Magnus isn't giving up without a fight, though.He grits his teeth and pushes back with renewed force, halting my momentum.For a moment, we're locked in a stalemate again, both of us trembling with exertion.Sweat drips down my face and stings in my eyes.My lungs burn for oxygen.Every muscle fiber in my body is begging me to give up, but that's not the way Balfour men are built.
"Is that all ye got, old man?"I taunt, summoning strength from somewhere deep inside.
Magnus's face twists with determination."Just warming up, ye cocky ersehole."
My father's voice cuts through the crowd."Remember the Argyll games of '98, son!"
That memory flashes through my mind.It was the day I refused to quit even with a sprained ankle.I'd learned then that sometimes winning isn't about strength but about outlasting your opponent.
So, I revise my strategy.Rather than pushing with constant force, I start pushing hard, then ease back slightly, then push even harder.Every pulse catches Magnus off-guard as confusion flickers across his face.
"What the devil are ye doing, Balfour?"
"Ahm winning," I reply with a grunt, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a real explanation.
The pulse strategy is working.Magnus is struggling to counter my rhythm, and his expression grows more frustrated with every push.The crowd is going wild now, sensing the tide turning in my favor.My leg muscles burn like fire, and every muscle screams in protest after the Hill Race, but there's no way I'm backing down now.Not with Gretchen watching.Not with Neil's money on the line.And certainly not with Magnus MacTaggart's smug face opposite me.
"Ye cannae keep this up," Magnus hisses.
"Watch me," I wheeze back, summoning another surge of strength.
With one final, mighty push, I drive forward with everything I have left.Magnus's eyes go wide as he realizes he's sliding backward even more.The wooden stick trembles between our feet as he loses his balance.With a final, desperate lunge, I push forward and---
"Aaaaargh!"Magnus bellows as he topples backward, losing his grip on the stick.
I collapse flat on my back, lungs heaving, while cheers erupt around us.Through my exhaustion, I see Neil jumping around like he's won the bloody lottery, waving his betting slip in the air.
"Ye did it, ye mad bastard!"he shouts.
Magnus sits up, shaking his head with reluctant respect."Christ on a bicycle, Balfour.Ye shouldnae have had that in ye after the Hill Race."
I can't even form words yet and simply lie here gulping air like a beached fish.My legs feel disconnected from my body, like two burning logs someone's attached to my hips.
Gretchen kneels beside me, her face hovering over mine, and shakes her head even while smiling softly."You goddamn idiot."
"Lass, did ye..."I manage between desperate breaths, "...get that on video?"
"Duh, of course I did."She shows me her phone."Your future children need to see what kind of ridiculous genetic material they're inheriting."
I can't help but laugh, which sends a fresh wave of pain through my abused muscles.With Gretchen's help, I manage to sit up, though my legs feel like they've been replaced with jelly.Da claps me on the shoulder with enough force to nearly topple me again.
"That's my boy," he says, beaming with pride."Balfour men never back down, even when they bloody well should."
Neil jogs over, waving what I assume are his winnings."That's a week's worth of whisky, all thanks to your stubborn erse!Kirk Balfour really does have steel for bones."
"Aye, and pudding for brains," I mutter, trying to flex my toes and wondering if they're still attached.
Magnus extends his hand toward me, and I take it, letting him haul me to my feet.The world tilts alarmingly for a second before I find my balance.
"Well fought, Balfour," he admits with grudging respect."Next year I'll best ye, though."
"In your dreams, MacTaggart," I reply, but we're both grinning like eejits, the way men do after they've done something completely pointless yet somehow essential.
Gretchen is smiling too, until something snares her attention and makes the lass freeze as if in horror.I'm about to ask her what's wrong, but then I realize what's happening.The figure of a man pushes through the crowd, though I cannae figure out who the newcomer is.But the looks on everyone's faces prove this is not a friendly acquaintance.
"Is that..."Gretchen trails off mid-sentence, her eyes wide and her jaw slack."It can't be him, it can't."
But aye, it is him."That's Dougal MacWraith coming our way."
