22. Court
CHAPTER 22
COURT
L eg eight aired last night, which means anyone who came to the PTA’s weekly fundraiser-slash-viewing party in the gym watched me land on a drop zone and kiss Hartley on a forty-foot screen. Ella said the PTA chair had to pause the show to wait for the cheering to die down.
I watched from my living room with Rhett’s moral support, which was mostly him clapping me on the shoulder while saying, “Atta boy!” and “It’s about fucking time!”
It’s not like I didn’t know this episode was coming. I just didn’t account for Blake Thompson’s knee taking a crap on him in the dairy section of the Piggly Wiggly after the Argentina episode aired. That left his history class in need of a substitute for his two-month recovery from surgery.
Rather than continuing with my plan of hiding out in my office of Studs N Suds, I was dropped into the middle of the gossip mill otherwise known as Green Valley High School right after the New Zealand leg aired.
Here’s the thing about high schoolers: When they’re invested in something, there’s no half-assing it. By the end of that first day, there was a #TeamHartbreak sign stuck to Blake’s door and I’d been added to a “Protect Him At All Costs” list. Since then, my students have decreed Hartley to be my one true love. For the record, I’ve continued my I-can’t-discuss-anything stance, but that didn’t stop them from creating a mood board, whatever that is, to gather ideas for our eventual wedding.
The teachers have been just as invested. At lunch on Fridays, the lounge becomes a situation room to discuss the latest episode, and there’s even a line item on the weekly staff meeting agenda where Janet Holstrom, an armchair body language expert in the English department, shares her analysis.
And the thing is, I really do appreciate their support. It’s been fun to watch the show through their perspective, it’s just getting harder to keep my expression in check while I dodge their questions and comments—which brings me back to today and the dilemma I’m currently facing: it’s Friday and I need a microwave.
“I hear you get better results when you turn it,” Nick Easton says of the doorknob for the lounge.
I breathe out a laugh. “With wisdom like that, we’re sure to win the state championship this year.”
“That’s the plan. But seriously, are you going in, or...”
“Trying to decide if having hot lasagna is worth all of that.” I circle my finger, indicating the lively voices on the other side of the door.
“You’re telling me you jumped out of an airplane and you’re scared of a few teachers?”
“No, but?—”
“Exactly.” He turns the knob and nudges me through the open door.
The lounge falls to a hush for a whole three seconds before Clara Hill, Ally Dalbotten, and Mari Mitchell launch into a round of applause.
“Thanks, Nick.” I fire a mock glare at his back as he laughs his way to the vending machine.
“So,” Clara says, leaning forward on the table and resting her chin in her hands, “that was an intense episode.”
Smirking, Mari adds, “It looked like things were getting a little hot in Greece.”
I uncover my lasagna and toss it in the microwave. “It was about ninety degrees if I remember correctly.”
“Outside or in the hotel room?” Ally waggles her brows. “And was that your only kiss that day?”
I almost snort laugh, but instead, I respond with, “I appreciate your questions and I’m looking forward to discussing them?—”
“—after the finale airs on December seventh at eight p.m. Eastern,” they say in unison, laughing.
“One more month,” I say with a placating smile.
I’m spared from further questioning when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Jessica: My mom has apparently known who you are since episode two .
Me: She and Rhett should start a true crime podcast.
Me: What was her reaction?
Jessica: That as long as I’m happy, she’s happy. And then she said I looked really happy.
Jessica: She also asked if I’d need any help driving my stuff to Green Valley after the show ends. *facepalm emoji*
Me: It’s frightening how well she’s connected the dots. On second thought, we should never introduce her and Rhett. They’d probably take over the world.
The microwave beeps. I retrieve my lasagna and pop the lid back on so I can eat in the privacy of my classroom while I chat with Hartley. When I turn for the door, everyone is staring at me.
“What?”
“Who are you texting?” Mari asks.
I feel the tips of my ears turn red. “A friend.”
“Mm-hmm.” Clara’s amused smile tells me she’s not buying it.
Apparently Nick isn’t either, because he holds up his palms and says, “I’m not making assumptions, but I don’t grin like that when I text my friends.”
I clutch my chest on the way to the door. “Et tu, Brute?”
They laugh at my Shakespeare reference and wave me out, going back to what I’m sure will be a riveting discussion about my “friend.”
I return to my classroom and shut the door for the last ten minutes of lunch.
Me: You free for a quick call?
In lieu of a response, my screen lights up. I accept the video call and prop my phone against my computer. Hartley’s in her Billings Painting coveralls with her hair in a messy bun and a streak of light blue paint on her forehead. In other words, fucking adorable. Thank god we only have one month left.
“Did you see the email from Wendell that just came in?”
“No,” I say around a bite of lasagna.
“They’re flying us to LA the morning of the finale. They’re calling it the Xtreme Reunion and we’re supposed to watch the final episode with a studio audience and do follow-up interviews with Paul. ”
“Everyone or just us?”
“The whole cast.”
“Weird,” I say after swallowing another bite. “They’ve never had a reunion show.”
“Mom thinks they’re playing up the showmance between us since our season has had the highest ratings so far.”
“That makes sense. Did you already respond?”
She smiles mischievously. “I told him I’d be there as long as they let us share a room.”
You’d think after being filmed nearly twenty-four seven for three weeks that I’d be used to cameras, but knowing I’m about to be on live TV takes things to a whole new level. It doesn’t help that the producers are playing up the tension as much as possible by keeping the contestants apart until the last minute.
That means I’ve been in the same building as Hartley for the last four hours, but I haven’t seen her thanks to the merry-go-round schedule of hair, makeup, and wardrobe. Now I’m pacing the floor of my makeshift green room as I watch the last five minutes of the finale along with the studio audience and the rest of America.
Reliving it on the screen brings back all the emotions I felt that day, with anger rising to the top of the list because Big Mike and DeAngelo have talked shit about us and the Bombshells for the entire episode. DeAngelo was even impersonating Gianna’s panic attack at Edge. What kind of asshole makes fun of something like that, especially knowing it’ll likely end up on national TV?
At this point, it’s a good thing they’ve kept us secluded from each other. Or maybe it’s why they had to do that in the first place.
When the final commercial break ends, the show starts back with a clip of us running out of Prospect Park with the Wise Asses on our tail. The next sequence plays out like a bad dream with DeAngelo blocking our taxi, us getting stuck at red lights, and us sprinting down the final stretch of the boardwalk only to cross the finish line fifteen seconds too late. The only solace I have right now is realizing that everyone was cheering for us in those final moments. When the Wise Asses got to the mat, the cheers dropped dramatically and picked back up as Hartley and I arrived.
Another thing I didn’t notice that day is that when the Bombshells arrived, everyone pretty much ignored the Wise Asses. They keep moving from team to team to boast about their win but we’re all too busy talking to each other .
“Serves you right, assholes,” I mutter to the screen.
I hear a knock at the door and then the assistant I met earlier peeks her head in. “Ready?”
“Very.” My stomach and heart do a weird high-five thing as I button my dark gray suit coat and follow her into the hall.
“One member of each team will be in the left wing and the other in the right wing. When Paul announces you, you’ll walk to the center of the set and meet Hartley, then find a spot on the couches.”
Easy enough.
After a few short hallways, I’m behind a curtain backstage with Gianna, Kadeeja, Boyd, Bobby, Mitchell, Ji-ho, Randall, Janessa, and Marcail. We exchange hugs and handshakes before lining up in the order of elimination.
I take my place at the end of the line behind Gianna, who gives me another hug. “How’s your girl?”
“Fantastic and in a few days, she’ll be Tennessee’s newest resident.”
She opens her mouth in a silent scream and squeezes my arm.
“Pretty much my feelings too,” I laugh.
“Quiet please!” I hear from someplace on the set.
As the chatter dies down, I realize no one is behind me.
“Have you seen the Wise Asses?” I whisper to Gianna.
“No. I’m not sad about it though. They’re gonna have to keep me on the opposite side of the set from both of them.”
“Us too. Maybe they’ll reconfigure everything after this segment to bring them out.”
We hear Paul start his intro to the live portion of tonight’s show, and then the backstage curtain parts and he’s calling us up.
“My heart’s gonna beat out of my freaking chest,” I whisper.
Gianna laughs quietly and grabs ahold of my hand as we slowly move forward.
“Do I hug her or kiss her?”
“Yes.”
“You’re no help.”
“In fourth place we have Team Old Bay, Kadeeja and Haylee!”
Gianna and I inch up and I can finally, finally see across the set. Hartley’s in a shimmery, van Gogh blue dress that stops just above her knees and she’s standing arm-in-arm with Alexis.
“She’s beautiful,” Gianna whispers.
I can only nod while I work to breathe properly.
“In third are the Bombshells, Gianna and Alexis! ”
With a final squeeze, Gianna lets go of my hand and crosses the set, giving Alexis a quick hug before heading to the couch.
And then it’s just me and Hartley.
Nothing standing between us.
Nothing keeping us apart.
Not intentional lies or misunderstood truths.
Not NDAs.
Not separate states.
“And now, for the team we’ve all been waiting for, Team Hartbreak, Court and Hartley!”
I briefly register the sound of cheering, but it quickly fades along with everything else that isn’t her.
Five steps . . .
Three steps . . .
One step . . .
I pull her in, splaying one hand across her back and threading the other into her hair before lowering my mouth to hers. “God, I’ve missed you,” I say through our kiss.
Her hands snake around my waist, drawing me in further. “Same.”
“I should probably stop kissing you now.”
She laughs and I gather the necessary willpower to turn her loose.
The crowd is still cheering when we take our seats next to the Bombshells. Hartley reaches over to do that hand-squeeze-hug-thing that women do, then settles into the crook of my arm.
“Welcome, everyone,” Paul says after taking a seat in his chair. “We’re so glad to see you again. I’m sure you’ve noticed the absence of our winning team, but we wanted to have a chance to chat with you all before we move on to them.”
Translation: Everyone hates the Wise Asses and we didn’t want them here either.
No one is saddened by this news.
In fact, it’s pretty easy to forget about them altogether as we move into discussing the other teams, our strategies, our most challenging moments, and our favorite parts of the race. My nerves quickly subside and the conversation flows easily, because although we’re on an immaculately decorated set surrounded by a live audience and a dozen cameras, this is basically a team dinner in better clothes and without the food.
But that mood changes when we return from the second commercial break.
“As I mentioned at the beginning of the reunion, the Wise Guys have not appeared on stage yet...and that’s because they weren’t invited. Here’s why.” The studio lights dim as Paul gestures to the screen at the side of the set. “As our editors were working on footage for leg ten in the Netherlands, one of them spotted something unusual.”
The clip shows Haylee and Big Mike studying the example place setting for the butler challenge. She’s going over the display with intense focus, but Mike just stands there for a few seconds and leaves. Then the footage zooms to his suit top, which was part of our costume.
“Our editor saw something sticking out of Big Mike’s pocket. She began searching through other footage from that challenge and noticed a pattern—every time he said he needed to use the bathroom, she saw the same item in his pocket.
“We began searching through footage from other legs and saw the same thing appearing.”
The clips move to a montage of him stowing something small and black in his pocket or his backpack.
“The Wise Guys brought a smartphone with them on the race.”
There is a collective gasp throughout the studio as the lights come back up.
“How did they sneak it in? Our bags were checked in Dallas,” Marcail says.
“They were, and our crew found no contraband in their backpacks. During our investigation, Big Mike confessed to having a friend in the crowd at the Giant Eyeball who followed their taxi to the airport and left the phone in a bathroom stall for Mike to retrieve. Throughout the race, he and DeAngelo connected to wi-fi at the airport, on airplanes, and at several McDonald’s locations to gain information about each destination. During other legs, like the Netherlands, he recorded videos to assist him with memory challenges and watched the footage in the bathroom.”
“Son of a...” Boyd catches himself before the last word and flattens his lips to a thin line.
“Needless to say, we’re deeply disappointed in their behavior and have pursued legal action against them and their accomplice in Dallas, who assisted them in exchange for a portion of the prize money. Obviously, none of them will receive any money.”
Now Paul’s expression shifts from anger and disgust to . . . excited?
“With DeAngelo and Big Mike being disqualified from Xtreme Quest, the producers have updated the final standings.”
The screen switches to a chart showing the results for the last leg of the race .
“Team Old Bay is now in third place and the winner of the ten-thousand-dollar prize. Team Bombshell is now in second place and the winner of the twenty-five-thousand-dollar prize.”
Hartley’s wide eyes lock onto mine as Paul finishes with,
“And Team Hartbreak is now in first place and the winner of the million-dollar prize.”
We turn our focus to the screen, and everything happens in slow motion after that.
Hartley is in my arms, confetti surrounds us, the entire room is cheering, Boyd is leaping over the back of his couch to get to ours, I’m laughing, Hartley’s laugh-crying along with the Bombshells and Old Bay, and now I’m somehow on my feet hugging Paul, who closes out our live event on national TV with me embracing him in a bear hug from the side.
It’s an out-of-body experience to say the least.
After fielding more hugs and high fives from the rest of the contestants, I find my way back to Hartley and pull her against my chest. “So that just happened.”
“This is not how I thought the race would end when I saw you on the lawn in Dallas.”
“What did your version look like?”
“I was convinced there was an eighty-four percent chance I’d murder you before it was over.”
I bark out a laugh because I can absolutely picture her imagining that. “How about we go with a different ‘m’ word and change that percentage.”
Her eyes are gleaming when she says, “You mean ‘marry’ and a ‘zero percent chance’?”
“‘Marry,’ yes, but you’d better add a one and another zero to make it a hundred percent.”
She lifts her shoulders in a playful shrug and pulls my lips to hers. “I guess I can do that since we have all these extra zeros now.”