8. The Consequences
The Consequences
brIELLE
A fter sneaking into bed late last night because everyone was asleep, I wake up to reality. Reality that my perfect date with Hayes is over, and it’s going to be the last one for a long time, and maybe if ever.
Still, it proved that I made the right decision coming onto this show. He’s a good man, no matter what, and I’m so glad I took the chance to explore whatever it was we had on the beach. Now I know it wasn’t a one-time thing because we had it again, even better.
As I make my way to the kitchen, I fix my smile—the one I’ve perfected through nine different schools—and prepare to face the firing squad of jealous glares. Because while I was floating yesterday, the nineteen other contestants have been marinating in envy.
“Had a good time?” asks one of the women, I’m pretty sure her name is Chloe. She seems bubbly and nice.
“It was fun,” I say, underplaying the evening that permanently altered my heart’s chemistry. No way am I giving the crew fodder for their interview questions later.
Serena sits at the kitchen table, her expression a mixture of curiosity and concern. “How was it?” she whispers as I pass.
“Tell you later,” I murmur, squeezing her arm in gratitude for the friendly face.
After I get my coffee, the bubble of warmth Serena provides pops the moment I step into the main living room.
A half-dozen women are arranged in various poses of casual disinterest that aren’t fooling anyone.
Gabby sits dead center on the plush couch, her legs tucked elegantly beneath her, looking like she’s posing for a magazine shoot titled “How to Appear Relaxed While Plotting Murder.”
“Well, well, well,” she drawls, her Southern accent suddenly thicker. “If it isn’t our resident nerd. How was your little carnival date last night? Did y’all discuss the scientific principles behind cotton candy?”
A few women snicker.
“We had a fun time.” I aim for neutral. “The view from the Ferris wheel was beautiful.”
“I bet it was,” Kavita chimes in from her perch on the arm of the couch. Her smile is sharp as a paper cut. “Was that when he made his move?”
My cheeks burn—partly because they’re right, and partly because their jealousy is so transparent, it’s almost sad.
“We connected,” I say simply. “We talked. You know, with words and thoughts.”
Gabby snorts, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Honey, men don’t want conversations. They want arm candy. You’re the palate cleanser—the little intellectual detour before he gets back to the main course.” Her eyes flick meaningfully to Kavita, then herself.
I could tell them how Hayes’s eyes lit up when I explained why Captain Marvel’s powers outrank Thor’s.
How he listened—really listened—when I talked about my mom.
How his kiss felt like coming home to a place I’d actually never been before.
But these aren’t my friends. They’re competitors who’d use any vulnerability as ammunition.
“Guess we’ll see,” I say instead, moving toward the stairs. “I need a shower, so—”
“I saw the penguin.” Gabby interrupts. “Did he win you that? How... high school.”
“I thought it was cute,” Annabelle pipes up from the corner where she’s been quietly sketching. “Very thoughtful.”
Gabby’s eyes narrow, cataloging Annabelle as another target. Great, now I’ve put sweet, dyslexic children’s book author Annabelle in the crosshairs.
“I’m heading up,” I announce, not waiting for further commentary. As I’m walking away, Onion comes darting at me, probably from Skye’s office. I scoop her into my arms, so happy to see her.
She and I escape to the relative safety of the bedroom I share with Serena, Annabelle, and a quiet contestant named Taylor who mostly keeps to herself.
Sitting on my bed with Onion, I finally allow the smile I’ve been suppressing to spread across my face.
Because despite the Mean Girls reunion happening downstairs, last night was magic. Pure magic.
Hayes and I connected on a level that transcends this artificial competition.
When he talked about his son—brilliant, science-obsessed August—I could see the real man beneath the bachelor facade.
A father trying his best, still carrying the scars of his own childhood.
When I opened up about my mom, he didn’t offer empty platitudes. He got it. Actually got it.
And that kiss on the Ferris wheel... it was everything our beach almost-encounter promised, but deeper. Not just physical attraction, although hello, that’s there, but mentally in sync. The way his fingers traced my jawline so tenderly, like I was something precious—
A knock at the door fractures my recollection.
“It’s me,” Serena calls softly.
“Come in.” I compose my face into something less lovesick.
Serena slips in, closing the door behind her. “Spill.” She plops onto the foot of my bed and starts scratching Onion behind the ears. “I want every detail those vultures downstairs don’t deserve to hear.”
I laugh, some of the tension leaving my shoulders. “It was great,” I say. “We talked about everything—Marvel, losing parents, his son. He really listens, you know?”
“And?” Serena eyebrows waggle. “The Ferris wheel? That classic move wasn’t wasted, was it?”
“No.” My cheeks heat again. “It wasn’t wasted.”
“I knew it!” She claps her hands together and Onion barks. “The way he looks at you, Brielle—it’s different. Trust me.”
Something in my chest constricts. Because it is different. And not just because of our connection at the fair, but because of what happened in St. Sebastian. The kiss on the beach that no one here knows about. The prior tryst we both have to pretend doesn’t exist.
“What’s wrong?” Serena's scientist eyes miss nothing. “You went from cloud nine to storm system in two seconds flat.”
Serena has been nothing but kind, and I’d love to have someone to confide in. But I signed an NDA, first and foremost. Second, one slip, one off-camera comment picked up by a hot mic, and both Hayes and I could be labeled as frauds.
“Just thinking about the competition,” I say instead. “Gabby and her minions are out for blood.”
Serena rolls her eyes. “Ignore them. They’re just jealous because Hayes sees something real in you.”
“Maybe,” I murmur, though the knot of anxiety in my chest tightens. Because what if he does see something real? What if there’s actually a chance for something lasting here? The possibility is simultaneously thrilling and terrifying.
Serena stands, touching my shoulder. “And be careful who you trust. It seems like most of these women are messy.”
I nod, taking Serena’s warning seriously. “I’m sure you’re right, and I’ll keep an eye out.”
After she leaves, I cuddle with Onion for a while before I let her outside to play, then prepare a shower, my mind still spinning.
Part of me—the writer part—can identify the perfect story arc here: girl meets boy on beach, connection is interrupted, fate reunites them on a ridiculous reality show, they overcome obstacles and find true love. Roll credits.
But real life doesn’t follow clean narrative arcs. Real life is messy, with complications like career ambitions, single fatherhood, and living in different cities.
I step under the water and try to quiet my racing thoughts. Focus on the good, I tell myself. Hayes’s laugh when I decimated him at Skee-Ball. The way his eyes crinkled when he talked about August. How his hand felt in mine, solid and warm.
I manage to make it through the long day with nothing to do, and by early evening, exhaustion claims me, pulling me down into uneasy dreams.
I’m running down a hospital corridor that never ends. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting sickly shadows that seem to reach for me. I know what’s waiting in the room at the end—Mom.
“Nobody stays,” says my mother’s voice from everywhere and nowhere. “Everyone leaves in the end.”
“Mom!” I call, but the hallway stretches longer with each step.
“Brielle,” her voice echoes back, weaker than a whisper. “Hurry...”
But I can’t move fast enough. The air feels thick as molasses, my legs leaden.
I wake with a gasp, sheets twisted around my legs like seaweed, heart hammering against my ribs. My face is wet—tears or sweat, I can’t tell. The display on my watch reads 3:47 AM.
Untangling myself, I sit up, pulling my knees to my chest. The dream clings to me like the damp sheets, too vivid to shake off. Mom’s voice echoes in my head: Nobody stays. Everyone leaves in the end.
Is that why I’m here? Not just for Hayes or a break from grief, but to prove my mother wrong? Myself wrong? To find someone who’ll stay?
The room is quiet except for Taylor’s soft snoring.
I reach for my phone, a reflex born from years of texting Mom whenever I couldn’t sleep.
But my phone’s not there because I’m not allowed to have it, and there’s that stab of remembering—the one Hayes said doesn’t go away but eventually stops feeling like a mortal wound.
Tonight, it feels pretty mortal.
I manage to drift off again, and when I wake, I see that it’s 7:43 AM.
The weight of impossible choices presses down on me.
Part of me wants to pack my bags and leave—walk away before I can be humiliated today, before I can be hurt any worse.
But running is what I do—what my mother taught me. New town, new start, new Brielle.
It doesn’t work.
Balerion the penguin stares at me from under my pillow, his oversized eyes somehow accusatory. Hayes won that for me. Hayes kissed me like I mattered. Hayes listened when I talked about Mom. Whatever game the producers are playing, whatever secrets we’re both keeping—that connection was real.
I reach a decision, clarity crystallizing out of the chaotic swirl of emotions.
It’s time to stand and fight.
The talent show begins at ten. Two hours to figure out how to protect myself without blowing up everything else in the process. I’ll face it head-on, and I’ll fight through whatever petty sabotage they have planned.