“The shit you said to him was revolting,” I answered. “Even for you.”
“Well, he’ll probably get a GLAAD Award for clocking me,” he muttered. “The truth is he was a distraction. You’ve practically been wandering the moors in a black veil since Greta blew things up. The longer he stayed, the more likelyyouwere to go home.”
“Don’t pretend this was about my game. Not that you’ll be impacting it much longer.”
“You think I can’t beat PB in a Trial? Your little scheme isn’t so subtle, Generalissimo.”
I warred to keep my tone even. “Doesn’t matter if it works.”
“You always do this. You get fixated on one thing and lose all perspective. It’s exactly what happened last time.”
“When? In the game or our marriage?”
“You said it, not me.”
“Please tell me what I lost sight of in our marriage? Aside from your harem.”
“Me!” he exclaimed abruptly. “You lost sight of me!”
“I spent every day building a life you could say was perfect.”
“Don’t pretend that was for me,” he fired back. “You were building the perfect place tohide. I was just providing you the real estate to do so.”
“You think I used our kids to hide—”
“I don’t mean the kids. I mean the house, the Christmas cards, those damned hedges—”
“Was all because you had to be the perfect fucking politician!”
“Please, you wanted a certain life. It’s not my fault I only knew one way to deliver it. I might have failed as a spouse, but I was one hell of a coping mechanism—”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It meansyoutry looking at your husband’s face for ten years after he becomes a shell—”
“You’re back!” Imogen appeared, striding up before I could add to Barnes’ bruises. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”
“Just Dr. Frankenstein having a fireside chat with his monster,” Barnes answered.
“Actually, I always considered you more a Dracula type,” she replied mirthlessly.
“You’ve gotten funnier, Imogen. I’ll give you that.” He tossed the dregs from his mug into the sink as he made to exit. “And you’ll never believe me, Luke, but I did you a favor getting that kid removed. Even your best pal here won’t tell you different. Hate me all you want, but as long as I’m around, you’ll have someone to beat.”
“So, how should I address Barnes once he’s eliminated?” PB asked the next night. “I’m leaning toward ‘leprechaun,’ but only because ‘lepre-cunt’ will obviously be censored.”
“Watch us both end up on a plane home instead,” I muttered as we entered the Arena. The Trial was still on, and thanks to missing my last bell at the cliff when Shawn flipped out, I’d DQ’ed myself into elimination. At least Imogen and Erika were safe alongside Fortune.
“With Shawn gone, they’ll only send one of us home tonight,” PB reasoned. “We just have to outlast Barnes… and hope Greta doesn’t quit.”
Indeed. It was entirely possible Barnes had convinced her to take a fall as penance for revealing his past with Shawn.
“Fingers crossed there aren’t any sprints,” Melange added pertly from her crutches.
“They don’t want you exiting like that. Boring television,” PB replied. “Besides, we haven’t had a pure endurance Trial in a while. Women statistically do better in those.”
“Lucky me,” she sighed. “Well, gentlemen: let’s hope, pray, and beat his lepre-cunt ass.”
We were rigged with GoPros while Troy ushered the three safe players to a tent. Imogen emerged first, discreetly whispering, “They’re weighing us, no clue why.” Soon enough, Zara summoned us to the scales too, after which Troy positioned us below suspended wooden troughs.
