Page 11 of The Prince of New York

“Are we going to have enough energy to enjoy dinner tonight after this?” I considered the entirety of the course, which covered an absurd amount of space, turned back on itself and resembled a tangled serpent to cram as many obstacles into the field as possible. “Who designed this thing?”

With a rather sheepish expression, my sister raised her hand. “I was watching shows about people running these things for prizes.”

“Terry? How hard is this thing really?”

“All courses can be completed by amateurs, but there are an absurd number of them. The mud makes everything even more exhausting. You should be able to complete it. I attempted to complete it in the quickest time possible. Your job is to make it to the end, even if it takes you all day,” the RPS agent replied. “I wouldn’t have authorized it if I didn’t think you could handle it. But you will both be seen by Dr. Stanton once you’ve finished your run.”

Dr. Stanton would turn New York upside down if we didn’t meet her expectations, and she’d take it out on our physicians. I winced and said, “We better not do our family shame, Rachel.”

“When I win, you will change your last name,” my sister informed me. “Anything that isn’t Ambrose.”

As the rest of our family had abandoned the Ambrose name upon learning about our mother’s infidelity and Rachel had taken her husband’s last name, I was the only Ambrose left. “When I win, you will handle the paperwork for changing my last name and get into an argument with Ethan over what my last name should be while I watch.” Then, knowing it would drive her crazy, I added, “You will make me a chocolate milkshake to enjoy while I watch.”

She scowled. “Can we do that even if I win?”

“Sure. But you have to pretend it is a burden to rile Ethan up.”

Terry snickered. “You two are absolutely terrible at this.”

Rachel sniffed, cracked her knuckles, and eyed the course. “Get ready to be crushed, Ian.”

“On your marks,” the RPS agent stated, and he held up a stopwatch, and without warning, he pressed the button. “And go.”

As it was my sacred duty to be an ass, I picked my sister up by her waist and threw her into the mud.

* * *

Once my sisterrealized I would toss her in the mud at every opportunity, she decided to be an equal player in the game. While she lacked the physical strength to pick me up and throw me, she launched surprise attacks, slamming her complete weight into me to knock me over. Once she had me down, she splashed water and mud at me.

Most of the time, my laughter made it hard to defend myself, and I accepted my defeat at her hands with good humor. The first obstacle, which consisted of a log set on rollers, took us ten minutes to conquer. Whenever I tried to cross, my sister used her hands to make it spin, dumping me into the watery mud below. When she crossed, I went for her ankles, dragging her off and catching her before dumping her in.

Ultimately, I let her claim the victory, making a grab for her feet while she darted over but missing. Then, under the guise of catching my balance, I held the log steady for her before running back over and giving it another shot.

Without her spinning the damned thing, I made it to the other side on the first try. The next obstacle, which consisted of a net hung on a wooden frame with supports, would test our strength nicely. My sister had already made it halfway up, giggling a storm over having found something she could conquer.

Unable to keep from grinning, I grabbed the ropes beneath her and gave them a shake.

She squealed and, after my third shake, came tumbling down. As I cared about her, I let go of the rope, caught her, and dumped her in the mud before scrambling up.

“You are going to pay for that, Ian!”

On the sidelines, Terry snickered, clasped his hands in front of him, and assumed his professional agent on duty pose, making it clear he wouldn’t be lifting a finger to help either one of us unless absolutely necessary.

“If you can catch me,” I taunted, swinging a leg over the top of the obstacle and eyeing the next challenge, which involved me jumping, grabbing a rope, and swinging across a mud pit. I assumed I’d be swimming if I missed.

My sister flung mud at me, got up, and climbed the net to join me. Rather than try to throw me off, she joined me straddling the pole, staring at the two ropes dangling from the frame installed across the pit.

“Hey, Ian?”

“What?”

“Do you think we’ll die if we fall from here?”

“I think we’ll get very muddy and wet.” I pointed at her agent, who waited with his typical patience for us to muster the courage to try the next obstacle. “He would not let you up here if he feared you might die. That is a smug RPS agent enjoying the suffering of his principal.”

My sister glared at Terry. “You’re right. It really is.” She eyed the rope. “Truce until we are done defying death here?”

“That seems fair.”

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