17. Chapter Seventeen #3
“Novy!” I shouted, my voice tight with urgency. “I’m throwing it to you—Santiago’s on your tail! Be ready to dodge!”
“No problem!”
I hurled the ball, but it clipped one of the swinging rungs and plummeted, landing in the water with a splash that made my stomach drop.
Damn it!
Shep dove into the water behind me, swimming beneath the inflatable and popping up an instant later inside the tunnel with a feral grin splitting his face and possession of the ball.
“Tiago! Heads up!”
Before I could react, Shep whipped the ball past Novy with the precision of a hockey god. It landed in Santiago’s waiting hands like they’d practiced it a thousand times.
Novy spun on her heel, no hesitation, and launched herself at Santiago. Her diving tackle swept his legs out from under him, sending both of them—and the ball—splashing into the water.
I didn’t wait. My legs coiled, and I leapt, grabbing the handlebars and swinging hard. My arms screamed in protest, every muscle on fire, reminding me of that gym membership I never bought. I bit back a groan and flung myself toward the other side.
My landing was anything but graceful—I skidded, lost my balance, and slid straight into the water with a yelp.
The cold hit hard, and I groaned as I grabbed the curving edge of the tunnel, hauling myself out with a sharp inhale.
I collapsed flat on my stomach, panting.
The walkway shuddered beneath me, ripples of movement rushing through as competitors closed in.
Shep’s figure loomed as he hauled himself up from the hollow center. Water poured off his broad shoulders, sluicing over the wetsuit that clung to him like a second skin. My breath hitched at the sight, a knot of heat twisting in my chest. God help me, the sight was unfair.
I dragged my gaze upward, only to meet his eyes. He’d caught me staring.
His laughter rang out, cocky and triumphant, echoing across the lake.
Ahead, Novy, Scout, and Coach Trasier scrambled over the inflatables, chasing Santiago, who still bobbed in the water with the ball. I needed to keep Shep off them—buy time for Scout or Novy to get the ball back and charge through the last few obstacles to the finish.
Shaking off the flutter of heat pooling in my chest, I scrambled to my feet. Shep’s laughter trailed me, teasing and relentless.
Maybe I could elbow him right back into the water.
I surged forward, my movements sharp. He mirrored me, but I pivoted, stepping right into his path. Still too fast. A strong arm snaked around my waist, lifting me off my feet, and in one smooth motion, he carried me along with him.
I yelped, even as my legs kicked uselessly. Laughter bubbled up before I could stop it. “Unfair!”
His grip held firm, strong and effortless. My belly fluttered with a visceral awareness of just who held me aloft with such ease.
“You can’t just pick me up! That’s not how this game is played!”
He bounced me in his arms, his grip strong and effortless. “No rules, remember?”
I shoved at his arm wrapped around my middle, hands skimming over the firm muscles under his wetsuit.
Another splash behind us yanked my attention away—Zacha went down in a spectacular wipeout, courtesy of Novy and Nat’s double team. Santiago launched the ball, a perfect arc through the air, but Scout snatched it out of the air from her perch on the edge of the pyramid.
Scout shouted her triumph, clutching the ball to her chest, then shuffled around the side of the inflatable.
Shep finally set me down, his arms loosening with a last squeeze that left my insides twisting in ways I couldn’t think about right now.
And then he was gone. A blur of motion as he tore across the walkway, feet pounding, muscles flexing, scaling the inflatable like it was second nature. Fast. Controlled. Effortless. No wonder he made skating look like an art form.
I danced after him, bouncing across the shifting surface. Santiago flailed in the water, struggling to haul himself onto the slick platform. I shot him a grin, waving as I sailed past. He growled something in Spanish, and I didn’t need a translation to catch the frustration.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had this much fun.
Scout crouched at the top of the pyramid, scanning the chaos below. Shep was closing in on her fast. No time. She gritted her teeth, reared back, and flung the ball toward the closest woman, Nat.
Nat caught it against her chest with a startled grunt, her feet already moving. She twisted, dodging a swipe from Santiago, then tore down the runway. Water sprayed up from her pounding footsteps, but she never lost speed.
Shep’s head snapped toward her, realization dawning fast. He pivoted.
I skidded to a stop behind Novy, breath coming fast, adrenaline surging.
Coach Trasier held the runway like a fortress, arms outstretched, balancing on the balls of his feet with the poise of a seasoned pro.
Beyond him, Scout and Shep wrestled for position on the climbing cube—the final hurdle before the finish line. Another one-handed nightmare.
Novy cheered. “Nat, all you, girl!” She pointed toward Scout. “Scooter, get ready to climb that cube!”
Coach Trasier whipped around, distracted—like me—by the nickname.
Novy seized the opportunity. She lunged, slamming her shoulder into his side as though she tackled linebackers for her side gig. He let out a startled shout, before toppling sideways into the water with a geyser of spray.
He surfaced an instant later, sputtering curses in a colorful mix of English and French, but he was out of play for now.
“Go, Nat!” I shouted toward my bestie.
Nat bolted across the runway, her feet slipping and sliding on the slick, spinning barrel-shaped tube leading up to the cube. Somehow, miraculously, she stayed upright.
Scout crouched at the top of the cube, bracing herself. Shep loomed beside her, his longer reach giving him the upper hand as they elbowed and jostled for control.
Our best shot was obvious: toss the ball up to Scout. But with Shep’s longer reach, the odds weren’t great.
The air buzzed with tension, my heart pounding like a war drum. This wasn’t just a game anymore—it was a showdown. A battle of wills.
I wasn’t about to let Shep take this. Not today.
I’d climb up, too. Between the two of us, surely we could block Shep and catch the ball. As long as none of the other guys tried to tackle Novy. But a quick inventory showed most of the other competitors in the water.
I was halfway up the side when the bouncy surface shifted beneath me, throwing me off balance. I flailed, grabbing for a handhold where there was none.
I sailed down the side and plummeted into the icy lake water. The cold stole my breath, my skin prickling as panic clawed its way in. I couldn’t touch the bottom.
Kick. Move. Swim.
My brain kicked into gear, and I shot upward, breaking the surface with a gasp. Water streamed down my face, my soaked hair clinging to my eyes. I shoved it back, scanning for my next move.
Novak crouched on a nearby inflatable walkway, oblivious to my approach. I swam hard, grabbed his leg, and used him like a springboard to haul myself up. His angry bellow gave way to laughter as I tossed a cheeky wave over my shoulder.
The cube loomed ahead, Shep and Scout jockeying for position. This time, I reached the top.
Then came the splash.
A massive one.
My head whipped toward the sound. Clyde’s bulky form powered through the lake, leaving the safety of the deck and heading straight for Coach Trasier, who still treaded water below.
“Clyde!” Scout’s frantic shriek cut through the air. In the next breath, she dove off the side of the cube, disappearing into the lake.
Everyone froze.
My pulse hammered in my chest. Dogs could swim. Of course they could. Doggy paddle, hello. But the sheer panic in Scout’s voice cut deep, leaving me breathless.
I stepped to the edge, ready to dive in after her and help the dog.
“Don’t even think about it.”
Shep’s voice was a low growl, brushing against the shell of my ear as his arm wrapped snugly around my waist, holding me firm.
My breath hitched in my chest and I didn’t dare move.
“ET will have your head,” he added, the words coated with humor, even as the grip on my waist leaving no room for argument.
I didn’t bother asking what he meant. My eyes stayed glued to the water, following Coach and Scout as they closed in on Clyde.
The mastiff powered through the lake, his massive paws churning up the water.
Trasier wasn’t chasing him—he was moving with purpose, his expression tight, irritation rolling off him in waves.
Scout, on the other hand, swam alongside Clyde like she could will him to safety through sheer determination.
“ET’ll get them both out safely.” Shep dipped his head closer, the heat of his voice feathering against my temple.
“The water’s too cold.”
“He’s got a fur coat, don’t forget. And ET’ll get him out, promise.”
I tore my eyes from the lake, momentarily distracted. “You keep saying ET—”
“Coach Trasier,” Shep clarified, his lips quirking into a crooked grin. “But during these games, he turns into ET. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed? His competitive streak is deep. He takes our games way too seriously. Always looks a little pissed, like he’s plotting revenge.”
I snorted despite myself. Trasier was an intimidating presence—looming, sharp-eyed, and always three steps ahead.