Page 51 of Golden Rule

The guys find their second wind, getting hyped at the thought of a competition between theirformercaptain, and theirnewone. I take a breath, staring as Remi and Axel step up to load the sleds with equal weight.

Reed glances toward me, stretching his neck to loosen it up, and I can’t wait to wipe that smug-ass grin off his face.

“Alright, ready-up, fellas,” Axel calls out, moving to stand between me and Reed as we get situated, gripping the arms of our sleds.”

The sound of laughter and conversation surround us, but Reed and I are stone-faced, both focused on the win.

“Okay. On your mark, get set…go!”

Reed and I take off at the same time, down to what feels like the millisecond. Gritting my teeth, I push with everything in me, crossing the turf at lightning speed. Only, it isn’t fast enough. Reed’s keeping up, and the ache that had finally dulled to a quiet whimper is fucking screaming at me now.

I gauge how much further there is to go, knowing it’d be in my best interest to stop now, but there’s no chance of that happening. Reed winning fair and square is one thing, but I’d never hear the end of it if I don’t at least finish the drill. Earning the team’s respect has already been an uphill battle, so I can only imagine how much worse it would get.

Half the cheers at my back are for me, the other half are for Reed. I can’t see my brothers, but I imagine them watching with their arms folded, calling me every damn name in the book for agreeing to this.

But I’m almost there.

In my peripheral vision, I see Reed’s head turn this way as I pull ahead, using every ounce of strength in me to gain the lead. It pays off when I’m able to put even more distance between us, and suddenly the half of the cheers thatweren’tfor me are just a little bit quieter. I glance toward the coaches, and they’re just as invested, watching with their arms folded across their chests.

Don’t fumble this shit, West.

Just a little further.

Only a couple yards stand between me and victory, but I know Reed won’t give up so easily. So, against my better judgment, I position myself lower, digging deeper as I put more pressure on my shoulder to move the sled just a little bit faster. White-hot pain shoots through every muscle, every tendon, and for the fraction of a second, I convince myself that it’s worth it.

But in an instant, I’m reminded just how untrue that is.

“Fuck!” That word hisses out through gritted teeth, but not loud enough for Reed to hear it. My shoulder is officially spent, but I’m a breath away from finishing this thing on top. My only option is to power through using more leg strength, so that’s what I do, feeling the burn in my quads and hamstrings. I’ll definitely pay for this shit in the morning, but one more big surge of energy, and I’ve done it. I fucking beat this cocky asshole, and I’ve spared myself from having to hear him talk shit for the entire season.

“That’s what I’m fucking talking about!”

Winded and blinded by pain, I don’t immediately catch the voice of whoever’s just approached me.

His height and dark beard are the first things that ring familiar, then the nameBiancatattooed on his bicep—Chase. Out of everyone, he’s probably been the most welcoming, so I shouldn’t be surprised he made his way over to speak.

“Thanks.”

He nods. “It looked like Lawson was gonna take the lead about halfway through, but you weren’t having that shit.”

I clench my fist to keep from grabbing my shoulder, forcing a smile hearing Chase’s praise. “Yeah, he gave me a run for my money.”

Only then do I glance over to Reed, but he’s already staring, anger flaring in his eyes.

“Give me one sec,” I say to Chase, stepping past him to get to Reed. Looking him square in the eyes, I say what I need to say. “That was a good run. I don’t think I’ve ever had to push myself that hard.”

As a show of good sportsmanship, I offer him my hand, honestly unsure how he’ll respond. But when his eyes flit over my shoulder, right to where Coach is standing, I know his next move is completely insincere.

He shakes my hand, but only because he’s being watched.

“Good run,” he says back, and that’s it. As soon as he’s done speaking, he turns and walks away, rejecting the olive branch I won’t extend too many more times.

A hard slam to my shoulder has me reaching for it, and when I glance over, the one who’s delivered the blow is Sterling. And judging by the look on his face, it was one-hundred-percent intentional, his way of getting me to say with my wincing reactionwhat I won’t say out loud.

That I’m in pain.

“Was your little pissing match worth it?” he asks.

“What are you talking about?”

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