Chapter Ten
O nce I’ve gathered the shreds of my tattered libido, I return to our room, relieved to find it empty. After an icy cold shower, I change into fresh workout clothes, donning a black tank top and shorts. The app says we’re focusing on team building today—oh joy—and will be heading to Blue Lagoon Adventure Park.
An hour later, I find myself bumping along in the vinyl seat of a yellow school bus that pulls into the parking lot. There, I spy a giant outdoor obstacle course made up of ropes and ladders, wooden walls, giant tires, muddy ponds, and bridges swinging from trees.
After hopping off the bus, I huddle with Gabrielle and Lan under the cool drops of the continuing drizzle. I can’t help but notice that my friends are standing a little closer than might be typical for a professional environment. I think of Rafe towering over me in the gym, our bodies so close I almost drowned in his heat.
Gabrielle turns away to speak with someone, and when Lan catches me watching them, she leans over and whispers in my ear. “The internship is still my priority, but nothing is saying I can’t have a little fun on the side, is there?”
“Obviously not,” I agree, willing myself not to look for Rafe in the crowd.
Most of WMC’s rising stars are in their late twenties and early thirties. I turned twenty-nine a few months ago, and the eternal question of what’s next is creeping up louder and louder. I’ve spent so many years focused on my career and avoiding long-term relationships, indulging in casual flings that are only about physical release, but how much longer can I keep this up?
What do I want? Marriage? Kids? That would mean I’d have to learn to trust someone with my heart again.
The executive team is also here, sitting under a large white tent, black sunglasses shielding their eyes and coffee mugs clutched in their hands. I assume they’re full of vodka.
From reading her book, I know Diane never married or had children, and I wonder why she made those choices. Does she regret any of it? Or is that question simply a product of my own internalized expectations?
Marriage might be nice—I like the idea of having a partner as my constant. Children have never been high on my list of priorities, but I suppose if I met the right person who I could see myself having kids with, I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.
The instructor starts yelling out orders, dragging me from my thoughts. She tells us to convene in groups of four for today’s challenge.
While a mad scramble ensues, I notice Rafe across the parking lot. Our eyes meet, and something hot and jagged flares in my chest. I’m still reeling from this morning, and my thoughts are having trouble catching up.
Lan tugs me towards Gabrielle, who’s standing with Andy. We become a foursome, and I watch Rafe join a group with two men and one woman whose names I don’t know yet.
Andy presses a hand against the small of my back. He seems to be over the incident on the boat and clearly isn’t allowing Rafe to scare him off.
“Glad we’ll be working together,” he says with an uncomplicated and sincere grin, but I’m not sure how I feel about this anymore. The initial spark has dimmed, and it has absolutely nothing to do with Rafe.
Sure, okay. Let’s go with that.
My gaze drifts back to Rafe. Is he thinking about this morning, too? His thin grey T-shirt stretches against the lines of his chest and his shoulders, and I lick my lips without meaning to.
The instructor begins to explain today’s rules. We’re being judged on our teamwork, how we support our teammates and strategize, and, of course, how we keep up. Being a successful leader is about more than just mental stamina; it requires physical stamina, too.
The winning group will be awarded a private dinner with the executive team this evening. It’s a chance to impress and help secure a training spot at the end of the retreat. Lan is practically salivating at the notion, whispering strategies under her breath as she squints at the obstacles and then assesses each of us with a critical eye.
I’m not worried. I’m good at things like this. I crave physical activity as long as no one tries to make me dribble a basketball or spike a volleyball. My teammates all seem fit enough, and I like our odds.
As we gather in our assigned places, my gaze finds Rafe again. He glares and cracks his knuckles, and I point at him and then to a spot on the ground before grinding my toe into the dirt. His eyes darken to the hue of cinnamon swirled in chocolate, and the barest curve forms ever so slowly on his lips.
It’s not a smile… I don’t know what it is.
I turn away, but I feel his gaze burning a hole in my back. I resist the urge to turn around, but my resolve crumbles, and I peer over my shoulder to find him watching me with a hungry intensity that sets my pulse galloping.
A whistle shrieks, shocking me back into focus before my team discusses our plans.
We work well together under a shower of light rain, clearing the first few rounds as we strategize through every obstacle, climbing over angled walls and sliding down ropes. If Andy’s hands seem to end up on me a little more than is strictly necessary, I tell myself I don’t mind.
After several hours and many nail-biting rounds, our team is soggy but still standing and prepared to head into the final round. Predictably, the second team left is Rafe’s. We’re going head-to-head for that coveted dinner.
“You should probably just give up now,” Andy taunts.
Rafe grinds his jaw, and Andy gives him a bland smile, clearly getting under his skin. Andy moves closer to me, placing a hand on the small of my back, and Rafe’s eyes go dark.
“If you’re scared, just say so,” Rafe taunts. “It’s obvious who’s going to win this.”
I roll my eyes. “Can we stop with the barbarian chest beating? Everyone play nice. Especially you, Gallagher.” I point my finger at Rafe, and after giving me a Who me? look, he has the grace to look at least a little abashed. But then he pins me with that smile that isn’t a smile, and my skin erupts into a field of goose bumps that have nothing to do with being cold.
“Everyone!” Our leader claps her hands and blasts a shrill tweet on her whistle. I swear I’m going to shove that thing down her throat. “Our final two teams will now repeat the entire course, front to back. The team that captures the red pennant first wins. You can arrange yourselves however you wish. There are no rules other than you cannot interfere with the other team in any way, or I will immediately disqualify you. Do I make myself clear?” She directs her question to me and Rafe, obviously remembering us from the Ferris wheel challenge.
The eight of us nod sagely, and Rafe and I exchange a glance that burns like lava through my veins.
“You take the tires.” Lan is pointing to Gabrielle. “You were fastest on those. Andy, the rope wall. I’ll take the tightropes and the swing rope, and Tris, you’re on the monkey bar rings. I’ve never known a woman with such freakish upper body strength.”
I smile, preening at the compliment, whether she intended it that way or not.
Gabrielle is the first to go, and we all stand behind her at the start line. A moment later, Whistle Mouth emits a screech, and everyone is off. As Gabrielle tackles her obstacles, we head for our respective stations, getting into position.
I’ll be the last to go right before the finish line. I climb onto a wooden platform standing about five feet above the ground. Two long ropes stretch over a pool of muddy water, each with about a dozen wooden rings dangling in a row.
My hands are raw, and my shoulders are tired from having done this several times already, but I rub my wet palms on my legs and focus. It’ll take less than a minute to cross.
When a familiar head of dark brown hair climbs up the ladder, my determination solidifies into iron. Rafe jumps on the platform and strides over, puffed up like a rooster.
“Gallagher,” I say, forging my voice with a challenge. “I’m going to kick your ass.”
“Big talk for a small girl, Malik.” I see we’re into using last names. This feels appropriate and gives me the distance I need right now.
A round of cheers rises in the distance, and we both peer through the trees as Rafe’s teammate Joe and Lan clear the tightrope strung between two thick trees. It’s the last obstacle before they tag off with us.
Lan and Joe jump down from the circular platform attached to the trunk, sprinting through the bushes to where Rafe and I are waiting. They’re neck and neck, and this is going to be tight.
As Lan and Joe ascend the top of the ladder, they run for me and Rafe, both of us hunched in ready stances. The distance between us is about ten feet, and just as they’re about to reach us, several things happen at once.
Someone trips. I’m not sure who because everything becomes a tangle of limbs as Lan and Joe morph into a human squid. Lan’s shoulder thumps into my chest as she tumbles. I step back, my foot meeting nothing but air. Arms windmilling, I attempt to recover my balance, reaching for something to stop my plummet off the edge.
Unfortunately, that thing is Rafe. My fingers snag on the fabric of his shirt, my hand fisting into the material. But momentum propels me over the side, throwing off his balance.
Rafe careens towards me, and I scream as I begin to fall. His broad frame crashes into mine, his arms wrapping around me as we tumble. Time slows to a drip as we descend, air whooshing in my ears until, all at once, I’m engulfed by a tide of mud, driven under the surface by two hundred pounds of bone and muscle.
Mud fills my eyes and my nose and my mouth, and this is how I die.
My lungs burn as I fight for air. I feel Rafe moving on top of me, his hands touching me everywhere. Limbs flailing, I kick and punch for what feels like forever, when finally, his weight shifts, and a pair of strong hands lift me out of the muddy water. As my face breaks the surface, I gasp, choking and coughing as I clutch my chest. My lungs ache, and my vision drips with murky rivulets. We’re both on our knees, the water coming up to my chest.
My head spins, and I collapse against Rafe, his solid form saving me from another brush with death.
“Tris, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
He’s rubbing my back. He almost killed me, so I guess we’re back to first names.
“Rafe!” I half shout and half gasp, my face pressed into his chest. I’m not sure why. This isn’t his fault, but my life just flashed before my eyes, and I can’t catch my breath. He folds me against him, arms wrapping tightly around me, and my capacity to examine this gesture is limited right now.
“Tris, I’m so sorry,” Lan calls. She stands with Gabrielle on the platform, shouting down at us. “I tripped! Are you okay?”
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the mud wedged in my ears and my nostrils and my eyes. I push back a ropey strand of mud-caked hair. This is going to be a nightmare to get out.
Rafe helps me stand, and then the shrill sound of a whistle breaks through a wall of shocked silence.
Skreeeeee.
“You!” Whistle Mouth points to me. “You’re disqualified for interference.”
“What? That was an accident!”
She brandishes her accusing finger like someone died and made her the Lord of Blue Lagoon Adventure Park. “I saw you grab him and pull him in the mud!”
“It was clearly an accident,” Rafe says. “Let’s just start from the rings. We would have been even, anyway.”
I throw him a suspicious look. Why is he defending me? His team wins by default if I’m disqualified.
“I said she’s out,” Whistle Mouth replies.
“That’s not fair!” I argue.
“It’s really not,” Rafe counters. “I want to win properly, not by default.”
Thus, his motives become clear. He’s not being nice; he just wants to make sure everyone sees when he beats me.
“And now you’re disqualified for arguing with the referee!” Whistle Mouth says. “Both teams are done!”
The crowd’s collective groan mingles with cries of protest and outrage. Whistle Mouth blows so hard that her entire head turns into a roasted beet.
“My decision is final! Teams three and four will compete for the top spot instead.”
Rafe and I open our mouths to complain again, but Whistle Mouth silences us with another bleat. “If you want to argue further, I’ll disqualify you from this entire exercise, and you can both return home on the next flight out of here.”
Well, that does it. Our mouths snap shut, and Whistle Mouth fires another screech in our direction, punctuating her threat with a shrill exclamation point. She then walks off, gesturing for teams three and four to make their way to the start of the course.
Rafe’s jaw tics as he watches her back, and I open my mouth to apologize for grabbing him. He cuts his glittering gaze in my direction, and my apology dies on my tongue.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I say. “This isn’t my fault!”
“Well, it’s not mine, either.”
“Whatever, Rafe. Why do you even care? You can have dinner with the executive team any time you want. Don’t pretend you haven’t spent summers at their sprawling beach houses sipping cognac and harrumphing confidently at each other as you disdain the rest of us plebeians.”
But I’ve really said the wrong thing because his expression becomes a shard of obsidian dipped in ink.
He opens his mouth but then must think better of what he was about to say because he closes it so hard I’m surprised his skull doesn’t shatter.
After assailing me one last time with the heat of his fury, he splashes out of the mud pit and storms away.