Chapter 1
Chapter One
The Tough Love Reunion We’ve All Been Waiting For
Article courtesy of Entertainment Insider
It’s been nearly eight months since the show Tough Love rocked our world and we’re FINALLY getting a much-anticipated reunion special: eight singles, all tricked into going onto a reality show under different premises by their friends and families who wanted them to find love.
The case was truly one for the books. Of course, the show gave us the famous influencer Sofia Cruz, who has more brand deals than we can count and is linked to a different actor every week.
While things didn’t work out with her show-partner Grant O’Neal, he’s managed to become a fan favorite himself.
He’s appeared in multiple reality shows since Tough Love, and he’s always guaranteed to poke the bear, stir up trouble, or make us laugh.
You remember Arnie and Rachel—a beautiful couple that won us all over. They’ve settled in New York and remain largely out of the spotlight, other than Rachel dancing in several off-Broadway plays.
And then America’s favorite couple, Calla and Eli.
While they seemed to hit a rough spot immediately after the show aired, the couple is going strong and has recently become engaged!
Calla’s newest book is set to hit shelves this fall, and everyone is anticipating Eli’s new movie—his directorial debut—which did so well on the festival circuit it will be getting a theatrical release.
That only leaves us with the biggest heartbreak of the season.
I can barely mention their names without tearing up: Trace Davis, the sunshiny singer from Tennessee, and Danny Miller, the burly bear who would rather climb a mountain than talk about his feelings.
The two opposites seemed perfect for each other, right until it all came crashing down.
During the show finale, Danny unceremoniously ended things with Trace, refusing to even try dating her in the real world.
While they’ve both found individual success since then, Trace with her billboard-charting debut album, and Danny with an upcoming documentary, I think I speak for the whole viewing audience when I say that we’re still reeling from that tearful breakup.
This Reunion will be the first time they’ve faced each other since the show. What will they have to say? Will there be unfinished business? More tears? Tune in to the Tough Love reunion this Saturday to find out at 8/7 Central.
“You’re really wearing your hair like that?”
My mother’s narrowed eyes met mine through the mirror, her lips pursing. She wore a look of disapproval like some women wore lipstick, she never left home without it.
“What’s wrong with it?” I shifted forward in my dressing chair to assess my golden waves in the mirror. They were loose, a little wild and messy. Just how I liked them.
She snatched a strand and ran it between her finger and thumb before emitting a sharp tsking noise. My shoulders folded in slightly. This entire scene of us in the mirror took me straight back to being thirteen, her staring at me the same way as we rushed to get ready.
“I wish you would’ve let me style it,” my mom said, grabbing another strand.
“I like it like this,” I insisted. It was heaps better than the pageant hair she used to make me wear. She would use so much hairspray I could’ve safely played a game of tackle football without a helmet.
“You look like you just rolled out of bed and didn’t bother to run a brush through it.” She straightened up, smoothing out her cream pantsuit.
“It’s fine, Mom. We’re set to start filming any minute.”
The way she circled my chair sucked the air right out of the room. She scanned my face, scrutinizing the makeup I’d done myself.
My mother pinched one of my cheeks and tugged. Not enough to hurt, but enough that I could sense her irritation. “I suppose it’ll have to do.”
Her disdain was evident. It didn’t matter that I had spent an hour meticulously painting on my face so that it looked perfect.
It didn’t matter that I was wearing the dress she’d already approved of—a white number with a scoop neckline and a full skirt that came down to my ankles.
It was a tad frilly for my tastes, but I’d gone with it to avoid an argument.
“You’re changing your shoes, right?”
I curled my toes inside my signature cowboy boots, the ones I had gotten custom-made and had worn so many times that the imprint of my foot was perfectly molded into the insoles.
“No, I’m wearing these.” The whole sentence came out in a sigh.
She rolled her eyes and went back to typing on her phone. “You know the label wants to push more of a pop image. I don’t know why you insist on fighting them tooth and nail.”
“They might not be my label for much longer,” I muttered.
She peeled her eyes away from her phone screen just long enough to shoot me a glare. “Don’t you say that, Tracy. We’re still in negotiations.”
“Trace,” I corrected. It was amazing how a single extra syllable could bother me as much as it did.
My mother waved me off like she always did. “I gave birth to you. I can call you whatever I want.”
I’d been born ‘Patricia,’ but I’d been Trace nearly my whole life.
To everyone except my mother, that is. She hated the nickname.
She’d envisioned calling me Tracy and it bothered her that I’d always fought it.
To this day, she still refused to call me by my preferred name, even though it was the stage name everyone knew me by now—the same stage name she spent all her time managing.
Trace Davis, country star. Or pop-country star, if the marketing department at my label had it their way.
My debut album had released nearly six months ago, to bigger numbers and higher rankings than I ever could have dreamed. But it was just one album, and one that had come out directly after my appearance on the biggest reality show in decades.
My label had made it abundantly clear as of late that they thought I was a one-trick pony.
They dangled another record deal in front of my face like it was a carrot I had to perform for.
The tour they’d sent me on hadn’t gone as well as they’d wanted; it hadn’t sold out despite them booking me in arenas I had no business playing in as a debut artist.
My mother brought her face down so that it was level with mine and stared at me, reflection to reflection.
We both had the same full cheeks and slightly pointy chin.
She’d done a lot to fight off age, even though she’d never admit to it.
The tightness in her forehead and around her eyes said it all, though.
“Don’t say anything ridiculous out there.
Just smile and keep it relaxed. You’re so past any drama that happened on the show and when they inevitably make you sit down with him, you just grin and bear it.
Show them all you’re strong—that you’re over it.
A woman scorned was the theme of your first album. Now you’re above it.”
“Right.” The word nearly stuck in my throat.
The callous way she viewed my heartbreak wasn’t new.
Empathetic was a word no one would ever use to describe Rebecca Smart.
Sorry, Rebecca Davis, because even though she and my father had divorced when I was seven, she’d recently gone back to her married name.
Because it was the same one I used. She wanted that connection to me—or rather, to Trace Davis, the up-and-coming star.
A knock came at the door, and a mix of relief and absolute dread rushed through me. Relief, because I was dying to get out of this confined space with my mother. Dread, because soon I’d be face-to-face with him.
Danny Miller.
The man who, nearly a year ago, had broken my heart on national television. Who’d crushed my hopes and dreams into tiny little pieces and left them to be swept away in the wind.
What the world didn’t know was that after the show had wrapped, he’d done a hell of a lot worse. And I’d let him.
A gorgeous brunette appeared in the doorway, all demure with a coy smile.
“Calla!” I squealed, jumping out of my chair and rushing to her. I hugged my friend tight, not wanting to let go.
A phone rang, and I heard my mother’s cool, “Hello.” She nodded at Calla and mouthed “I’ve got to take this,” before slipping out of the small, square room.
“Okay, you seriously look incredible,” Calla said, taking a step back to look at me.
I did a little twirl in my dress, stuffing any nerves deep down in my gut.
“Thanks! You look amazing, obviously.” She was stunning, in a green dress that hung loosely off her frame. “Where’s Eli?”
“Oh, he’s uh—” She faltered before clearing her throat. “He’s catching up with the guys.”
It was clear from her discomfort what she’d meant to say. Eli was out there somewhere, catching up with Danny. She’d skirted around his name for my benefit.
Calla and I had stayed close since the show ended, but I wasn’t dense.
I knew Eli and Danny were friends, too. It frustrated me to no end that Calla and Eli still felt they had to walk on eggshells around me.
I mean, sure, technically I wasn’t over it, but they didn’t know that.
For all Calla knew, Danny and I hadn’t spoken since the show.
I hadn’t told her about afterward, and I never would.
Why make my shame and humiliation any worse?
“Knock, knock.” Rachel smiled from the doorway. Her skin glowed against a butter-yellow dress, and her tight dark curls framed her face.
“Rachel!” Calla and I exclaimed and rushed in for a group hug.
“Let me see it,” I demanded, holding out my hand.
Rachel laughed and raised her left hand, a perfect oval diamond taking up a good chunk of real estate.
“Damn, Arnie did good,” I said, taking her hand to examine the gorgeous ring.
“I’m so happy for you. I can’t believe we’re both getting married,” Calla said as my gaze dropped to her own stunning engagement ring.