Say It Again (First Wives, #5)(19)

“And if our partner taps out?” one of her male students asked.

“Then you better hope someone is held up by their partner and lends you a hand, Mr. Norton.”

Brigitte stepped closer, spoke louder. “I want you tired, wet, muddy, scraped, and even a little bloody, but I want none of you broken. You are no good to anyone broken. Am I clear?”

A chorus of “Yes, Ms. Denenberg” came from the students.

“Are you really running with us?” one of the girls asked.

Brigitte glanced at Sasha. “Miss Budanov holds the record at Richter, and none of you have come close to it. She wants to see how her skills have held up in the years she’s been away.”

“It’s not her you should be worried about.” The comment came from Claire.

The other students made surprised sounds and took a step away from the girl.

Brigitte let the comment roll off her shoulders. “We shall see.”

Sasha and Brigitte took their places on the starting line. Timers pinned to their waistbands would keep track of their time at each point along the way. Much like those running a marathon, knowing your time between the miles always gave you a sense of your weaknesses and strengths.

A familiar buzz of excitement ran up Sasha’s spine. Not that she needed to prove herself to the students, or even her previous instructor . . . but to herself. She’d had many opportunities to run races like these since she left Richter. Each time she ran under an alias and never collected the participation medals. She competed for herself, not to win recognition, so when she found herself up on the competition, she purposely hung back. The last thing she needed to do was win one of the damn things and end up on a stage somewhere.

Here she could push herself, see if she truly did continue to hold the record.

Around her, partners bumped fists while others tossed barbs at their classmates.

Sasha leaned in close. “You know if we lag behind, you’ll never live it down.”

Brigitte narrowed her eyes. “You just move that skinny ass. I’ll take care of mine.”

A genuine laugh escaped Sasha’s throat.

With one of Brigitte’s instructors starting the race, a blank was fired in the air, and everyone took off running.

If there was a strategy to these kinds of things, it was to haul ass on the places you excelled to give yourself a little more time on the obstacles you struggled with. It was the team aspect of the race that held Sasha back. Speed and balance were her superpowers, with agility and strength as decent runners-up. Working a teammate up a wall, or more importantly, waiting for them to come around the bend, was a struggle.

Sasha hit the course hard and fast. Brigitte was with her, along with three other teams, each posturing for the first set of ropes.

She jumped high, tangled one leg around the thick rope, and pulled herself up the slippery length.

Making a point of not looking around, Sasha only took in the sounds of the others in the race. Someone slid down, cussing as he went, while the heavy breathing of others told her she wasn’t alone.

Once at the top of the rope, she heaved one hand onto the mesh of ropes she needed to master and climb on top of in order to get back onto the ground.

While her body was taking the ropes with ease, already Sasha felt the burn on her palms. The calluses she’d developed while in school had faded. Gloves were never an option at Richter. But she could sure use them right now.

Once her feet were on the ground, thoughts of her hands disappeared as she sprinted toward the next hurdle, a series of three-and-a-half-foot walls with pits of water on the other side. The goal was to launch herself off the wall and to the other side of the water pit or risk the wetness slowing her down. She’d nearly made all five of them, but the wet ground tripped up her landing and one leg went into the water.

Sasha cussed her slip but didn’t slow down.

Footsteps pounded around her, whose she didn’t know. She hoped one was Brigitte, because the slippery wall was up next.

The wall sat at a steep angle with a mud pit at the bottom. There was no way to avoid it. Sasha sprinted toward the wall.

Brigitte yelled from only a few feet behind her. “I’m right behind you.”

Sasha launched into the mud pit, each foot sledged through twice. She caught the first hand pull, found a solid spot to place her feet, and heaved up one more arm’s length before reaching down for Brigitte.

The older woman slapped her hand up Sasha’s forearm, and all her energy was spent pulling her up. It took both of them to get up the wall.

Two teams were right there with them, keeping pace.

At the top, the same mud that made it hard to get up the wall aided them in sliding down the other side.

And it was race time again. They crawled under barbwire and ate mud as they moved.

A long series of monkey bars strained every muscle and reminded Sasha she needed to spend more time on the face of a mountain. The rock climb, where if your partner was anywhere close, you gave them a hand.

Running in water, mud as it stood, since the rain was coming down in soft sheets.

Her muscles were screaming, heart pounding, and adrenaline washing through her with abandon. God, it felt good. The last obstacle was a vertical wall where a partner needed to give you a foothold and then grab you at the top. Then it was home free.

Sasha called behind her. “Brigitte?”

She heard footsteps but not a voice.