CHAPTER TWELVE DREW

Day Forty-One

A fter a fitful night of sleep with me wrapping Erik in my arms as we shivered under the foil blanket, the med team alerted us to their presence early the next morning and gave us a moment to step outside. One of the benefits of their visits were the robes they gave us to wear during the examinations.

"They're going to shit when they see how much weight I've dropped," Erik whispered before we stepped outside. "I'm worried they'll pull me out medically," he added.

Once in our robes they had us sit on folding chairs as they took our vitals. They hurried and took blood pressure, temperature, and listened to our hearts and lungs. We stripped the robes off and stood on scales in front of the assembled group. We could see our breath in the coolness of the morning, and Erik had his arms wrapped around his small frame as he tried to stay warm. All I wanted was to hold him close and protect him.

We looked at one another as the team compared notes and whispered amongst themselves, grabbing for the robes as soon as we were weighed. "I'm fucked," Erik said under his breath. "I'm so sorry, Drew."

I frowned and shook my head, trying to get him to stay calm and hope for the best. "Shhh," I whispered. "The other team can't be much better."

The lead medic cleared her throat. "So here's the situation," she began, lifting a piece of paper on her clipboard and reading information from it. "Erik is down to a hundred and eighteen pounds and his BP is too low," she began, moving a finger lower on the page as she sought more vital measurements. "His temperature is three degrees below normal as well. All of these facts are attributed to his poor diet and the colder outdoor temps which make it hard for him to raise his core temperature satisfactorily,"

"I feel fine," Erik interrupted.

"Yeah, and I'll keep him inside and warmer," I added.

One of the producers stepped forward. "I'm sorry guys but we are pulling you from the challenge tomorrow."

"No fucking way," I growled, looking from Erik and back to the producer. "Bullshit! How's the remaining team?" I questioned.

"Well, to tell you the truth, they're being pulled tomorrow as well. Both teams have a member too weak to continue safely," the producer, I think his name was Tom, said.

"So another tie like a few years back?" I asked, barely able to believe a tie happened again so soon.

"Yes, that's correct. Both teams will be extracted tomorrow morning, giving you one more night to close out your camera diaries and speak to America one last time before we go to the live reunion show and the vote in two weeks," Tom announced. "And because the final two teams are being pulled, we will provide you a good meal and drink for the final night. However, you will both remain naked until extraction tomorrow. Stay in your camp and keep warm."

"Who is the other team?" Erik asked. "You're sure they're tapping?"

"I cannot reveal who the remaining team is, but they have no choice in our decision to extract them as well," Tom replied. "We've made the call, and it's the fairest way to end the show."

Erik looked at me questioningly like he didn't believe this was a possible outcome. "We signed the rule book, Erik," I stated. "It is the best way to choose a winner."

"If you agree then I agree as well," Erik said. "I'm sorry I couldn't go longer and win this for you," he added.

"I don't care about winning this show. I do care about your health though," I replied. "You're important to me." The film crew stepped forward to make sure they got the best reaction shots after my declaration. "I mean it, Erik. I have already won by meeting you and having the privilege of spending time with you." I pulled him to my side and looked directly into the camera lens. "This may come as a big surprise to many of you out there, but it was Erik here who carried our team. This man had the guts to live this journey on his terms, and I respect him for that. I just wish I had the balls to do the same thing in my life."

Erik leaned his head against my shoulder. "Drew was the absolute best partner and made sure I had the tools to make it this far. I hope you'll vote for us and especially for Drew Montana."

The camera crew pulled back, and the medical team dispersed to the boat they'd arrived in, one of them returning with a box of food items and beverages. "You'll still need to cook the ingredients," he stated. "But the food should be satisfying for you both. Great job, guys," he added before turning away.

Erik and I squatted to look inside the box after opening it up. There was at least two to three pounds of stew meat, a bag of potatoes, a bundle of carrots, an onion, spices, rolls, and a six pack of Coke, our main sponsor, and some instant coffee.

"Holy fu…" Erik said, catching himself as the camera zoomed into the box of goods. Erik smiled, laughed, and cried, all at the same time. "I guess it's over," he added, looking at me and then the camera.

"For now," I agreed. "For now," I repeated.

We stood and then Erik carried the box to the camp while I stayed back after the asshole producer from the previous visit gave me a look asking me to hold up. "What's up, Bryce?" I asked, after Erik disappeared into the makeshift tent.

"A note from your manager," he said, holding out a folded sheet of paper.

"I suppose you read it?" I inquired, knowing what a creep he was from our last interaction.

"Maybe I did. I suggest you read it out here before you go back inside," he stated, seemingly pleased with himself.

"I will, and I suggest you go fuck yourself while you're at it, asswipe."

"You jocks are all the same," he began before I stepped into his space.

"Yeah? And how's that?" I hissed, thinking he'd back down, but he didn't budge.

"You never figure out your place in life after the fame and fortune disappear," he said, glancing around to see who might be listening. "You'll just be another dumb, broke, jock when all this is over." He turned and took several steps away before turning back. "And let's get real, Mr. Man, you and that immigrant? Please."

"You mother…" I said, rushing toward him. Three crew members and one camera man came running to hold me back. "You fucking twit!" I hollered, struggling to get free. I wanted to smash his fucking face in.

Dickwad, assistant producer, or whatever he was didn't matter to me. Bryce Swift was a douche of a gay man. He looked me over from head to foot, shaking his head. "You aren't even attractive, Mr. QB. I don't know what I ever saw in you."

"Fuck you, you waste of skin," I raged, fighting to get loose so I could kick his lily-white ass.

"Read your little letter before you threaten me, asshole," he hissed. "I'll see you in the studio." He headed for the boat, camera crew in tow as I stared at the sheet of folded paper in my hand.

"This can't be good," I muttered, unfolding the note and reading its contents.

Drew,

I don't know what kind of shit you're stirring up with your wild antics as you play to the cameras, but I'm telling you that you need to shut that gay shit down right now.

I know these shows are all a game to you and you probably have your reasons for why you're playing this season the way you are, but you don't need that million bucks, so I suggest you smarten up quickly.

Pretending to fancy another male on national TV is a huge mistake for your image. I've heard through the grapevine that ESPN may not still be interested in offering that fifty-million-dollar announcer's contract to an NFL superstar that decides to engage in an alternative lifestyle. I can support you while you're in the closet but do not open that proverbial door one single inch or we're fucked.

Shut this down now!

Pete

I folded the note into even smaller piece and palmed it in my hand before joining Erik in the tent. I hadn't thought something like this could happen. Perhaps living authentically wasn't really an option for someone like me.