Chapter 2
A cloudof vanilla mist surrounds me. Molly. I breathe deeper and move closer to her warm body.
But she’s not there.
I hug a cold pillow to my chest. The bitter scent of cheap detergent fills my nose—not vanilla.
Confused and groggy, I bolt upright.
Shadowy darkness surrounds me. The barest hint of the rising sun peeks around the heavy gray drapes. High in the corner of the room, the steady red, blinking light reminds me I’m being observed like a science project.
“Fuck,” I groan. Still stuck in this fucking mansion having my every move filmed for the dumb reality show I signed up for.
I fall back against my pillows and stare at the ceiling. This isn’t the first time I’ve had a dream about Molly, only to be shocked into the cold reality that I’m locked in this golden prison.
Embarrassed, I flick my gaze to the camera again. Pointed right at me. The soulless red light blinks, almost as if it’s mocking my misery.
I hope to fuck I haven’t been talking in my sleep. I turn my head and glance at the photo on my nightstand, touch my finger to the glass over Molly’s face.
Miss you, Muffin.
God, I hope I win this thing and get home to my girl. Make up for all the time we’re missing together.
Someone bangs on my bedroom door.
For fuck’s sake. What now? We’re not supposed to be downstairs until ten a.m.
“Stonewall!” Bang, bang, bang.
“What?” I shout.
“Office. Phone call.”
Phone call? From who? What office?
I hurry out of bed and open the door. “A phone call for me? Who?”
Deadass—my fellow contestant and a certifiable dumbass—stares at me with a dopey expression and shrugs. “Cops? I didn’t ask questions. Jordan asked me to come get you and here I am.”
“All right. Give me a minute.”
I should slam the door in his face but my mind’s going over all the possibilities. Did something happen to Molly? Remy? We’re not allowed any phone calls. Why’d they allow this one?
Stone-cold fear grips me.
It has to be my mother. Why else would the police be involved?
Dread settles in my stomach. The last time we spoke, I was an asshole to her. It’s not like we’ve ever had normal mother-son conversations, though.
Five minutes later, one of the producers I recognize—Jordan—meets me.
“Follow me, Griff.” His pinched, squinty expression seems extra annoyed this morning.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Johnsonville Sheriff’s Department needs to speak to you.”
Home.Last I knew my mom was down in New Jersey. Maybe it’s not about her. “What happened?”
“They wouldn’t tell us. Need to speak to you.” He stops in front of a shiny, dark wood door I’ve probably passed a dozen times but never bothered to open and see what’s inside. “We can’t monitor the call, but same rules apply. You can’t discuss the show or?—”
“Give me a fuckin’ break. You think my local sheriff’s office gives a fuck about the filming of some random reality show they’ve never heard of?”
An extra wrinkle forms on his forehead and he shifts his gaze. I’m too worried about what might be wrong at home to give a fuck about interpreting his expression.
He presses his palm to a flat square above the doorknob and the door clicks. “Yeah, well, I’m obligated to remind you about the rules any time there’s outside contact.”
“Bro, I’m worried my mom might be dead. Giving the secrets of the show away are the last fucking thing on my mind.”
His eyes widen and he backs away. “Uh, shoot. Sorry. Yeah. Take your time.” He pushes the door wider and lifts his chin. Inside the room, black filing cabinets line one wall. A simple, dark brown wooden desk with a leather chair sits to my left. The desk is empty except for an old, black corded phone.
“Line one,” Jordan says. “When you’re done just hang up and leave. Door will lock behind you. I’ll be down in the editing room if you need me.”
I give him a blank look. I have no idea where that is. I stick to a few main areas of the house. Haven’t bothered exploring anywhere but the gym, common area, kitchen, my room, and wherever they tell us to show up to film.
“It’s right off the poolside gym downstairs,” he explains.
Ahh, the area where Deadass, Naptime, and the other tool bags hang out. No wonder I’ve never been there.
“All right.” I stare at him until he finally walks past me, his slim figure receding down the long, white hallway. A flicker of caution keeps me rooted in place. I don’t trust him not to double back and listen in on my conversation.
When I’m sure I’m alone, I hurry into the office and close the door behind me.
I snap the receiver off the phone and hit the blinking red button. “Hello?”
“Griff! That you? Thank God.”
“Jerry?” I frown. My boss at the garage? Why’d he tell the show he was a cop? “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Shit, is he calling to fire me? He said he was fine with me taking the time off of work. Did that change?
“I’m fine. But I got a problem here at the garage,” Jerry says. “I called Remy and he’s on his way over, but the cops are here and need to talk to you.”
Shit. “What’s going on?”
“Give me a second, would ya?” Jerry shouts to someone.
Anxiety spikes my blood. “Jerry, what’s wrong?”
The background noise eases and in a quieter voice, Jerry says, “The car you and Molly were restoring. It’s wrecked, Griff. One of the other guys opened the shop today, saw the mess, and thought we had a break-in. They called the sheriff. I woulda called you first and not involved law?—”
Wait. Someone wrecked Molly’s car? “What are you talking about?”
“The damage is bad but fixable,” Jerry explains. “Cops wanna get a statement from you and ask if you want to press charges?—”
“Let me talk to him,” Remy growls in the background.
Muffled voices go back and forth. “Stall them for me?” Remy asks.
A few seconds later, Remy’s voice bursts over the line.
“You motherfucker,” he seethes. “What did I tell you?”
“Remy?” Why is he mad at me because someone wrecked Molly’s car? If Jerry won’t let me repair the car at the garage, I’ll do it at Remy’s place. “I’ll fix the car when I get home. It’s not a big deal.”
“What did I tell you when you said you wanted to date my sister?” he yells.
Remy’s apparently lost his mind, so I play along. “Uh, don’t get her pregnant?”
“Don’t hurt her. I said don’t fucking hurt her. You promised.”
Does he think I somehow wrecked the car? “Remy, I’m not even there?—”
“I’m aware. We’re all aware of where you are.”
“I’ll fix the car?—”
“I don’t give a fuck about the fucking car.”
Now he’s starting to piss me off. “What the fuck’s going on? Is Molly okay? I’m sorry the car got wrecked, but goddamn, I’m doing this stupid show for Molly.”
He laughs. A cold, hollow sound that expresses exactly how pissed he is. But why? Over a car? Some stupid kids probably vandalized it.
“Doing what for her?” Remy asks in a low, deadly calm voice. “Fucking skanks on television? Because I gotta say, she wasn’t real impressed.”
Numbness crawls through my insides. “What’re you talking about?”
“Last night’s episode, Griff.”
Fuck.I lean sideways and peer at the closed office door. Could Jordan or someone else be out there listening? Jordan said they couldn’t listen in on a call with law enforcement, but I don’t exactly trust him. I need to be careful. I can’t get cut off before I figure out what the fuck is going on.
I answer in a voice barely above a whisper. “The show hasn’t even started airing yet.”
He pauses and when he finally speaks, seems almost calmer. “Griff, the show’s been airing for a month. We’ve been watching it every week.”
“Shit, really?” No wonder the few minutes a week I’m allowed to talk to Molly have seemed so strained. The calls are monitored. Before we’re allowed to speak, someone reminds her not to ask about or discuss the show. The one time I came close to the topic of my workouts, they cut our call short.
“Yeah, really,” Remy continues. “The whole world knows you fucked Kiki. Including Molly.”
He could’ve said I fucked a narwhal in the Arctic and I’d be less shocked. “Kiki? What the fuck? Why would you think that?”
“Are you seriously gonna play stupid?” he asks like he’s speaking to a lowlife trying to weasel out of a bet at The Castle.
“Remy, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t fuck anyone. Did someone on the show say I did?” It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if Deadass and his crew use their confessional time to spread gossip.
Kiki said some stupid shit that seemed scripted, and she’s followed me around the house. I assumed the show was putting her up to it for the drama factor. The cheesy host of the show, Matt, refers to me as the “bad boy with a good girl back home” or something stupid like that. Woolly warned me the show was probably trying to tempt me into cheating on my girl since it would be great for ratings.
“Said?” He sighs into the phone. “Griff, they showed the two of you in bed.”
His words make no sense. “That’s not possible. It never happened.”
We’re both silent for a few minutes and a sense of impending doom or time running out rushes over me. “Remy, tell me what happened. Please? I don’t know how much time I have before someone cuts me off.” Jordan said they wouldn’t listen in while I was talking to the sheriff. But if they overhear me talking to my girlfriend’s brother, it’ll be game over.
He blows out a long, frustrated breath. “You haven’t seen any of the episodes?”
“No. We never see the footage. They’re filming 24/7. Like I said, I didn’t know it started airing. I thought it still had to be edited and would run in the fall. The set’s locked down tight. We’re not allowed to watch any television. Can’t read current magazines, go online, nothing.” Venom jokes about our restrictions being worse than a jury sequestered for a high-profile murder trial.
“All right,” Remy snaps. “From episode one, they’ve framed you as the bad-boy fighter with the good girl back home.”
“Okay, that I knew. Matt’s said it a few times.”
“Right. Well, on the first episode, they showed a lot of clips of Molly and made a huge issue about her age and how she hasn’t even graduated from high school yet—which I did not appreciate by the way.”
I snort a humorless laugh. “Are you sure that wasn’t more of a dig at me, than her?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Remy growls. “It made shit awkward as fuck for her the last week of school. She didn’t want to do a damn thing for graduation.”
“I’m sorry.” Fuck this. Remy’s taking too long to get to the point. I need to hear Molly’s voice and know she’s okay. “Is she there? Can I talk to her? Is she upset about the car? Tell her it’s not a big deal, I’ll fix it for her as soon as I get home.”
“I don’t give a fuck about the car, Griff!” Remy explodes. “Shut the fuck up and listen.”
Remy used to blow up like this all the time when we were kids. These days he’s usually more in control. The ball of dread in my stomach tightens. “Where’s Molly?”
“She’s not here. You’ll understand why in a minute.”
“Go on.”
“With the other girls, Kiki’s always talking about you or that other dumbass, Naptime.”
I groan. “He’s such a tool. I didn’t know she was going after him too.”
“So you know she’s into you?” Remy shouts.
I shrug, even though he can’t see the gesture. “I assumed it’s just for the show.”
“Yeah, well she can’t stop yapping about how hot you guys are. How much she wants to fuck you. Maybe both of you at the same time. Says nasty shit about you having a little girl back home and how you need a real woman.”
I roll my eyes to the ceiling. Fuck me. “Seriously? She said something like that to me the night I met her. I told her I wasn’t interested. They didn’t show me turning her down?”
He scoffs. “The whole she’s not my prison, she’s my peace thing? Yeah, they got a lot of mileage out of that quote.”
“I meant it, you dick.”
“They’ve been flashing Molly all over the beginning of every episode. That release they forced her into signing apparently gave them permission to show her face and say whatever the fuck they want about her in every episode.”
The dread I was feeling shifts into simmering anger. “What are they saying?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“No, tell me what they’re saying.” So I can go fucking kill someone right now.
“It’s more like implying that she’s dumb and that’s why you’re with someone so young. Or that she’s slutty. Honestly the stuff that’s said online about her is worse. But the show definitely provides the ammunition.”
“Online?”
“Yeah, bonehead. I tried to fucking warn you this show was a bad idea. I was worried about you. I had no idea how much all this exposure would harm Molly.”
Goddamn it. I should’ve forced Diane to delete that fucking release she tricked Molly into signing. This was my choice, not hers.
“I’ll see what I can do about that. Get to the part about Kiki.”
He snorts. “I doubt you’ll be able to do sweet fuck-all about anything. The damage is done, Griff.”
“Remy, so far you haven’t told me shit. Why do you think I slept with Kiki?”
“I saw it. We all saw it.”
I wince at his harsh tone. “Who’s all?”
“Uh, all of Molly’s friends. They’ve been coming over to watch the show with her. Eraser and Ella were here too. Vapor’s been boycotting the show on principal.”
Sounds like Vapor. My mouth quirks to the side. I miss that moody bastard. “Jesus. Eraser’s going to give me shit when I get home, isn’t he?”
“Eraser might kill you when you get home. If I don’t get my hands on you first.”
“Remy, what the fuck?”
“Griff,” he says slowly, “you’re not hearing me. The footage from the bedrooms is black-and-white. Grainy, shitty quality.”
“Good to know.”
“It’s black-and-white in the living quarters but clearer outside the rooms. There was a clear shot of Kiki at your bedroom door and you with your hands all over her.”
“The fuck there was!” I blink and run my fingers through my hair. “Wait, yeah, she got shit-faced after one of the nights out. But I walked her to her room. I never went inside. And she’s never been in my room that I know of.”
He’s silent again. Thinking over my words? Plotting to kill me? I can’t tell.
“Shiiit,” he groans, dragging out the word. “I get it, bro. You’re in a weird situation. Locked up. Isolated from people you know. You’re probably uncomfortable as fuck. And she keeps throwing herself at you…”
Remy knows me well. Except for the whole falling into bed with a stranger just because I’m having trouble coping with my new environment.
“Just tell me the truth,” he pleads.
“I am telling you the truth!” Shit, I can’t have Jordan or someone else overhear me. I lower my voice. “I’m not you—I don’t need to fuck every skank who strokes my ego. I can’t believe after all these years you think I’d fucking lie to you. Especially about this.”
“The way it was edited…It sounded like you. Then the voice-over…”
“What exactly did you see?”
“They showed you and Kiki stumbling to your door. Then it cut to a commercial break. All week long the show was advertising some ‘big bad thing’ happening in the romance department.”
“Christ,” I groan. “As soon as those girls showed up, I knew this was fucked. No one ever told us they were adding the weird dating angle. I thought it was all about the fighting and training.”
“I hate to break it to you, but the fights are nothing but fluff. The focus is the drama in the house. A little bit about the rivalry between the two groups the fighters have split into. Otherwise, there’s very little about the fighting or training—except for a lot of shirtless beefcake shots.”
“Well, that I expected.”
“It’s more like a reality soap opera with some fighting for background noise.”
“Really?” On my end, it’s hard to tell because we’re constantly filming. If the film crew isn’t around, the hidden cameras capture every moment. Every time I leave my room, I have to make sure my mic pack is strapped on, and some assistant stops me to check the sound. “Okay, so then what happened?”
A twist in my gut warns that whatever else Remy has to say will alter my life in an extremely bad way.
“When they came back after the commercial break, there were two people in a bedroom.”
At least he said “a” bedroom and not “your” bedroom. Small distinction but I’m grasping at straws here. “And?”
“It was a guy and girl, in bed together. Clearly fucking.”
“Bullshit!” I explode out of the chair and pace as far as the ancient, corded phone allows. “It wasn’t me.”
“Well, the implication was that it was you. Moans, groans, and nails digging into your back. It was dark, grainy, hidden-camera footage but two people fucking.”
My heart stops.
Just fucking stops.
Molly saw that. She saw “me” in bed with another woman on television. Watched it with her friends. And her brother.
My sweet, shy girl who needed months to be comfortable enough to get that intimate with me, thinks I betrayed her in the most humiliating way possible.
I did my research after Diane first approached me. Watched a few shows this company produced. I figured they’d use tricks to manipulate the footage—but I thought they’d rig the fights, not fuck with relationships outside of the show.
I guess I should’ve done better research.
“Where’s Molly now?” Defeat colors my question.
Remy sighs. “Gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“Let me finish. After the hidden-camera fucking, they cut to a clip of Kiki bragging about how happy she is and how much she wants this to last beyond the show. Griff, it really looked like?—”
“I think I’m starting to understand what they made it look like,” I groan.
“I don’t think you do,” he snaps in his shut-the-fuck-up tone. “After Kiki, they interviewed you.”
“Me? Saying what?”
“How you were mad at yourself for not trying harder and you didn’t know how you were going to explain it to Molly.”
I’m too stunned to speak. What the fuck did they do? Put words in my mouth? Fake shit?
Then it hits me.
The fight with Hammer Fists that didn’t seem to have a clear winner.
“What’d I look like in that interview?”
“Sweaty.”
“‘Cause I just went a few rounds with Hammer Fists.”
“That big fucker? So what? You’re faster than him. And you don’t lose fights.”
“I’ve never gone up against a fighter like him. Yeah, he’s slow but he’s fucking strong. He could’ve cleaned my clock if they’d let us finish the fight.”
“What do you mean, you didn’t finish the fight?”
“Have they shown me going up against him yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, that’s what I was upset about in the interview. There didn’t seem to be a clear winner. I was worried I might get sent home and I didn’t know how the fuck I’d explain that to Molly. I came here, spent all this time away from her, and then lost right away. I was fucking embarrassed, not feeling guilty about cheating on Molly.”
Remy curses and there’s a crash in the background.
“They really didn’t show that fight?” I ask.
“Not yet. Just that guy Bear Trap and that annoying sleepy dude.”
No wonder I haven’t been sent home. They’re fixing the show in several different ways. “Christ, this is more rigged than I thought.”
“Shit, Griff.” Remy sighs. “I’m sorry.”
An apology from Remy—don’t hear those often. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I never should’ve done this. I thought it was a quick, easy way to get some serious cash, but I should’ve known better.” If my life has taught me anything it’s that there’s no shortcut to success. Only lots of hard work, pain, blood, and sweat. I close my eyes and grit my teeth.
Just once I wanted to get ahead.
“Griff, you’ve been hustling and working hard your whole damn life. We know plenty of fighters who’ve made careers out of similar situations. It wasn’t a bad idea.” Oh, sure, now Remy’s full of pep talks. “We should’ve prepared better. I shouldn’t have let Molly watch the show. She just wanted to support you.”
Of course she did. “Molly knows I love her and I’d never cheat on her.” As the words pour out of my mouth, I realize they might not be true. I had a reputation before her. We hadn’t been together as a couple long before I took off. She’s so damn young. Inexperienced. Unsure of herself and how much she means to me.
If these fucking producers edited the footage a certain way…yeah, the longer we’re apart, the more I can see her doubting everything.
“She was rattled,” Remy says.
“Where is she now?” I ask again.
“I don’t know. I talked to her before she went to bed but when Jerry called me this morning, I realized she was gone.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I could fucking murder Remy right now. “You’re busting my balls when you should be out looking for her?”
“Don’t you dare fucking yell at me. What was I supposed to do?”
“Turn off the television and tell her I’d never cheat on her. Be my fucking friend. Act like her big brother. I don’t fucking know. Anything but let her go off thinking I betrayed her, you fucking asshole! She’s been out all night, and you don’t know where she is?”
“She’s eighteen! What the fuck am I supposed to do, put a bell around her neck? She snuck out. I thought she was asleep.”
“You should’ve told me that first.”
“Why? What the fuck can you do about it? I can’t even call you like a normal person. Thank fuck Jerry’s guys called the damn cops, or I’d still be trying to figure out a way to reach you.”
Cops. Molly’s car. “Remy, what else happened? Tell me the truth.”
“Well, Griff,” he says, dragging out my name like he’s talking to an annoying child, “it’s obvious where she went after she left the house.”
My throat tightens. If I had any tears, I’d probably let them loose right now. “She’s the one who destroyed the car,” I rasp.
“Took your trusty old bat to it,” he confirms.
“Fuck,” I breathe out. Unimaginable sadness hits, so heavy it pulls down on me until I fall into the chair behind the desk.
Molly loved the car.
Every moment—from the sweet look of surprise on her face when I gave it to her for her birthday to the night we finished bolting on the mirrors and made plans to take it to the drive-in flash in my mind.
The Molly I know has too much respect for things to destroy them. One time she traded paint with some guy at Zips when she was racing my car and was in tears when she showed me the simple scratches. No big deal. Happens all the time. Yet, she kept apologizing and trying to pay me for the damage for months after I fixed it.
Praying he’s wrong, I ask, “You’re sure it was her?”
“Who else would do it?” He sighs. “After she went Carrie Underwood on the car, I have no idea where she went.”
Molly is missing. But the girl I knew is also gone.
Being on this show has changed me in ways I don’t like.
And now it’s changed her too.