing up. The champagne fuzz in her head was already thinning enough to know that the more Talia talked, the more obvious it would become that she was hiding something. “I am also a firm believer in moving after eating.”
“Don’t they say rest and digest?” Lucia asked, still chewing on toast.
“They do,” Sabine replied. “But a light walk after eating helps digestion, prevents blood sugar spikes—” She stopped mid-sentence in case someone decided they needed a walk and considered joining them.
Which would absolutely not work because as of right now, Sabine couldn’t focus on anything besides that envelope. What the hell was in it?
Talia was already a few steps ahead when Sabine caught up.
They didn’t speak. They didn’t say a word.
Out of the corner of her eye. Sabine could see Talia fidgeting with the front of her shorts.
The worst-case scenario would be that the envelope contained nothing more than a description of the breakfast. Or worse, a hint about the upcoming reward challenge.
Though if that were the case, they could probably fake finding it on the beach, and no one would know.
They reached the rock pool in under a minute.
It was far enough away for no one to see them, but then again, anyone could’ve followed them.
Talia glanced back first. She half-smiled, which Sabine took as a positive sign, and sank down onto a sun-bleached rock.
Sabine did the same. But there was a second when she nearly jumped out of her skin.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Jen and Marie, the camerawomen.
They were off at the far edge of the tidal pool, crouched behind a cluster of rocks just high enough that their lenses caught the action.
Sabine ignored them and concentrated on Talia, who was cradling her head in her hands.
“I am such an idiot,” she said, lifting her head only to drag her fingers down her cheeks.
“I honestly thought I was being smart by taking the envelope. You know, seizing the opportunity to gain an advantage. But now I feel so stupid and embarrassed.”
“Let’s just see what’s in it before you start crucifying yourself,” Sabine said, sliding down onto the rock beside her. She made sure to keep her distance even though the soft champagne static in her head insisted it would be fine to hold hands.
It really wasn’t fine. Though that didn’t stop Sabine from imagining scenarios where PDA was completely acceptable; walking down Broadway with Talia’s hand in hers, Talia’s knee pressed against her thigh in a cramped booth at Capitol Hill Bistro, kissing Talia’s cheek while they waited in line to catch the ferry.
Sabine nearly lost herself in those thoughts, but luckily Talia had just slid the envelope free from the waistband of her shorts and stared at it as if it might bite her.
“I feel sick.”
“Just read it.”
Talia nodded and peeled the envelope open. Inside was a folded slip of paper. Just like the challenge parchments, it looked old and weathered.
Talia inhaled. Her fingers trembled slightly as she unfolded it.
“Congratulations,” she read. “You have discovered a hidden advantage...” The words were barely out of her mouth before her face changed.
The panic was gone. Instead, Talia was smiling so brightly that Sabine couldn’t help feeling a warmth light up her chest like the sun.
“See,” Sabine said, bumping her elbow gently into Talia’s arm. “You’re not an idiot.”
Talia laughed loudly and relaxed. She even leaned back a bit as her head tilted toward the sun and her feet splashed in the pool. Droplets flew everywhere.
“I can’t believe it, an advantage. We got the first advantage,” she said.
“What else does it say?” Sabine asked, shifting closer without meaning to. It was only when their shoulders brushed, and their cheeks were basically touching, that she realized what she was doing. But by then, the damage was done. “Read the rest of it.”
Talia nodded quickly and cleared her throat. “This advantage may be used at the next Sending. If you choose to use it, you can send both members of a pair home. It can only be used once. Choose wisely.”
Sabine’s mouth went dry. “Shit,” she muttered. That was huge. Even the slight buzz that was now barely more than a soft hum in her veins couldn’t cushion the impact of that advantage. A whole pair. Gone. She turned to Talia.
Talia was already looking at her. “That’s—”
“Dangerous,” Sabine finished, her mouth feeling like wool.
The wind kicked up as clouds rolled in across the sky.
Salty air lifted Sabine’s hair and sent goosebumps down her arms. Somewhere back at camp, someone laughed.
Both Sabine and Talia flicked their heads back toward it.
All they could see were the two cameramen and a stretch of empty beach behind them.
Talia folded the paper carefully and deposited it back into the envelope. She took a deep breath, her chest rising. “We should probably get back to camp before anyone thinks we’re staying away too long.”
Sabine nodded. Talia was right. For the first time in this game, they had real power beyond their imaginations, and the worst thing they could do was draw attention to it. So, she pushed herself up, and just as another gust of wind came barreling over the rocks, said, “Let’s go.”