Page 41 of The Book of Luke

“So don’t be an idiot. If he stays, this business will end badly for you both.”

“Whatbusiness?” I raised an eyebrow. “Besides, I thought you didn’t care about me.”

“I don’t, but that boy’s been ripped apart in the press as a homewrecker. You want to gift wrap the headline that now he’s fucking the husband of a neo-con senator? Or let Barnes tell your kids that Daddy’s gallivanting in Italy with a porn star barely twenty years older than them?”

I bristled, patience fading. “Nothing has happened. We’re just friends.”

“Once they’ve edited enough scenes of you giving him those puppy dog eyes, it won’t matter if all you’ve done is shake his hand,” she said. “You want to prove you’re not a spineless coward? Leave that poor kid alone.”

Before I could respond, she was already out the door.

Unsurprisingly, Greta cornered me on camera the second we disembarked the bus outside the Arena. “So, Brutus, I hear you’re stabbing me in the back to protect that himbo whore.”

“Greta, he’s got nobody. He needs someone to look out for him tonight,” I said tightly.

“I thoughtwewere looking out for each other, but I should have expected this, given how close Barnes and I are… It’s such a shame how divorce brings out the worst in people.”

I inhaled through clenched teeth, refusing to battle her for the last word.

As the cast trooped into the Arena, we passed a collection of low-hanging green lanterns, arranged in a grid out in the brush. Inside, Ecklund stood dead center by a monolithic seven-foot-tall purple block with a human-shaped impression.

“Okay, time for some old-fashioned tomb raiding, fam! Each lantern out there marks a grave containing pieces of a skeleton you’ll insert here.” Ecklund gestured toward the purple block, each bone’s individual indentation clear. “Once a piece is placed, it’slockedand can’t be removed. If you aren’t digging, you need to shuttle between those graves. No dawdling! And lastly, no matter how many pieces you retrieve, whoever puts in the final piece wins. If your opponent stands between you and that final bone, do what you have to do to take it.”

“Oooh, ready to take my final bone, Pornhub?” Chase graphically thrust his pelvis in Shawn’s direction, prompting Imogen to give him the death glare usually reserved for me.

I ignored Chase, embracing Shawn before Troy summoned him. He sank into my chest with a sigh of relief, but anxiety was what scorched my stomach. Shawn was maybe the kindest person I’d met in ages. I didn’t want to lose him. “Remember it’s not about getting the most pieces. Save your energy, make Chase do the work.”

“I’ll still never beat him in a fight.”

“But you’re faster. Get the last piece, juke him when he comes at you, then sprint for the puzzle,” I instructed, trying to keep hope alive for us both.

Soon enough the boys were in position, though Shawn was only growing more ashen.

Melange sighed, watching him. “That boy’s about to get fucked straight up the ass.”

“That would imply he knows what he’s doing,” PB replied grimly.

The horn droned, and both guys sprinted toward the graves, digging like feral dogs in the Tuscan night. “Come on, Shawn!” I shouted, no reservations about cheering for the other team.

Chase sprinted back to shove a golden rib cage into the mold. Shawn quickly followed with a chunk of spine, and Imogen beat me to the punch: “Save your energy!”

By the time only three bones remained, both guys were dusted in dry clay, sweat cutting rivers across their skin. Chase placed another piece and thrust his fist high, convinced victory was nigh. His arrogance infuriated me, then I realized…

“It’s Turks and Caicos, the Trial on the beach,” I whispered urgently to Imogen.

“What do you mean? Every Trial was on the beach.”

“Thesandcastle.” Imogen’s eyes grew wide, memory soaring to the Trial that marked what I considered her finest moment of Season 2. She’d needed to run back and forth across a quarter mile of beach, unearthing pieces of a plastic toy castle that were hidden beneath the sand at various markers. She’d competed against anotherMedals of Honoralum, the supremely cocky Olympic hurdler Dory, who’d almost beat her. Almost.

As Shawn ran to insert a femur, Imogen and I shouted in unison: “STOP! Don’t put it in!”

He gaped at us, out of breath. “You want him to wrestle me once it’s the last piece?”

“Did Dory have the last piece?” I subtly nodded my head toward Imogen, praying he knew this show as well as he claimed, and Imogen intently stretched her arms behind her back. Eyes lighting up, he shoved his drenched bangs out of his eyes and galloped toward the graves.

“Who the fuck is Dory?” Greta demanded venomously.

My throat went dry as I remembered that Imogen and I weren’t the only ones who’d been on that beach. “His favorite Pixar movie.”