Chapter Thirty-Five - Becca
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
A Starlight producer hurries after Lucky, calling his name, but he doesn’t stop or turn around. Tony’s camera lens moves farther into my periphery, and I exhale slowly, keeping the calm mask in place on my face.
“Are we finished here?” I call out to the producer, who is heading back in my direction with an annoyed expression on her face.
“For the time being,” she says, double-checking her clipboard. “Group shots will be in about half an hour once all the individual team photos are finished.” She throws a look over her shoulder. “Think you can wrangle that partner of yours? We really need to stay on schedule today.”
“Yeah, sure,” I respond, though the words come out strained. “I’ll get him.”
She walks away speaking rapidly into her headset. Tony hasn’t moved, but he’s still filming me, and I know once I go after Lucky, he’ll follow.
The last thing I want is some fake interaction for the cameras, which is exactly what it will be if I attempt to talk to Lucky with Tony in tow. We haven’t said a word to each other since Vegas, but just now in the photoshoot . . .
I close my eyes and breathe out slowly, the phantom graze of Lucky’s fingers on my skin overwhelming me.
I’d given him the okay to touch me, but I wasn’t at all ready for how it would make me feel.
Just the weight of his arm around my shoulders had been enough to make me shiver, goosebumps erupting all across my skin, but when his hand had curved around my hip, tucking me in tight against him, it had taken every ounce of my self-control to not melt against him and bury my face in his chest.
Even with the mess between us, everything I’d admitted to him under the Las Vegas sky was still true. I wasn’t just falling for him. I’d already fallen, and not speaking to him felt just as bad as reading all the horrible comments being posted about me online.
And the look he’d given me during the photoshoot, so full of intensity and longing, had my knees threatening to buckle.
He’d lifted his hand as if he were going to touch my face, but he’d stopped himself, and the deep hurt and disappointment that had filled me was so strong I wasn’t sure if my heart could bear it. It lingered still.
I rub at the ache, as the memory of our fight and all that had gone wrong between us chaffed at the memories of being held by him, the feel of his lips against mine.
It’s like a battle going on in my mind. For every decadent thought—the feel of Lucky’s fingers threaded through mine, the taste of him on my tongue, the strong arms he wrapped around me—there are a dozen intrusive ones—the comments online, the look on Lucky’s face when I’d accused him, the unbearable silence between us.
I wince as the hurt magnifies inside me, forcing my feet into action. I have to find Lucky, but I can’t do it like this, not with my heart in my throat.
Out in the hallway, I push open the door to the ladies room and rush inside. It’s the one place I can be alone, without a camera in my face. The producers won’t follow me in here either.
The room is empty, but I duck into a stall and lock the door before finally letting my face fall.
Tears line my eyes, but I blink them away.
I just press my back into the stall door, breathing in and out slowly until some of the weight bearing down on me lifts.
Everything is still a mess, but I won’t let myself fracture into a thousand pieces—at least not while the cameras are rolling. I have to keep it together.
I take in a few more deep breaths, as the bathroom door squeaks open. I wait a few more minutes until I’m sure I’m not going to crack, and then I make a pretend show of moving my feet and flushing the toilet as I unlock the stall door. The water from the sink is ice cold.
“Hey,” a voice beside me pipes up. It’s Iris.
“Hey,” I say back, though I hardly feel like talking. Things with Iris and I have been a little off, but honestly, I could use a friend right now, someone to talk to. I give her a small smile. She doesn’t return it.
“I just have one question.” She finishes washing her hands and turns to face me. “Did you really think you would get away with it?” The words, sharp and unyielding, come flying at me.
I rip a paper towel from the dispenser. “With what?”
“Pretending to hate Lucky.” Iris flips her hair off her shoulder. “I mean, it was a pretty brilliant plan, I’ll give you that, but the truth has a way of showing up, doesn’t it?” She smirks, her eyes sparkling.
I freeze, but it’s her smug expression that makes the breath catch in my throat. It’s the irony of what she said.
When we first met, Iris had been so nice to me. I thought she was just one of those super sweet people, and I genuinely thought she wanted to be my friend. But that changed once she perceived me as a threat to her in the competition.
I don’t think she wanted to be my friend at all, not really. And all the niceties were just part of the act, the person she pretends to be to get the things she wants. I don’t know the real Iris any more than she knows the real me.
“It doesn’t really matter now,” she continues, reaching past me to grab her own paper towel. “Sean and I are doing really well in the standings, and I know we’ll rock whatever the final challenge is.”
She eyes me once more before breezing out into the hallway, leaving me alone in the bathroom.
I crumple the paper towel in my hands and toss it in the trash.
Part of me wishes I could just hide in the bathroom until the competition is over, but the other part knows better.
People aren’t going to stop talking about me just because I disappear.
Once someone makes you the villain in their story, you’re the villain—whether you deserve it or not.
I leave the bathroom, managing to avoid the cameras as I slip out into the bright sunlight. It doesn’t take long to spot Lucky. He’s sitting on the sidewalk, his arms resting loosely on his knees.
His shoulders are hunched and he’s studying the ground by his shoes. He looks so miserable, it makes my stomach flop. In my mind, all I can see is the wounded look in his eyes when I accused him of orchestrating our viral kiss. I hate it because deep down, I know that he had nothing to do with it.
Just tell him you’re sorry, the tiny voice in the back of my mind urges, but I can’t find the words. I want so badly to make things right between us, but I’m also still frustrated by what he said in Vegas. I don’t know how to navigate this.
I clear my throat. Lucky’s head snaps up, whipping around to look at me.
“Um . . . they need us for the group pictures,” I explain.
“Right.” Lucky breathes out, getting to his feet. “Lead the way.”
He follows me inside, accidently brushing my hand when we walk through the door. We both jump back from the contact.
“Sorry,” Lucky says to me with a grimace.
“It’s okay,” I reply, waving it off like I would if he were just some stranger who bumped into me.
It’s awful how much being polite can feel like a punch to the gut.
The group pictures don’t take long. Lucky and I stand awkwardly next to each other smiling as if nothing ever happened until one of the Starlight producers claps to get our attention.
“Okay, people. We’ve got about an hour till the live show starts.
We’re going to go ahead and take you to the auditorium and get you backstage. If you’ll just follow me.”
Lucky’s eyes meet mine for a split second as he falls into step beside me. His gaze doesn’t linger though, and I hate how much the avoidance hurts.
All I want to do is escape to my hotel room and hide until I feel better, but that’s not possible, so instead I just swallow everything I’m feeling. As broken as Becca Evans is right now, Becca from Smoke and Makeup Mirrors still has a competition to finish.
The Starlight producers lead us out into the main section of the convention center, which is bursting with people.
The din of the crowd is so loud, it bounces off the shiny tile floor, creating an echo that makes it hard to think.
It’s hard to walk, too. The Starlight people are directing us through the crowd, but the narrow pathway they’ve cleared isn’t much, and as soon as people spot us, they began to rush forward, shouting our names as if we were on the red carpet.
“Becca! Becca!” My name shoots towards me in all directions. “Over here, Becca!”
This is it, I tell myself. Showtime. Despite how utterly deflated I feel, I lift my cheeks in the same, practiced smile I use for my videos.
Lucky’s name is being thrown around, as well as the other finalists, who are eating up all the attention.
They’re leaning in for selfies and signing autographs like we’re A-list celebrities at a movie premier.
Ziven especially seems to be living his best life, as he high fives everyone close to him.
Lucky is stiff beside me, but he’s smiling for the fans. He’s not interacting with them like the others, but he waves to everyone who calls his name.
I choose the same approach, trying my best to acknowledge the fans who yell for me, while also keeping a safe distance.
It’s not that I’m not grateful for the people who are supporting me, it’s just that the string holding me together is frayed at best. It’s taking nearly all my willpower to keep it from snapping in two.
We walk on, the crowd only growing as we get closer to the main auditorium.
I’ve never been one to suffer from claustrophobia, but it’s starting to feel like the walls are closing in, like the ceiling is dropping and the air is thinning.
I force breath in through my nose, trying discreetly to blow it slowly out my mouth.
There’s only a short distance left between us and the auditorium. You can make it, I tell myself. Just a few more steps.
And that’s when the booing starts.
It takes me a second to place the sound, but then I see a group of girls glaring at me and Lucky. All three of them are wearing shirts that have TEAM BUCKY printed on them with a big red X over the center.
My cheeks flush and I tear my eyes away, but it’s not just them.
Those three girls have begun to multiply, and soon dozens of angry fans push towards us, yelling and holding up signs.
I suck in a ragged breath, trying to hold it all together.
Their voices all seem to meld together into one terrible voice, screaming, It’s all over for you, Becca!
You might as well kiss that prize money—and whatever hope it gave you—goodbye!
Starlight security rushes over, making sure that no one comes too close, but keeping them physically away from us is one thing. It does nothing to stop the fans from hurling insults. Or me from hearing them.
My heart pounds in my chest and my entire body tenses. I want to run, to just shove past all of these people who think they understand but who really have no idea.
It was bad enough reading their awful comments online, but to have them slinging them at me in person is even worse.
My entire body begins to shake and a whimper escapes as I feel myself losing control.
But then warm fingers wrap around mine. “Easy, Holly G.”
The words float toward me, unexpected but also exactly what I need to hear. My eyes find Lucky’s, and I cling not only to his hand, but to the understanding I see on his face. There’s still pain there. Anger, too. But he’s offering me a lifeline, and I hold on to it with everything I’ve got.
I’m relieved when one of the producers finally opens the door to the auditorium and ushers us through, leaving the crowd outside.
Lucky and I drop hands, pulling apart quickly.
“Thanks for that,” I murmur, my cheeks burning.
He nods once and starts to turn away.
“Lucky?” I blurt out, stopping him. Everything I want to say is on the very tip of my tongue, but his face is unreadable.
“Yeah?”
“I . . . I just—”
“Yo, Lucky!” Ziven waves Lucky over to where he’s standing with Ross and Sean.
Lucky lifts a hand, indicating that he’ll be right there, before looking back at me, eyebrows lifted.
I quickly shake my head, all nerve gone. “Never mind,” I hurry to say and then take off in the opposite direction, tears burning my eyes.