I take a moment to assess what I’m expected to do first, not missing the fact that the juniors plus Zeke have moved to the opposite side of the course, having lugged one of the buckets of water balloons between them. There are ropes attached to a tall structure over a mud pit, which we’re obviously expected to swing across. Bridger heads out full force—when does henot?—flying at the rope and swinging through the air. He lands on the round log on the other side, wobbles as he lets go of the rope, and falls backward with a splat, directly into the pit. I gasp, but then have to stifle my laughter because while it’s funny as hell, I still have to get across, too.
“Am I allowed to climb onto the log from here?” he shouts in frustration.
“Yep.” Kingston barks just as Cannon nails Bridger with a water balloon.
Taggart can’t seem to help huffing out a laugh before he nods at me, then takes off, snagging the rope. Taking a deep breath, he backs up, runs, and jumps. He ends up not quite making it, feet scrabbling on the wood, then dangling over the mud from the rope. “Fuck.” He, too, drops into the pit.
I can’t afford to wait another second because Bridger is up ahead trying to navigate the zigzagging balance beam made of a bunch of four-by-fours of varying heights. I can see the problem with that already. The more I fall, the more tired I’m going to get climbing back up.Got it. Don’t fucking fall.
But first, I’ve got to get across this pit. I inhale deeply, fingering the scratchy rope and wonder if there is an easier way. I definitely don’t want to grab the rope up high like they did. I’m too short for that. Taggart is just pulling himself onto the log when I take off, legs behind me on the front half of the swing, then quickly pulling them forward as I come careening toward the log. Just as I get to it, a balloon goes flying past my face. My stomach lurches, but I lift my feet and plant them on the log as momentum keeps me moving forward. The log wobbles as I try to gain my balance. “Shit!” I throw my arms out and bend my legs, stabilizing myself. A balloon hits me square in the hip with a cold, wet slap.
“Sorry ’bout that,” Zeke shouts with undisguised glee, but I ignore him, moving on to the balance beams where I observe again for a moment because these two… they are not having a good time. To be fair, the beams appear unsteady, much like the log was, and both guys are covered in slick mud from their swim in the pit, which isn’t helping matters.
Archer shouts, “Hey, Bridger, you need some help with that mud?” right before he lets loose a surprisingly strong stream of water from the toy gun he’s holding. Bridger shakes his head like the dog he is, trying to clear the muddy water that streams from his hair.
Feeling somewhat confident, I begin to traverse the low beam, keeping my arms out. I cross it with no problems, then step up to the next platform, realizing this puts me a good four feet off the ground. Little gymnasts do this all the time right? They flip and twist on beams this high. My chest constricts. I didn’t realize I’d have a problem with heights. Just then, I get hit with a balloon in the shoulder and it bursts. More cold water drenches my left side, but I keep going until I lose my balance and fall onto the muddy ground below with a wet squish.
“It’s about time you had to deal with the mud, bitch,” Bridger huffs out from beside me.
I ignore him, climbing gingerly back up, straddling the beam of wood and taking care not to injure my leg. It’s no easy task, but once I’ve remounted, I continue on that second beam, all to the soundtrack of whoops and cries and cuss words flying through the air around me. To be fair, most of it is coming from the initiates.
Stepping up to the final beam, I look down, and my stomach pitches. This is easily six feet off the ground. I kinda hate it. The height makes my legs quake and the wood wiggles under my feet. Taggart is behind me now, and Bridger and I are dead even.
Stuart shouts, “Let’s go, baby. Unless you want to straddle that beam again. That was hot.” In my peripheral vision, I see him wind up for a throw, so I bend my knees a bit. To my amusement, Stuart’s balloon that was intended for me whizzes over my head and hits Bridger in the face.
With a smirk tugging at my lips, I channel my best Simone Biles, quickly moving across the beam. The second my feet hit the sturdy platform, a tremendous sense of relief fills me. Both guys are now behind me, and there’s a pole in front of me to get down to the ground, so I grab it, then wrap my legs around it.
I should have seen the comment coming because as I begin to slide down, Alec gives a hoot of delight and barks out, “Workin’ that pole like a champ!”
I turn, make a face, and flip him off. Fuck the rules. He’s nothing but a nasty sack of shit. Respect is earned, not handed out freely like Halloween candy. “How’s the nose, Alec?” I shout as I approach a set of huge tires. They want me to high-step through these before getting to the low net on the other side that’s stretched over another disgusting pond of mud.
It’s harder than it looks, the tires are too big for something like this, and wide, so my shorter legs are a definite disadvantage. I’m forced to stop as I leap into each with one leg and regain my balance before moving on. I’ve only done four of the eight when I catch the toe of my sneaker on the inner lip of one of them, and I go down to my knees. It doesn’t hurt, per se, but it’s jarring because the tires are firm. Air whooshes from my lungs, and I pause for a second to catch my breath. Taggart comes blazing past, high-stepping through the tires like it’s nothing with his stupid long legs, and Bridger speeds along moments later.
A blast from one of the water guns hits Bridger and sprays me, too, as I get up. Honestly, the brothers are simply firing away at this point, because we only have to go under the net and over the wall to get to the finish. Strategy be damned, I guess. Balloons fly from both directions, and water splashes everywhere.
I finally catch up with them as they’ve both gotten stuck in the mud which is thicker and slimier than the previous stuff. My stomach roils as I flatten down and carefully make my way into the sludge. Ugh. So gross.
The more water gets sprayed and splashes over us, the worse things get.
Taggart grunts beside me. “I got fucking mud in my mouth.” He spits and gags but keeps moving.
Bridger is flailing like a turtle would if you put it on its back. It’s almost as if he thinks the best way to do this is to attempt to swim through the muck.
Because I’m shorter, I’m able to get up on my knees, and so long as I keep my legs wide, I can traverse the pit without hitting the net above and getting snagged on it. So, doing an awkward crawl, I manage to pull ahead again, finally reaching the end of the pit and hoisting myself out. I’m covered in mud, all the way up to my lower lip. I barely escaped getting a mouthful just like Taggart.
I take a few seconds to breathe when I get to the final obstacle. I go up to the six-foot wood barrier between me and the win, hands caked in mud, and try to wipe some of it off on the boards, but not too close to where I’ll be climbing. Ugh, not that it matters because the second my body touches this thing, it’ll be a mess. Shaking my head, I glance over at my guys who have stopped shooting their water guns. No balloons are being thrown either.Oh, hell yes. They’re out.But I’m so darned exhausted, I don’t know how I’m getting up and on top of this damn thing. I let out an exasperated sigh.
“Come on, Peaches, you can do it.”
“Let’s go, Elle.”
There’s a slight pause, and then Cannon’s voice booms. “Go, Elliot!”
Hearing all three of them cheering me on gives me a burst of energy, but I still have no idea what strategy to employ. Sucking up my courage, I grasp the rope, and put a foot to the wood and almost immediately slip down.Shit.
With my heart pounding out of my chest, I reassess. How the hell do I do this? Heavy breathing greets me from either side, and I swivel, noting that both Bridger and Taggart have joined me.
Bridger grabs at the rope doing exactly what I’d first attempted, trying to use it to mount the wall. His feet immediately slide from the amount of mud caked on him, just like mine did. I glance at Taggart who watches Bridger try a second time and fail.
