19. The Outcast
The Outcast
brIELLE
I wake to sunlight stabbing through a gap in the curtains.
For one blissful moment, I exist in the limbo between sleep and consciousness, where nothing hurts and last night with Hayes feels like a beautiful dream.
He was with me, and only me. Then I shift, and reality comes crashing back in the form of twelve fresh stitches screaming in my arm and the fact that Hayes is going on a date with five other women today.
“Ugh,” I groan, rolling onto my back and immediately regretting it as my weight settles on my hip, which I now realize must be bruised.
The clock on my nightstand reads 2:17 PM.
I blink at it, certain it must be wrong, until I notice the light filtering through the curtains—the deep gold of mid-afternoon.
I’ve slept through breakfast and lunch, medication and painkillers pulling me under.
A hazy memory surfaces of Serena helping me take pills sometime around dawn, promising to check on me later.
Later is apparently now, except Serena isn’t here. No one is.
That’s because she’s in the group that’s going to the flamenco dancing challenge starting at four p.m.
Last night flashes into my mind again, and my chest flutters. His hands on my skin, his mouth on mine, the way the world narrowed to just the two of us. But in the light of day, the reality of it hits me—we crossed that line, blew past boundaries and basic common sense. And God, it was incredible.
The thought sends a fresh wave of anxiety through me.
Because this isn’t just about attraction or compatibility anymore.
The truth—the terrifying, exhilarating truth—is that I’m falling for him, and I told him so.
Not Hayes the Bachelor, not Hayes the Internet’s Blurred Dick Pic Hero, but Hayes Burke the man: the devoted father, the passionate photographer, the guy who quotes Star Trek and gets my Marvel references and understands grief in a way that only another traveler on that lonely road can.
And that makes all this infinitely worse because now I have more to lose than just a shot at reality TV romance. I could lose someone who actually matters.
And then I remember—Gabby saw us. Kissing and returning together way beyond late. And if Gabby knows, it’s only a matter of time before Kavita knows.
And Luna, that liar!
With panic bubbling up, I force myself to stand, wincing as various parts of my body protest. My right arm throbs beneath its white bandage, the stitches pulling tight against my skin.
Purple bruises mottle my hip and thigh in abstract patterns that could almost be artistic if they didn’t hurt so damn much.
Even my lips feel tender—though that has to do with Hayes’s enthusiasm.
I mentally take stock of who’s heading to the flamenco challenge: Annabelle, Serena, Luna, and Chloe. That leaves Gabby, Kavita, and me here at the villa. The unholy trinity. Perfect.
My stomach growls, reminding me I’ve had nothing since hospital crackers the night before.
Coffee and food are necessities, regardless of who might be lurking in common areas.
I contemplate my clothing options, settling on an oversized sweater that won’t irritate my stitches and a pair of cotton shorts.
Going full comfort mode—no makeup, hair piled into a messy bun.
My bedroom door opens to an empty hallway, and I shuffle toward the kitchen, moving like a sloth. As I approach, voices drift out—hushed tones that immediately set my nerves on edge.
“For that long?” Kavita says.
“I’m telling you, they didn’t come back until after three a.m.” Gabby’s voice, smugness coating each syllable. “And they had sex in the SUV. I saw it.”
I pause, heart thumping against my ribs. She’s lying—she didn’t see us having sex. Except we did earlier, so she’s not wrong. Dread pools in my stomach, but there’s no turning back now, and I need coffee more than I need to avoid this confrontation.
Taking a deep breath, I step into the kitchen.
The conversation cuts off, three heads swiveling in my direction.
Gabby sits perched on a counter stool, her manicured nails wrapped around a mug.
Kavita leans against the refrigerator, arms crossed over her chest, her expression shifting from gossip-hungry to faux concern so quickly it’s almost comical.
“Well, look who’s risen from the dead.” Gabby’s Southern drawl’s exaggerated. “We were just talking about you.”
“I make my way to the coffeemaker with determined nonchalance. “Don’t let me interrupt.”
Kavita’s eyes follow me. “How are you feeling? You had an eventful day yesterday.”
The double meaning isn’t subtle. I focus on pouring coffee, grateful that the production assistants keep a fresh pot brewing.
“Twelve stitches and enough bruising to make me look like I’ve been paintballing with professionals.” I pour creamer into my cup. “All things considered, I’m lucky it wasn’t worse.”
“Hayes certainly seemed concerned.” Kavita’s tone is almost casual. “Rushing to your rescue like that. So heroic.”
I take a deliberate sip of coffee before responding. “He would’ve done the same for any of us.”
“Would he?” Gabby snarls, her earlier softness toward me evidently expired. Her smile turns predatory. “And spending all night at the hospital with you seems excessive, don’t you think? Especially when there were perfectly capable medical staff.”
I lean against the counter, partly for support and partly to project calm I definitely don’t feel. “I needed stitches. Hayes felt responsible.”
“So responsible that he personally drove you back in the wee early hours of the morning?” The trap springs shut around Kavita’s words.
“He wanted to make sure I got back safely,” I say carefully. “The doctor gave specific instructions to monitor bleeding.”
“How thoughtful.” Gabby’s tone suggests it was anything but. “And was it also medically necessary that he kept you in the car for, what, fifteen minutes after you arrived?”
So she hadn’t just seen us arriving—she’d been watching the whole time. Creepy.
“I wasn’t feeling well.” The lie sticks in my throat. “The medication made me nauseous. We were waiting for it to pass.”
“So kissing is a cure for nausea.” Gabby exchanges a knowing look with Kavita that makes my stomach twist.
“Look, at this point, we’ve all kissed Hayes. So what?” I shake my head.
Gabby slides off her stool, crossing to rinse her mug in the sink with unnecessary force. “Sure. But just kissed.”
The insinuation hangs in the air between us. She knows, or at least strongly suspects, what happened earlier in that SUV.
“Look,” I inject steel into my voice despite the anxiety churning beneath. “Hayes was being a decent human being after I was hospitalized after a challenge. We all want a man who wouldn’t leave someone in that condition, right?”
“I guess.” Gabby shrugs me off, which only shows I made a good point.
“I need to lie back down.” I’m suddenly desperate to escape this inquisition. “Doctor’s orders include plenty of rest.”
“Of course,” Gabby says sweetly.
I grab a chicken wrap out of the refrigerator, and I don’t miss the way all three women exchange glances as I turn to leave. The short walk to the door feels like crossing a minefield, their eyes boring into my back with each step.
In the hallway, I allow myself a shaky exhale. They don’t know anything concrete—just suspicions and circumstantial evidence. But it’s enough to be dangerous, especially in the hands of women who want to destroy me.
“There you are!” Skye’s voice startles me so much I nearly drop my coffee mug. She emerges from the production office, her outfit today a relatively restrained turquoise jumpsuit with matching eyeshadow. “I’ve been waiting for Sleeping Beauty to wake up. How’s the arm?”
“Still attached. Though the rest of me feels like it went through a meat grinder.”
Skye studies me, her gaze traveling from my pale face to the death grip I have on my mug. “And how was your kitchen welcome committee? I noticed the three amigas circling like sharks outside your room this morning.”
I need to talk to her alone, so I nod to her office.
Once we’re inside, door closed, she says, “Is this about the early morning return with our dashing star?”
A chill runs through me. “You know about that?”
“Honey, I know everything that happens in this villa.” She gestures for me to sit on one of the wicker chairs, and after I do, she continues, “And Gabby saw you and Hayes returning together.”
“We were at the hospital.” The excuse sounds weak even to my own ears.
Skye holds up a hand, cutting me off. “Save it. I’ve been doing this long enough to recognize the look of a woman who’s been thoroughly ravished. And you, my dear, have it all over your face.”
Heat floods my cheeks. Denial feels pointless in the face of her certainty. “Okay, yeah, you’re right. What do I do now that Gabby saw us? And she’s lying, telling the other women we were intimate, even though she didn’t see that part. But it does happen to be true.”
She sighs. “Damn, that woman is messy. So you need a strategy for handling the women, and that strategy can’t be hiding in your room.”
“Right.”
“Say nothing,” she says, looking up in thought. “Unless someone asks you outright. Then tell the truth.”
“Won’t that just make things worse with Kavita and Gabby?”
“It absolutely will,” Skye says. “They’ll be furious. But it’ll also make them look petty if they try to attack you for being honest. The other women—Serena, Annabelle, Luna, Chloe— might forgive you if you fess up, but they’ll hate you if you get caught lying.”
I consider her strategy, seeing the logic even as my stomach churns. “And Hayes? How does this protect him?”
“It won’t. But he was a willing participant.
He’s gotta face the consequences, too, although his will be mild compared to yours.
” She stands, smoothing her jumpsuit. “Damn double-standards. The flamenco group will be back around seven, and the winner of the date around ten. Get some more rest, clean yourself up, and be ready to face everyone with the appropriate level of recovering-but-brave energy. Then, if confronted, own the truth before it owns you.”
And there Skye is, with her infinite wisdom. I nod, already mentally rehearsing what I’ll say. Emotions creep to the surface when I say, “Thank you. Really. I don’t know how I would’ve navigated this show without you.”
She pauses at the door, turning back with an expression that’s surprisingly vulnerable for her.
“I care about you. I encouraged you to come here because I saw a connection that’s rare.
And worth protecting.” Her usual spark returns as she adds, “Hayes deserves to be happy, and you, Penguin Girl, make him happy.”
After a hug, she ushers me out, leaving me to face the inevitable drama with honesty rather than deception.
It’s terrifying. It’s risky. And yet, as I sit on the porch and sip my now-cold coffee and watch the birds and take in the breeze, it also feels right.
I have the rest of the afternoon and evening to rest, prepare, and find the courage to face whatever comes next.
Starting with the truth.