pep talk. He’s the one who galvanized me during the really intense challenges, like the run through the cornfield in the mud and the zip-lining thing. But he just looks . . . tired. His eyes are glassy and sunken and . . .
Oh god.
I realize something, right then.
He’s my spirit. If he’s lost it, then I have too.
“Come on,” I say to him, pulling him toward the sled. “So, do you want me to pull or you?”
I meant it as a joke, but he doesn’t even smile. “Sit your ass down.”
He says it so abruptly, it’s like an arrow to my heart. I wish he’d call me baby again. Call me baby and look at me with that hint of mischief that says he’s undressing me with his eyes. Just once. Just a little.
But he’s just surveying the hill up ahead, preparing for the climb. All business. Like I’d wanted. I wanted this to be a business transaction, and I got it.
I am such an idiot.
I sit. We pile our bags on my legs, and he starts to pull the sled through knee-deep snow. I expect the challenge to be easy for him, considering the way he dominated the corn maze with my weight wrapped around him. But he wavers on his feet, straining, breathing hard.
Something suddenly occurs to me.
Is he not feeling well?
I’ve been so preoccupied with how I made a fool of myself. But maybe this has nothing to do with the other night in Boston at all. I keep asking him if he’s okay, and he keeps saying yes, but maybe he’s just trying to hide from everyone that he’s coming down with something. Because if the producers find out he’s sick, he could be eliminated.
When he lets out a grunt and falls to his knees for the second time, I say, “Luke. Do you want to rest?”
“No,” he grumbles, not looking back. “I just want to get there.”
I look over my shoulder. We haven’t gone far. I can still see the oily smirk on Will Wang’s stupid, plastic face, the cameras pointed at us.
I bite on my lip. The rules are that one person has to sit on the sled the whole time. “You want me to pull it?”
“Get real.”
I frown. “I may have no muscle, but I can still try. Maybe we can trade—”
“No.” He turns to me, his cheeks red and wind-slapped. “You’re half of me. You’re not going to be able to pull me anywhere.”
“Luke, I—”
“Stop.” The tone of his voice is heartbreakingly savage, silencing me at once. “I don’t have the energy to argue with you right now.”
He wraps his hands around the rope and hoists it over his thick shoulders. I watch his magnificent body, the wide span of his shoulders as he strains to pull the sled. It’s not so much my weight as the snow in his way and the steep angle of the hill. He’s right; I’d probably let go of the rope and send us slipping back down the hill.
The sun is up, but the day is overcast, so it doesn’t bring any warmth. It’s probably the worst thing I’ve ever seen, watching him try to pull the sled up the hill, only to have it slide back down every so often, as I sit there, helpless, weighing him down. He’s in pain. The wind is whipping and working against him. And I can’t do anything to help.
Finally, miraculously, we get to the camp. There are five large mounds there—the basis for our habitat for the evening. The four other couples are well on their way to constructing their igloos. The other teams barely look at us when we arrive, but Ace, whose structure is nearly complete, scoffs at us. “What’s the matter, pussy boy? Your sled too heavy for you? Maybe you should go back to your playpen, little man.”
Luke doesn’t say anything, but his fists clench. I jump off the sled as soon as I can and step between them. “Don’t listen to him. I’ll start with the igloo. You just rest for a minute.”
Unbelievably, he listens to me. He sits down on the sled for a minute, skullcap down low over his eyes, face down and out of the wind, as I start to walk around our shelter, taking little peeks at the others, trying to figure out where to start. They’ve given us tools to dig with, so I set to work, clearing a small hole in the snow. It’s slow going.