Chapter 29
twenty-nine
RYAN
We’re back on set, and it feels like whiplash. Three days ago, Wren was tangled up with me in bed, whispering my name like it meant something. Now? She won’t even look at me. I’m not heartbroken. I’m furious. Which feels suspiciously like the same thing.
Is she pretending now? Was she pretending when she came around my cock and whispered her secrets to me? My mind is fragmented and it’s impossible for me to tell. I can’t come close to being objective with her.
Everything about being back in this house sucks.
The other contestants are too loud, the lights are too hot, and Wren acts like I’m a stranger.
I mean, she looks at me when she thinks I’m not watching.
But the second our eyes meet, she flushes and glances away fast, like I’m too bright, too hot, like maybe I burned her or something.
It’s like I dreamed the whole weekend at the hotel. Like it was all in my head. I imagined every single kiss, every slow morning in bed, every time she laughed against my chest like she belonged there. I thought things were going to be different. Better. More.
But things are exactly like they were before. She’s back to acting like I’m a stranger. It’s driving me out of my mind.
What did I do wrong? I can’t figure out what happened. One minute, it felt like she was falling as hard as I was. The next, she froze me out. No explanation, no goodbye. How am I supposed to know what she’s thinking when she won’t even talk to me?
I keep catching myself staring across the set, searching for her face like an idiot. If she sees me looking, she changes direction and acts like she was planning to walk that way all along. If someone else stands too close, she ducks behind a bigger contestant and uses them like a human shield.
I should look away. She’s laughing, all sunlight and a glittering smile. And it’s killing me because I want to be the one making her do that.
At least, that’s what it feels like. I thought she’d hate how fake everything seemed back on set.
I pull out my phone and text Ellie.
I told Wren something real. Like, real, real.
That’s huge. Are you okay?
I think so. She didn’t run.
There’s a pause. Then:
Then maybe it’s finally safe to stop running too.
I stare at that line longer than I probably should.
Now she might be avoiding me. What if I screw this up?
Then you’ll apologize and fix it. You’re not Mom. You won’t disappear.
I don’t want to lose her.
Then don’t. Start acting like you deserve her. Because I think you do.
I twiddle my thumbs, considering my response.
I hate this. I hate being on this show.
A moment later, she replies.
Because it’s fake?
Because it feels like lying.
You’ve never been good at faking feelings. That’s not a bad thing.
It is when all the bachelorettes are looking at you like you’re their last shot at love.
You’re not a villain. You’re just a dumb hockey player who got dropped into a rom-com and forgot his lines.
I stare at that one for a second.
Yeah, well. The blooper reel’s gonna be brutal.
Don’t worry. You’re still the emotional support himbo of my heart.
I almost smile. Almost.
Today’s group activity is something ridiculous.
An obstacle course set up like a Tough Mudder.
There’s a mud pit, a climbing wall, a tangle of ropes, and of course, cameras everywhere to catch every fall and flop.
At the starting line, the crew is doing their best to rev up the energy, directing contestants like it’s the season finale. Some are buying it.
I’m just here to observe. Stand on the sidelines and pretend I’m not dying inside while Wren army-crawls through sludge like I didn’t have her pressed up against a hotel window three nights ago.
Wren’s terrible at it. She falls twice in the first minute and nearly gets tangled under the net. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from going over to help her. Raven’s right behind, glaring at the mud like it personally insulted her. Everyone’s playing their part, hamming it up for the lens.
Except for Wren. She looks like she’s fighting an entirely different battle.
Somehow, she’s still adorable, even when she’s struggling to get back up from the last fall.
I catch a flash of crimson in the corner of my eye.
Before I know it, she’s back on her feet and moving faster than before, ponytail bouncing through the chaos.
Wren’s the star of the scene. She’s laughing, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder to see who’s catching up, face lit up like she’s having the time of her life. The complete opposite of the weekend, where she couldn’t even fake a smile the last time I saw her.
She’s laughing like it’s easy. Like this means nothing. But I know that laugh. I know when it’s real. This isn’t it.
Unless she’s faking it. Unless she’s trying to play it safe. But why? Why freeze me out when we were finally real?
Now she’s back to acting like she loves every minute of this. The thrill, the competition, the set. I’m the only one who seems to remember how she acted when it was just her and me. Is she really over it already? Over me? Am I the only one still frozen in that hotel room, thinking there was more?
The thought drops like a weight in my gut. What was I expecting? That she’d quit the show for me? Jump into my arms and announce we’re soulmates on national television? I’m the idiot here. She’s right back in the game. I’m the one stuck wondering what’s real and what’s for show.
I’m so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I don’t notice Raven catching up to them.
She’s got dirt smeared across her face and a determined look that says she’s not giving up, no matter what kind of craziness happens.
Everyone else might be in on the drama, but Raven is laser focused.
This is the closest I’ve seen her to having fun since we got back.
I keep my eyes on them, just far enough away that I can pretend her laughter isn’t needling at me. Wren and Raven trade teasing shoves. It feels like Wren’s actually enjoying this. All the mud and madness.
Raven jokes through the whole thing. “If I survive this, I want a drink and a tetanus shot.” I hear her say it and snort.
Raven’s perfect, of course. No surprise there.
She takes it like a personal challenge, her blonde ponytail whipping in the wind as she scales the climbing wall without a single hesitation.
Raven’s a little ball of athletic fury, an Amazon packed into a five foot two frame.
She probably finishes the course in record time.
Meanwhile, JacqLyn is a machine. Loud, strong, and hilarious. She’s barreling through the obstacles, whooping like a cowgirl as she tears through the mud pit. She actually doubles back at one point to help Raven out of the sludge, shouting “Yeehaw!” like she’s riding a bucking bronco.
Divya… refuses to crawl. She stands on the sidelines for a second, hands on her hips, and scowls like someone’s made her touch garbage. Then she literally walks around the obstacle, mud-free and defiant. I swear one of the producers gives her a thumbs-up.
The whole thing’s over in about an hour.
To me, it felt like ten. I towel off, even though I wasn’t the one competing.
Sweat clings to my back anyway. Watching Wren trip over a tire and mutter “Jesus take the wheel” under her breath was almost too much.
My pulse was pounding like I’d run the course myself.
As the crew collects cameras, I can’t stop sneaking looks at Wren, who’s standing in a circle with JacqLyn and Raven. She’s laughing too loud, like she has to convince them and herself again that she’s over me.
After everyone clears out, Rich finds me near the trailers.
“We need to talk about who you’re eliminating,” Rich says, walking right up to me with that smug producer grin, like we’re best buds and nothing’s wrong.
Just like that. No lead-up. No easing into it.
He gets straight to the point. He’s not subtle about it.
Typical. The guy’s relentless. He wants an answer.
I already know what he’s about to say. That I have to choose between cutting Wren and cutting Raven. That the girl I’m sacrificing my sanity for has to be the one I send home. He doesn’t give me a second to breathe before he says it.
“Wren or Raven. They both underperformed.” He crosses his arms over his stupidly defined chest and acts like he’s offering me some great advice.
My jaw tightens. My face probably looks like it belongs on a missing person poster. I don’t say anything. I can’t say anything. I look off toward the catering tent, pretending I didn’t hear him.
“You have to cut someone,” he says, voice lighter now. Friendly. Manipulative. “We’re getting to the point in the season where feelings might start getting in the way.” Rich is piling it on, the way only he can. All I feel is the pressure to pick one of them and the certainty that I can’t win here.
I lie and say I don’t know yet. That I haven’t decided. That I’ll think about it. His face is unreadable. For a second, I wonder if I’ve convinced him. If I’ve convinced myself. How am I supposed to cut Wren when I’m the only one who seems to remember what this whole thing was supposed to be?
It’s the world’s worst situation. I can’t see a way out.
Rich gives me a long look, like he’s waiting for me to crack. I don’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, he jerks his head toward the confessional trailer. He’s already turning around, assuming I’ll follow like he’s got me on a leash. “Let’s get a few takes while the day’s still fresh.”
I go along for the walk of shame, following him in.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. The confessional trailer reeks of fresh paint and desperation.
All I hear are ghosts. This is the same trailer where we…
where I pressed Wren… where I thought… My head spins with the intensity of that night, with the memory of her moan still lingering in my mouth.
I sit down on the bench, stiff as hell, and try to swallow down the regret clawing its way out of me.
Rich gets comfortable right across from me, acting like we’re on some kind of buddy cop mission to save America from being bored.
He flips open a notepad and looks at me like he’s expecting an entire season’s worth of drama to pour out of me.
It’s classic Rich. Straight to the point, relentless and cunning. “Okay, talk to me about Raven. And Wren. Anything special going on there?” He’s fishing with dynamite. He knows it.
I try to play it cool, keep my voice as neutral as a Switzerland postcard. “They’re both funny,” I say. “I like being around them.” I almost say more, but I catch myself before too much spills out. No way am I giving him what he wants. Not yet.
Rich acts like I’ve just handed him a season finale wrapped in a bow. He lifts a brow, ready to pounce. “More than the others?” It’s a direct hit. He knows it.
I shrug, trying to make it look effortless, like my entire sanity isn’t on the line here. “I enjoy both of them. I’d rather keep them than, say, Divya.” Maybe that’s a mistake. I already know how this game works, but I have to try.
Rich doesn’t even let me finish. “Can’t lose Divya.
She’s the villain. Ratings love her.” It’s like he’s saying water is wet.
My teeth grind together. I nod, trying not to explode.
I knew it before he said it but hearing it out loud makes me want to punch the wall, the world, or maybe just my own idiot self for thinking I could control any of this.
I’m on the edge of cracking. On the edge of giving him everything he needs.
“Okay,” Rich says, already standing and giving a thumbs-up to the camera crew.
“Now give us a take. Look right at the camera and say you’re torn.
You have no idea who to send home. You’re emotionally exhausted from the decision.
” His hands move like a conductor leading an orchestra, in total control.
He doesn’t even sit back down. He’s already planning his next ambush.
He clicks his pen, ready to jot down the next scoop.
I stare straight into the lens and say the words. I make my voice quiet, thoughtful, convincing. Try to sound like I’m baring my soul.
“She’s…” I stop myself. Not now. Not like this. “She’s entertaining. People like her.”
But it feels fake as hell.
As soon as they call cut , I lean back in the chair and stare at the ceiling. All I can think about is Wren’s face when she turned away from me this morning. Like we were strangers. Like none of it meant anything.
Her laughter echoes in my ears.
If we meant something to her, anything at all, I didn’t get the memo.
She was so quick to forget, to move on like I was just another stage prop.
I remember her bright face, the way she laughed and tossed her hair in the wind.
It stabs at me. It’s impossible to believe it was the same Wren who wouldn’t even look at me in the hotel room, eyes downcast and voice a whisper.
How did I end up being the one who got played? How did I let myself fall so hard when she barely fell at all? Here I am, following Rich like some desperate dog, trying to decide which one of them I can stand to lose the least.
I don’t even know how I ended up in this trailer, trying to breathe through the mess I made. I was convinced she felt it, too. The connection. The spark. I thought it was real, but now… now I’m the one sitting in this claustrophobic room, trying to figure out where the hell I went wrong.
Here I am, lying through my teeth, pretending I don’t know who I want to stay.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I’m the only one who ever believed this could be more. How do I sort out the truth?