"Get a fire going. Want a turn?"
He passed me the rocks and I smashed them together for a minute or so with no result. Annoyed at my failure, I said, "Is this even possible?" and gave them back.
"I think so," he said over the rhythmic clunk of rock meeting rock. "If I keep--"
A spark leapt from the rocks and landed on the loose bark piled around the wood. He blew gently, cupping his hands around it, while I watched, afraid to move.
The spark glowed a deep rich red then turned black.
"Oh, how frustrating," I said, sighing out the breath I'd been holding, but he went right back to crashing the rocks together.
"I got it once, so now I know I can do it," he said, smiling at me. "Just takes patien--"
Our eyes locked and his smile froze. He'd always told me I needed patience while we were making love, whispered the word over and over into my ear as he caressed and teased me, drawing out my pleasure until I begged him for the release he'd taught me to crave. Hearing it again from his lips brought it all back as though it were fifteen minutes ago not fifteen years, and the shock of recollection stunned me.
He looked away. "Sorry."
I shook my head. "It's just a word. Doesn't mean anything any more." I pulled up my courage and said, "Sam, I'm sorry."
"For what? You didn't say it."
"No, for back then." I swallowed, the camera man's presence impossible to ignore. "For... you know. Back then."
He smashed the rocks together again, a little harder than necessary. "It's okay."
"It's not. It was stupid and I've never done anything like that again. I really am sorry, though." I laid my hand on his arm, and he gave the rocks a rest. "I've wished I could tell you."
He dropped the rocks and put his hand over mine, his touch warming me like a fuzzy blanket around my shoulders. "I forgave you ages ago, you know. We were kids."
Seventeen. Old enough to know not to wander off with cute guys at parties. Especially not while your even cuter boyfriend of six months is in the bathroom. Even if you're drunk for the first time and not thinking clearly.
He squeezed my hand. "I blamed myself anyhow, for not realizing how much you'd had to drink. I should have taken better care of you."
I tried to protest, but he said, "It's okay, really. We're good."
The craziness of the day welled up in me and I fought back tears. "Thank you."
"Don't do it again, mind you," he said with a grin, shaking a finger at me.
I returned his smile. "Promise."
We sat together, talking occasionally but mostly waiting in silence for another spark, until Peter finished his interviews and called the other guys over to join us. Dean ostentatiously positioned himself as far from me, and from Aaron, as he could. I pretended to ignore him, and Aaron either did too or honestly didn't notice.
Peter gave the shelter a thorough looking over. "Nice work, Courtiers." I heard muffled groans at the terminology, which he ignored. "Ordinarily we won't give you any food but rice, but for your first night we'll make an exception."
He pointed to a large gold-painted and jewel-bedecked chest, ostentatiously padlocked, sitting on the sand. "Princess, you can do the honors."
I took the golden key, topped with a clearly fake emerald, and opened the chest. Hot dogs and marshmallows and corn on the cob. A nice balanced meal.
"You'll find matches in the chest, and a few other things you'll need. Enjoy your food, and I'll see you tomorrow morning. Have a good night."
Peter and several crew members left, and the remaining two camera men set themselves up on opposite sides of the camp. It was so quiet. Only the sound of the water lapping against the sand and the dying echoes of the boat as it sped away.
Now what?
*****
"Think I should light the fire now, MC?
"Sure, but why are you asking me?"
"You're in charge, aren't you?" Aaron struck a match and set the wood ablaze.
"I hope not," Phillip muttered.
I brushed back some hair that had escaped my braid. "I doubt it. Aren't we a team?"
"Sure we are," Sam said, but we weren't.
Phillip, Greg, and Dean stood together, although Phillip wouldn't see Dean as anything close to his equal. Dean was artistic and emotional, everything Phillip hated in a man. Or woman. Still, their shared dislike of me kept them united for the moment.
Aaron and Michael had connected while fishing, and Sam seemed to be part of their group too. Aaron and Sam were far more relaxed than Michael, though, who still hadn't looked me in the eye once.
And, between the two groups, Jim. I'd tolerated Jim wanting to spend most of his time with his friends until we'd been together a few months and he put me on a schedule of one weekday and one weekend visit. I gave him back all his days, and nights, immediately, and I doubted he'd even noticed my absence.
But if he could form the guys into something even vaguely resembling a united team, I'd take back nearly every bad thing I'd ever said about him. Because I did not want to lose to Kent.
"I'd rather be on the other team," Phillip said. "With all those women? Sign me up."
"They're all his exes, though. He's probably not as happy being there as you would be."
"Then he can come here and I'll go over there."
I'd never be that lucky. Not that I wanted to spend time with Kent, but Phillip was worse. Kent, as I knew all too well, would avoid confrontation. Phillip made hunting it a sport.
"So what was the deal with you two? He didn't look happy to see you."
Thanks for pointing that out, Phillip. "No deal, really. Just didn't work out."
I'd tried to sound neutral but Aaron said, "Sounds like there's a story there."
"Well, there's not."
He laughed. "Not one you'll tell us, anyhow."
I mimed locking my lips shut, and he shook his head. "Why am I not surprised? Well, if you think of anything that'll help us beat him, let us know. Otherwise, I'd rather talk about his women anyhow."
The guys grinned, Dean's over-casual "Summer looked nice" sparked a spirited discussion, and I rolled my eyes and sat down on the big rock Phillip and Greg had delivered to the circle, knowing they wouldn't want me there. Sure enough, they exchanged annoyed glances. My amusement at their reaction quickly turned to exhaustion, though, as the guys went on, and on, about the relative merits of Kent's exes.
How had this happened? And how would I survive it?
My growling stomach wouldn't let me think. Since none of the guys seemed inclined to cook, and I knew from experience that some of them shouldn't cook, I pushed myself to my feet and rummaged through the chest. In addition to the goodies I'd seen earlier, it contained white rice, cutlery and plates, several pots and pans, and a map to a water hole along with three full canteens.
With a pot and a canteen in my arms I stood by the fire wondering how to proceed. Ordinarily, I loved cooking. At home. With my stove and microwave and all my gadgets. I couldn't put the pot for the corn right into the fire. At least, I didn't think I could.
Michael appeared at my side and used a long chunk of wood to break up the edge of the fire into red-hot coals, then took the pot from me and nestled it into place.
"I can put the water in if you want," he said, staring into the pot as if it held the secrets of the universe and the million dollars to boot.
"I've got it now. Thanks." I tried to catch his eye but he ducked his head and left to get more wood. He'd always been a bit shy, although not once we'd gotten to know each other, and I figured he'd loosen up after a while.
I soon had the corn bubbling away and the rest of the food spread out on the chest's lid. Sam brought over an armful of skinny sticks, which we loaded with hot dogs and passed around, and the scent of roasting meat soon made my stomach growl even more.
Despite my hunger, I could barely finish half a hot dog and one piece of corn. It was all too much. The campsite, the cameras, the constant barbs my exes threw at each
other as they struggled to define their pecking order.
Sam, sitting on the rock beside mine, said, "You okay, MC?" Nice of him to be concerned, but I wished he'd kept quiet since his words drew the guys' attention to me. I forced a smile. "Fine. Saving room for marshmallows."
"You need to eat," Aaron said. "Keep your strength up."
"After how she punched you, I'd think you'd want her strength down," Greg said, laughing. Aaron laughed too, although without the enthusiasm of Greg, Phillip, and Dean. Especially Dean.
I should never have hit Aaron. Now it was a source of amusement for those guys, not to mention the whole mess being filmed by cameras I hadn't known about. Frustration and embarrassment welled in me until I couldn't stand being there another second.
I stuffed three marshmallows onto my skewer and set them on fire. "I'm going down to the water, okay? Need some alone time." Without waiting to see if it was okay, I took off.
The light from the blazing marshmallows showed me a log near the water's edge, and I took a seat then blew out my impromptu torch. Though I wasn't far from the fire, near-total darkness enveloped me. I closed my eyes and breathed it in, relaxing in the relative solitude.
The men had been silenced by my flight from the circle, but they started talking again, their voices low. I could hear them but couldn't make out the words, and that suited me fine. I needed to be alone more than I needed to know what they were saying.
Staring out at the water as my eyes adjusted, I kept my mind carefully blank and ate my marshmallows, nibbling off the blackened crust then savoring the rich molten interior, and my breathing gradually slowed to match the rhythm of the waves breaking on the shore.
I would be all right. Whatever this ridiculous show had planned for me, I'd make it through. I'd get away occasionally by myself, and keep my focus firmly on the money instead of on the guys, and I'd be fine.
When the marshmallows were gone, I dropped my skewer into the sand and leaned forward, wrapping my arms around my knees and resting my head against my shoulder.
This close, the ocean smelled salty and fishy and utterly real. A wave of panic swept me, but I fought it back. Deep breaths. I could do this. More deep breaths, and I brought up my visualization of the sun setting over a lake, closing my eyes to draw the scene clearly in my mind. The rich colors of the sun and sky, the gently rippling water, the quiet peacefulness...
A hand on my shoulder startled me into a gasp that was nearly a scream.
"It's okay, it's me." Sam sat beside me on the log. "I think you fell asleep. You've been down here a while. Are you all right?"
Blinking, stunned by my sudden awakening, I turned toward him and words fell out of my mouth. "I want to go home." Tears filled my eyes, and as I tried to force them away one escaped and slid down my cheek.
Sam put an arm around me. "We'll get through this, MC."
The 'we' affected me more than anything else he could have said, and I threw my arms around his neck and pressed my head into his muscled shoulder. He rubbed my back as if soothing a frightened child, and I clung for a few seconds then dragged myself together and let go of him. "I'm sorry. It's all so weird."
"Nothing to apologize for." Lowering his voice, he added, "Want to know a secret?"
"Of course."
"I want to go home too. It's beyond bizarre being here. And it must be so much harder for you."
I nodded and took a deep breath. "But we can do it. Twenty-one days, right? How bad can it be?" I gave him a shaky smile.
He grinned and stood up, offering me his hand. I took it and he pulled me to my feet with ease. "That's the spirit. Let's go see how you like your castle, Princess."
I let go of his hand, pretending to be horrified. "Don't call me--" I stopped mid-sentence. Crouched behind the log was one of the camera men. How long had he been there? Had he filmed me sleeping? He'd definitely filmed our conversation. And my tears.
I'd thought I'd found privacy. Clearly, there was none to be found. No way to be alone.
Chapter Three
The dying fire gave barely enough light to illuminate our suitcases on the rough wooden platform the guys had built to keep them off the ground. I usually washed my face before bed, but I wouldn't attempt that in the dark. A quick teeth brushing and then off to sweet unconsciousness.
My toothbrush and toothpaste lay on top of my clothes in an unfamiliar plastic bag. The reminder of my suitcase's inspection filled me with helpless fury, but I pushed it away. What's done is done. Move on.
I took a canteen from the treasure chest and headed for the shore. Sam, who'd been hovering nearby, made to follow me but I said, "I'll be back in a minute" and held up my toothbrush.
"Okay." Settling onto a rock, he added, "Shout if anything jumps out at you."
Willing myself to take that as a joke, I brushed my teeth in the dark with the lukewarm canteen water then returned to the fire, keeping my eyes averted from the camera man and his ridiculously large camera. Would I ever get used to being filmed? Dropping the canteen back into the chest, I said, "Well, see you tomorrow," sounding awkward even to myself.
"Not changing into your PJs?" Aaron's eyes sparkled in the flickering firelight.
Where, right in front of them? Or off in the jungle? "No, this is fine."
Sam said, "You're okay by yourself?"
"Whatever are you offering her?" Aaron said, and several of the guys laughed.
My cheeks burned, but the darkness probably hid it. "He's being a gentleman. You wouldn't understand," I said, glad my voice didn't shake.
"I guess not." Aaron sounded unconcerned. "Well, I hope you have a good night."
I climbed into the shelter, claiming an end so I wouldn't have guys on both sides, then called back, "I will."
I didn't.
With no blankets covering me, I was soon uncomfortably aware of how cold the night had become. And of precisely how many bugs lived in and near a jungle. After a few minutes, I scrambled out and pulled handfuls of clothes from my suitcase.
"Whatcha doing?"
I turned to Sam. "Freezing. I need to cover up."
"I hate to see a woman decide to wear more clothes," Aaron said. Not bothering to respond, I made a pillow and mattress pad then covered myself with the remaining clothes. Not exactly luxurious, but better. Less cold. And less exposed skin for the bugs to sample.
If I hadn't signed up for this insanity, I'd be at home right now. I shut my eyes and imagined myself there, pushing away the bugs and the jungle sounds and the chilly night air.
Sitting on my couch beside Liv, both of us howling laughing over something goofy. Craig in the rocking chair, laughing and shaking his head in pretended disgust at our immaturity. His son Colin, my godson, in his arms, looking up with those beautiful sightless blue eyes.
In my mind, I reached out for Colin and Craig passed him to me. I snuggled him close, murmuring his name, and he relaxed against me when he recognized my voice. I smoothed his baby-blond hair, as I had so many times in the ten months since he'd been born, and felt my determination building, fierce energy flooding through me. I would win the money, and I would help Colin have the most normal life possible.
The visualization shattered and every muscle clenched as something emphatically not a bug crawled over my ankle. It might have been a rat. I refused to allow myself to think about whether it could have been a snake. I pushed up onto my elbows and forced myself to open my eyes.
At first, nothing, then a small blur pelted across the shelter's floor in the opposite direction, not touching me this time. Not a snake. Was a rat that much better? I tucked my sweaters firmly around my legs and feet, so it wouldn't be able to get in, and lay down again.
I tried to bring my friends back into my mind, but the rat had brought me too firmly to reality, so I resigned myself to staying in the present and began planning.
Over the next hour or so, I lay still, my eyes closed, thinking hard, as the guys left the circle a few at a time and climbed into the cr
eaking shelter. I hadn't thought most of them snored, but they proved me wrong. Despite the distracting chorus of man and bug night sounds, I eventually came up with three options for how the show could work.
Maybe Kent or I would win the million and everyone else would get nothing. Possible, but then our exes would have no reason to do anything at contests or around camp, so probably not.
Peter had said that losing people would hurt our chances of winning, so maybe the money would be shared by the court with the most people at the end.
Or a single winner could be picked from the court with the most people, maybe by a vote by the other court, or both courts, or by the audience, or even by the producers themselves.
I puzzled over the setup, and whether there were other options, and eventually decided it didn't matter. I had to stay focused on the money and not let anything get in my way.
But Kent would do the same. He was smart, smarter than people assumed since he'd only finished high school before starting to work in construction, and he loved camping. He'd do well at this game, so I had to do better. I couldn't let the personal stuff, how much I'd loved him and how hard it had been to walk away from him, affect me.
I practiced some casual comments to use when we had to speak, general greetings and friendly questions, and then turned to what I needed to do around camp to survive.
After a few long hours of pondering and occasional forays into restless sleep, a problem arose: I needed the bathroom. The, of course, non-existent bathroom. I assumed the guys had dug a latrine as Peter had instructed them, but I hadn't asked them where it was, too embarrassed and not needing the information at the time. Now I had no idea where to go. And I needed to go.
I stayed on my uncomfortable bed, trying to lull my bladder to sleep, but to no avail. The more I thought about it, the worse it got, and I wasn't going to make it to morning.
Beside me, Sam's snores proved he was deeply asleep. I considered waking him up but decided against it. He might not know where the latrine was, and I'd feel weird bothering him.
Peter had warned us not to go anywhere barefoot at night, so I sat up and borrowed Sam's running shoes since mine were still in my suitcase. I shook them carefully to make sure no strange creature had taken up residence in them, trying to keep the rat out of my head, then put them on and tied the laces around my ankles so they wouldn't fall off. I left the shelter quietly, not wanting to wake the guys, then stood trying to decide where to go.
Seven Exes Are Eight Too Many Page 3