Chapter 27
twenty-seven
WREN
It started as a game. A way to stay on the show. But now I don’t know where the fake ends and the real begins.
I feel like Ryan doesn’t know where the borders are, either.
When he asks me to spend the weekend with him, I mean to say no. At least I think I mean to. I’ve spent years saying no to myself. To the wild, selfish parts of me that want things I’m not supposed to want.
But Ryan leans in at the end of a long, brutal day, all cocky grin and tired eyes, and murmurs, “Let’s get out of here this weekend. Just you and me. Somewhere nobody can find us.”
I blink at him. “What?”
“No cameras. No producers. No contestants fake-laughing at everything I say. Just quiet. Just us.” He says it like it’s simple. Like the answer should be easy.
And the worst part is… it is.
I can’t quite bring myself to turn down the chance to be somewhere secret and safe with him for a whole weekend. My world has been reduced to cameras and those who wield them like weapons. To people like Rich, who see everything but never truly see me.
I try to laugh it off. “Jay would kill you.”
“What Jay doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” He’s teasing, but I see something serious flicker in his eyes. Something tender. Something that scares me more than the rest.
“Come on, Rustin.” His voice drops. “Let me steal you for forty-eight hours. Just to see what it feels like when it’s not a game.”
I’m supposed to be running the other way. Supposed to be throwing myself fully into untangling my life, not knotting it tighter. But when Ryan says, “You want this, too. I know you do,” there’s a treacherous, exhilarating yes that comes flying out before I can even think.
“Yeah.” My voice is soft. “I want to.”
And God help me, I mean it.
I’m already too attached, thinking of how good it will feel to be off the grid, then back on it again. Already too attached to the image of twenty-three missed texts from Jay, half of them in all caps.
WHERE ARE YOU
WHY IS RYAN GONE TOO
CALL ME RIGHT NOW
I imagine walking back into the studio, my skin sun-warmed and smile impossible to hide. And it won’t be as someone’s assistant. Or someone’s little sister. It’ll be as someone who did something wild and dangerous just for herself.
Already too attached to the idea of vanishing.
Driving to the coast with the windows down, sneaking into overpriced hotels with Ryan’s hand in mine and not a single plan in place.
Already too attached to the picture in my head of Jay huddled over his phone next to Calla, too anxious that I’m gone to be angry for real.
I say yes. Because I know better. But I decide it’s worth the risk to find out if I mean it at all.
Even though Jay is going to freak if Ryan disappears and I vanish at the same time. Even though I’ve known Ryan practically my whole life. Even though I’m already too attached.
Too attached to this overwhelming feeling of freedom. This wild, reckless chance to turn my back on everything pristine and expected for a little while.
Ryan doesn’t tell me where we’re going. I lie awake the night before with butterflies the size of planets in my stomach. He just texts me the name of a hotel and a time.
10 a.m. sharp. Pack something soft. Something that’ll make me regret ever teasing you.
I stare at my phone until it fades to black. And then I smile. Because for once, I don’t want to say no. Not even a little.
When I show up, I’m nervous. My bag’s too full. I know I’m going to freak when I have to drag it around and Ryan sees how ridiculously overpacked it is.
This is a mistake. But I can’t alter my course now. Not when I’m so close.
I knock twice, then open the door, expecting a decent suite. I bite my lip and breathe in deep and order myself not to care if it’s small or smells like old sandwiches or something.
What I find is luxury. Like… luxury, luxury.
The room has vaulted ceilings, a king-sized bed that looks like it belongs in a movie, a private patio with a firepit, and a view of the mountains that makes my stomach drop a little. It’s beautiful and wild and totally surreal.
The private patio with a firepit seals the deal. I feel a little unsteady in my own skin, like I’m trapped inside a dream where everything’s impossibly perfect.
Ryan’s already here, lounging on the couch as though he ordered up this luxury like room service, looking infuriatingly edible in casual gray sweatpants and a T-shirt that hints at a fresh shower. He throws a lazy smile that makes me way too self-conscious.
His eyes drag over me, slowly taking in every detail.
“You wore that on purpose.”
I glance down at myself. Black jeans. His old jersey from college. Oh.
“You asked for casual,” I say, my voice doing this little squeaky thing that gives me away.
“I didn’t ask for psychological warfare.”
I kick off my shoes, trying to act cool, even when I feel anything but.
“This place is insane.”
He shrugs, making it look effortless, like all of this just fell into his lap.
“Team sponsors comped it for the offseason. I just made a call.”
I raise an eyebrow, pretending I’m not impressed, while secretly I’m reeling from how easy he makes it sound.
“Must be nice.”
“So you’re not mad?” he teases, leaning back like he’s got all the time in the world to wait for my answer.
I want to be mad. I want to pretend I’m not already too attached to the idea of disappearing into this life with him, but it’s a losing battle.
It’s a mistake to spend more time with him. I know it is. But there’s a defiant pulse in my blood that whispers maybe it’s not .
He studies my face, looking almost nervous.
“Is this okay? We don’t have to stay here. I just… I wanted us to be somewhere safe. Somewhere that doesn’t feel like a set.”
The soft, unsure way he says it makes me melt.
“Yeah. It’s okay.”
We spend the afternoon outside wrapped in blankets, bundled up tight against the mountain chill, sitting by the firepit. I’m already savoring the way the world feels when it’s just the two of us.
There’s no one else around, just us and a big expanse of wild scenery.
It’s kind of incredible. I didn’t even know Ryan liked marshmallows, let alone that he’s an absolute menace with a roasting stick.
He laughs at the mess, the crispy black blobs that drip into the glowing red-orange of the fire if you hold them over the flame for too long.
“I like them burnt,” he exclaims. He holds a skewered bit of charcoal as evidence.
“You’re a monster.”
There’s a flash of his grin. It’s the best one, the kind that makes my pulse race.
“You say that like it’s new information.”
I make a valiant, tragic attempt at getting one marshmallow to turn a little golden, at least before it catches fire. Ryan tosses another failed attempt into his mouth and laughs at me.
“Very professional,” he says, nodding with sarcastic approval.
“Shut up,” I mumble. I go silent, thinking how much I like him. He treats me like a queen. Like what I think matters. Maybe I more than like him.
Okay, definitely more than that.
“You’re quiet. You usually have a burn-a-minute ratio with me,” he teases. “Where did you go?”
My heart beats faster. Does he not know that he’s the reason? His smile, the way he lights up when I give him shit. His obvious and genuine enjoyment of the stupid little insults that come out of my mouth and keep them coming.
Ryan sees me. He knows my nature. He likes me .
“You want to know why I’m not shy around you?” I cock my head. “Because you’ve never looked at me like I was background noise. You’ve been a pain in my ass for most of my life, but you always saw me. I think I like that. Even when I hate it.”
His mouth opens, his eyebrows shooting up. But for several seconds, he has no response. I chuckle.
“You had to know that already.”
“I didn’t. Believe it or not, I’m not a mind reader.”
“Hmm.” I put another marshmallow on my stick, not willing to discuss it further. We are wading into dangerous, deep waters here.
I feel a little reckless, a little electric, like maybe we’ve escaped into some weird daydream where nothing and no one else matters. I let myself sink into it.
It’s okay to let myself feel like this could be real. Just for tonight.
Eventually, we head back into the ridiculous luxury of the room.
I steal his hoodie because it’s cozy and big on me and it smells like him.
I curl up in the corner of the couch, pretending not to stare as he stretches, the T-shirt lifting just enough to make my breath catch.
I try to act cool, even as my brain short-circuits watching him move like he belongs here. With me.
He tosses me a bottle of water when he comes back. “So. You like stars, right?”
“I like them a lot better than charcoal marshmallows.”
He rolls his eyes in mock offense. “I’ve got a million of those if you want to retry.”
I’m still smiling when I answer his question. “How do you even know about my love of the stars?”
He shrugs like maybe he’s as surprised as I am. “You talk about them. Or you used to.”
Is it possible he was paying attention all those years ago? I squint at him, suspicious and charmed.
“I was obsessed with astronomy for, like, a month in middle school. I thought I was going to be an astrophysicist.”
He flops down beside me, looking way too pleased with himself. “Well, I thought I was going to be a zookeeper. Life’s weird.”
I can’t help it. I laugh and lean into his side, feeling all fluttery and nervous and giddy at once.
We spend the rest of the night watching Contact and Interstellar , the glow from the TV flickering around the luxurious hotel room. We share a giant bowl of popcorn and bombard it with a ridiculous amount of butter.
The sarcastic commentary I expect gives way to something else.
An easy quiet. A comfortable sort of silence that’s even better than I’d imagined.
Around midnight, I stretch and yawn, legs tucked up under me and head resting on his shoulder.
“You tired?” he asks, his voice low and warm.
I nod, the word coming out on another yawn. “Kinda.”
“Come to bed.”
It’s an invitation, nothing more. No heat, no teasing, just a soft expectant look. He stands and stretches. I feel like I might vibrate right out of my skin.
He heads to the massive bedroom. I follow him, heart hammering, pulse going a million miles an hour. The covers are crisp and inviting. I slide under them, barely even getting the lights turned out first.
I know this isn’t real life. But for once, I want to see what it feels like to be someone’s first choice. Someone worth breaking the rules for.
When he pulls me into his arms, I go willingly. His body is warm and solid against mine. I already know I’m in trouble.
I tell myself it’s just for now, just one night where we can forget about everything waiting for us back home, one chance to let our guards down and pretend none of it matters.
The way we tangle around each other is instinctive, like we both know this is something we shouldn’t be doing, but I’m not brave enough to pull away.
Ryan doesn’t give me any reason to. He holds me close. I fit myself against him like we belong, like we’ve always belonged. We don’t talk about what this is.
We don’t say the word “feelings.”
Just a comforting, beat-heavy silence and the steady rhythm of his breathing.
I listen to it like it might stop at any moment, but it never does. Eventually, I fall asleep.
I sleep better than I have in months. Maybe ever.
When I wake up, light is spilling over the mountains. Ryan hasn’t let me go. I haven’t moved away. He’s still wrapped around me, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he loosens his hold.
When I wake up to him tangled around me like he belongs there, I don’t question it. Not yet.
But I just know that tomorrow morning, things will be back to normal. I just don’t know that I’ll be the same girl when dawn breaks.