Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
Twenty-four hours since I’d seen Trace, and I was about damn ready to lose my mind. I’d been trapped like a prisoner in this fucking house.
Tripp had packed up and left. I’d watched him go from my window.
At least I knew their date had finished filming last night, but I still hadn’t seen any signs of her.
I’d been staring out back any chance I got.
You couldn’t really make out the front door to the guesthouse from any of the windows, but I still craned my neck in case I could catch a glimpse of her.
That was, until one of the PAs yelled at me and told me to wait in my room. I had half a mind to tell him to fuck off and race out there, but I didn’t want to get Trace into any more trouble than I already had.
That was what I’d been reduced to, creeping around this place like a stalker. No one really talked to me. If they didn’t need me for filming, I might as well not have existed. Which was fine, I liked being unbothered. But not being able to see or talk to Trace had me restless.
I was starting to get stressed. The finale was today, and we were so close to being done. Yet I hadn’t seen Trace, and no one had told me anything.
After another angry glance at the analog clock on the wall—it didn’t have batteries, but still smugly represented the principle of time passing—I decided I’d had enough of this bullshit waiting game.
I was going to march down there and break into the guesthouse again if I had to. They couldn’t keep me from her.
I made it to my door and ripped it open. Like a fucking scripted sketch, Brady was there on the other side, fist raised, poised to knock.
“Can I see her yet?” I demanded.
Brady frowned. “There’s been a bit of a situation.”
Suddenly, the room was closing in on me. “What’s wrong? Is it Trace?”
Brady pointed to the loveseat by my bed. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
“Why don’t you tell me what the fuck is going on?” My throat tightened in a painful squeeze. “Is Trace okay?”
Something was wrong.
“Define okay.” His hand wavered.
I grabbed the neck of his T-shirt and pulled him closer to me. He yelped a little. “I swear to fucking God, you better tell me if she’s okay right now.”
“She’s fine!” he yelled, scrambling away from me as I released him. “God, you’re so dramatic.”
I was dramatic? He came waltzing in here with cryptic words talking about an ‘issue’ and I’m dramatic?
“Unfortunately, I do have to give you some bad news.” The glimmer in his eye told me he found the news anything but unfortunate. He looked almost eager to deliver it.
“What?” I asked again.
“She’s gone.”
“Gone? Who?” Surely, he couldn’t mean Trace. My mind raced.
“She left.”
“What the hell are you going on about?”
“Trace has left the show.” He enunciated each word.
“What? Why?”
“Like, she’s gone.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Trace wouldn’t do that. She has a contract. She has me.”
Brady sighed and sat back on the loveseat. “We might possibly have overstepped during the date with Tripp. It was like she was bottling everything up, and then it finally exploded. She said she couldn’t do this anymore. She yelled that she was sick of being treated like a pawn.”
“She would have told me if she left.” I crossed my arms, refusing to believe him.
He shrugged. “She seemed excited to get out of here.”
“But the show—”
“We tried to threaten a fine, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Thankfully with her little blow-up and the footage of her running away with you, it’ll be enough to secure viewers, finale or no finale.”
My head spun. This couldn’t be true. Trace wouldn’t just leave like that.
“I don’t fucking believe you,” I said, pushing past him. I tore through the hall and down the stairs.
His footsteps were hurried behind me. “It’s the truth!” he called, barely keeping up with me.
“She wouldn’t leave without telling me,” I insisted, pushing past some of the crew who were cleaning up equipment in the house. A camera was on me now, but I didn’t care.
I pulled open the slider and stalked into the backyard. I stormed over to the guesthouse and banged on the door.
“You’re a feral little thing aren’t you,” Brady called after me, half jogging to reach me. “Here, don’t believe me? I’ll prove it.” He pushed open the door, and I barged in.
“Trace!” I called. But there was no sign of life. No dishes in the sink. Her clothes weren’t scattered around. I ran upstairs, but it was clean, bed made, bathroom empty.
I dragged my hands along my face.
“Where is she?” I demanded, stalking back downstairs to where Brady leaned against the kitchen island.
Brady checked his phone. “Oh, I’d say on a flight back to Tennessee right about now.”
I shook my head.
“Still don’t believe me? Here.” Brady held up his cell phone that played a video. Emma was helping Trace pack. They moved with urgency, Trace tossing things into a suitcase. I tried to catch her expression, but her back was to the camera.
“She’s gone, Danny,” Brady said, pulling the camera away.
Panic rose like bile in my gut. Had she finally had enough? Stood up for herself like I’d wanted her to? I hadn’t meant for her to leave me behind, but maybe the pressure had gotten to be too much.
I had to see her. I had to talk to her.
“Did she say anything about me?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. It all happened so fast. We asked if she wanted to see you, but she just went on and on about not being able to fully trust you.”
I staggered backward, hitting the wall before sliding to the ground. All of my senses had started to dull. Brady still hovered over me. He was speaking, but he sounded like he was underwater. I pulled in a deep breath, but I couldn’t quite fill my lungs.
Brady snapped a few times right in front of my face.
“Did you hear me?” he asked. “I said I can get you a ride to the airport.”