Exiled

Pro hockey player Archer Holt is taking his charm and swagger from the ice to the...sand? One of sixteen players competing to be the last man standing on a new reality show, he’s all in until he finds out the meaning behind the show’s title—Exiled.

ArcherBefore I was a pro hockey player, I was an Eagle Scout. I can tie knots, build shelters and fish like nobody’s business, making me the perfect choice to represent my team on a reality show set on a primitive tropical island. I can endure scorching heat, tough competitions and torrential rainfall—no problem. But when I find out who my partner is, I’m not so sure I’ll survive being stranded on an island with her.

Lauren

Archer Holt broke my heart eight years ago. Now he’s rich and famous, and I’m a high school English teacher in our hometown. When I’m offered the chance to compete for half a million dollars by outlasting fifteen other teams on an island with my selfish jerk of an ex, I jump at it, because that money can change not just my life, but my family’s. Besides, I’m long over Archer. Or so I thought.

Chapter One 

Archer

 Win or lose, you played like a champion. I’m proud of you.

I read the text from my grandpa as the plane descended. When I switched off my phone’s airplane mode, I ignored the waiting texts from friends and teammates and went right to his message instead. I’d read it before—many times. He sent it nearly two months ago, just after my hockey team was eliminated from playoff contention in a game I’d scored two goals in.

If only I’d known it would be the last text he’d ever send me. Teddy Holt had been more than just my grandpa. He was also a decorated Vietnam veteran and a pro hockey legend who still held several records. He’d always seemed larger than life—immortal.

A massive heart attack snuffed out his light in a matter of seconds, and my world would always be a little darker without him.

“I can’t believe how blue the water is,” Micah Maxwell, a defensive player for Vancouver’s pro hockey team, said to me, his face glued to the plane window. “I’ll be spending hours in that water every day.”

Nodding my agreement, I returned my phone to my pocket, checking to make sure my grandpa’s lucky quarter was still there. A fellow prisoner of war in Vietnam gave him that quarter before he passed away from malnutrition. Grandpa had carried it with him everywhere until giving it to me on my twenty-first birthday. I’d kept it close every day since.

“You think they’ll have hula dancers?” someone asked from the row behind us. “I’ve always wanted to hook up with a hula dancer.”

“No, dipshit. It’s not Hawaii,” someone else answered.

I tuned them out, leaning closer to my own window on the private plane taking us on the final leg of our journey to the primitive island we’d hopefully be living on for at least the next month. I’d been eager for this day to arrive since I’d agreed to represent my team, the Minnesota Mammoths, on a reality show called Exiled. 

There were thirty-two players aboard—one representative from each pro hockey team. To keep the details of the show confidential, we hadn’t been told much about what we’d be doing. Whatever it was, I was all in. I planned to bring home the gold for my team by winning this competition. 

“Gentlemen,” a woman said from the front where she stood facing us all. “Since the drinks were flowing on this flight, I’ll remind you that my name is Angela Salvatore, but everyone calls me Sal. I’m a production assistant for the show. I can’t answer most of your questions, but the good news is, you’ll know everything soon.”

Everyone cheered, and she glanced down at a paper in her hand.

“Okay, so we’re landing in about twenty minutes,” she continued. “From there, we’ll be taking ATVs to the launch point for the boats that will take us to the island.”

“Are we getting lunch?” someone asked from the back.

“We will provide sandwiches and drinks before boarding the boats,” Sal said. “I suggest you eat and drink everything you’re offered, because it’s probably the last real meal you’ll be getting for a while.”

I’d bulked up in the past couple of weeks, knowing I was going to drop weight while doing this show. We’d been told access to food could be sporadic, and I wanted to be prepared.

“There are thirty-two of you on this plane,” Sal said. “Only sixteen will make it onto the show, though.”

Gasps and groans sounded as that news sank in.

“Why’d you fly us all here if you’re only taking sixteen?” Micah asked, aggravated.

“Everyone gets a shot,” Sal said diplomatically. “Sixteen will make it, and sixteen will spend tonight at a really nice resort in Fiji and fly home tomorrow. We have another nondisclosure agreement for the sixteen who make it.”

One of the flight attendants told Sal she had to put on her seat belt. I leaned my head back, closed my eyes, and did a mental run-through of who was representing each team. I knew most of them, but a few I’d never spoken to. If part of this game involved being on teams or having partners, I wanted to choose wisely.

Rod Larimore, a first-line winger for Boston, would be my stiffest competition. He was a talented natural athlete who could’ve played pro hockey or baseball, but he’d chosen hockey. They called him Golden Rod, because he had a Midas touch whenever he had a hockey stick in his hands.

Our plane landed at a small, private airport, and I grabbed my overnight bag, nervous energy racing through me. I’d do whatever I had to do to make it onto this show and not be one of the sixteen guys who got sent home on the first day. It had long been a pipe dream to be on one of the reality shows I liked watching. I wasn’t afraid of the challenges dreamed up by producers—I’d swim, climb, or run my way into this competition, because I was representing my teammates. No way would I let them down. 

In a way, I was playing for my grandpa too. Even though he wasn’t here to see it, I wanted the world to know Teddy Holt’s grandson was worthy of his last name.

Sal yelled out directions as we descended the plane’s stairs. The humidity made me break into an immediate sweat. It was hot as hell—even worse than I’d expected from a tropical island in June.

“Anything you brought with you must be in your bag, and your bag must be added to this pile!” Sal called out. “No cell phones, wallets, photos, or personal items of any kind. If you’re caught with anything other than the clothes and shoes you’re wearing and the items we give you, it’s grounds for removal from the show.”

She didn’t seem very old—maybe thirty—but Sal wasn’t intimidated by this group of athletes. She wore dark-rimmed glasses and a faded Red Sox cap.

Hmm…Red Sox? If she was a fan of Boston’s baseball team, was she also a fan of their hockey team? I couldn’t let Rod have any sort of edge, so I’d have to keep my eyes wide open.

After I kissed my grandpa’s lucky quarter, I put it in my bag of personal effects. I was uneasy about leaving my stuff, but I had no choice.

Once we’d all emptied our pockets, sent final farewell texts to family members, and turned our bags over to be loaded into a van, we climbed onto the ATVs that would take us to the boats.

I was psyched. I never would’ve applied to be on a reality TV show—my hockey schedule wouldn’t have allowed for the commitment. But the league was on board with this one, using it as an opportunity to rally fans around their teams and hopefully gain some new fans.

Not only was I competitive, I’d learned survival skills in Boy Scouts. I could tie knots, start fires, and navigate through dense forests. Though I learned all this in the woods of Iowa, I could apply them on an island too. I’d just sweat harder and have a deeper tan by the end. 

Piece of cake.

After a thirty-minute ride, we arrived at a dock where everyone grabbed sandwiches and loaded onto two boats.

I was taking in the view when Rod walked over to me, grinning.

“Dude, if you’re still here when the season starts, the Mammoths might have a shot at winning,” he said.

“Shit, man. I’d put my team up against yours any day of the week.”

His expression turned serious as a moment of silence passed.

“You think we’re working in teams?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe in the beginning?”

He looked over one shoulder, then the other, before speaking in a hushed tone. “You want to have each other’s backs?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“I don’t want to shake on it because I don’t want anyone to see,” he continued. “And we should stop talking right after this and not be seen together again. But I’m in this to win it, and I’ll have your back if you’ll have mine until we’re the only two left.”

There was no one better to have an alliance with than Rod. He had a reputation for being honest and hardworking. Maybe we could steamroll the competition together.

“Yeah, you’ve got my word,” I said.

“Okay, guys!” Sal called, standing on a bench seat so everyone could see her. “Our host, Josh Carville, just arrived with the camera crew. We’re going to start filming now, and Josh has some announcements to make.”

Josh Carville was a tall, lanky guy with blond hair down to his chin. He’d hosted another reality show for seven years, about people switching everything from their homes to their spouses with other people.

In the episodes I’d watched, I’d seen a dude get his ass chewed by his wife, another guy’s wife he had to live with for a week, and then his own wife again as soon as they were reunited.

 A wife was a hard pass for me. At least for the next ten or fifteen years. Once I was in my forties I’d think about settling down and having kids. Life was like a giant Baskin-Robbins, and I still had a lot of flavors to taste.

“Welcome to Exiled!” Josh announced, the cameras rolling. “Each of you represents a pro hockey team, but in the end, only one will be the last man standing. That man will win a donation of $500,000 to the charity of his choice.”

I joined the other guys in clapping and cheering for that prize, which was well worth playing for. I knew immediately that I was playing for The Teddy Holt Foundation, which my grandpa had established to help veterans wounded in combat.

Josh continued to explain the initial steps of the competition. “Our first order of business will be cutting the number of contestants in half. We’re about to set off for the island some of you will call home for a while. Once we get there, we’ll immediately hold a competition to see which sixteen of you will vie for the prize.”

As soon as the cameras were off, Josh relaxed his shoulders and introduced himself to the players. In the brief chat I had with him, he seemed like a good guy. 

“So what’s your favorite hockey team?” I asked him. “Probably the Mammoths since you seem like a smart dude.”

He gave me a generic smile. “I’m not much of a hockey fan, to be honest. But maybe I’ll have to start watching.”

The boats set off, and I sat on a side bench where I had a good view of the turquoise water we were cutting through. Win or lose, this was a spectacular place to spend part of the off-season.

The guys were all talking but keeping the topics light. Most, if not all, of the players here had deep competitive streaks. No one wanted to say or do the wrong thing and start this game on a sour note.

After about half an hour, we got our first look at the island, just a black line in the distance. Fifteen minutes later, we could see it up close. Waves lapped at a long, pristine beach, and behind the beach the island looked like an uninhabited jungle. It was huge—much bigger than I’d expected. My skin prickled with excitement at the thought of living in this paradise.

“Okay, guys!” Sal called out loudly enough for everyone on both boats to hear. “We need to line you up to get our best camera shots of everyone.”

Several production assistants and cameramen lined us up. Josh boarded a separate, smaller boat where a makeup person touched up his sweaty skin, straightened his shirt, and then gave him and a cameraman the okay to roll.

“This is where things get interesting,” Josh said, his game face back on. “You guys are going to be competing with partners.”

I flicked a glance at Rod, who was looking at me too. He nodded. We’d have to do whatever was in our power to be matched up.

“But first,” Josh continued, pausing for longer than needed. “We have to see which sixteen of you are in, and which sixteen are out.” He pointed, and we all turned to see a red flag waving farther down on the beach. “Next to that flag is a large red mat. After I say go, you will swim for that flag. The first sixteen men who stand on that mat will be competing on Exiled.”

My adrenaline started pumping. Holy shit. This was starting now. I stripped off my T-shirt so it wouldn’t drag as I swam. I was a strong swimmer, but every man here was in great shape. I’d have to dig deep.

As soon as Josh raised his arm in the air and yelled go, I dove into the water. It was a long fucking way to that flag. I focused on breathing and keeping my strokes solid. We were moving as one pack, and I had no idea where I fell in the order.

If I got kicked off this show on day one, it would be because I’d given it everything and fallen short. I swam as hard as my body would let me, and then pushed it just a little harder.

The water started getting shallower. My feet kicked something. I looked up and saw the flag, which was maybe 150 feet away now. Taking a chance my feet could touch the bottom now, I tried to stand.

I was able to, but I was almost waist-deep in the water, breathing hard and completely gassed. I pushed harder, seeing only two people in front of me. And finally, I made it to the red mat, where I collapsed onto my back, exhausted.

“Fuck me, that was hard,” someone said from next to me.

That was an understatement, but it didn’t matter now. I’d made it. I was one of the sixteen who would be moving on. Josh made a dramatic show of announcing who the winners were, and the other sixteen guys were quickly loaded back onto one of the boats.

Rod and Micah were with me on the mat. We’d barely caught our breath when Josh dove back into action, cameras rolling once again.

“Congratulations!” he called. “The sixteen of you will compete in teams of two to win $500,000 for the charity of your choice and become the first-ever winners of Exiled.”

Everyone cheered. Worn out and sweating in brutal heat, this was damned exciting. 

“You’re probably wondering who your partners will be,” Josh said, and the group responded with more cheers.

“Now the real challenge begins,” Josh announced, a dramatic flair in his tone. “It’s time to put the ex in Exiled. You already know your partners, and you can find out who they are by turning around.”

All of us spun around to look at the opposite end of the beach, where a line of women in swimsuits, tank tops, and shorts walked our way. Not a single one of them was smiling.

I put my hand over my eyes and squinted, none of the women looking familiar to me.

Unless…

Oh, hell no. No fucking way.

I did recognize one of the women. My ex-girlfriend, Lauren Monroe.