Chapter Thirty-Four
What the actual fuck happened last night?” I groggily roll over to find Blue standing over me waiting for an answer. I look around and see I’m the only one sleeping in the shack.
“Where’d the new arrivals sleep? Did they take my room in the mansion? Are they shacked up?” Then I laugh bitterly because I’m the only one who’s literally shacking up.
“Are you still drunk?” Blue asks as he pokes me with his foot. Then he looks horrified when he sees that the floors are so dirty that he left a footprint on my butt. I just shrug. I deserve worse than sleeping in dirt.
“Nope. You sober up pretty quickly when you self-implode.” I cover my face, not ready for the harsh light of day.
“Well, you better wake your ass up if you want to triage the damage.”
“The damage is done,” I say from inside my bedroll of depression.
But Blue is not done battling for my soul. “You need to get off this gross-ass floor and to the production trailer ASAP. Andrew just got here to pick up his stuff, and I overheard Kristina telling him he may want to look over the footage from last night before he leaves.”
“Shit!” I jump up. “He’s going to see me kissing Javier!”
“Probably should’ve thought of that before you kissed Javier,” Blue says, and I can hear the disappointment in his voice. “But we might still be able to run interference.”
I don’t bother changing out of my pajamas.
I just start sprinting toward the trailers, ignoring the throbbing in my ankle.
It’s one thing for Andrew to hear about what happened but having to watch me kiss Javi just seems like a slap in the face.
He doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve any of this.
“Why is Kristina so bent on ruining my life?” I huff as I run.
“Because you undermined her all those times you stood up for the cast and the crew?” Blue guesses. “And also, ratings.”
I don’t know who’s more out of shape, me or Blue, because we’re both panting by the time we get there.
“I don’t run for just anyone,” Blue puffs as we open the trailer.
I rush inside, yelling, “Andrew!,” but then I stop dead in my tracks. Because there, on five different monitors, is me—kissing Javier.
“There she is! One half of America’s favorite couple!” Kristina says gleefully.
Behind her, I see an editor and Brett, the executive producer. And next to them is Andrew. My heart sinks. I’m too late.
His face is pale, but his eyes shine with emotion. Anger? Sadness? Hatred?
Kristina continues: “I was just filling everyone in on last night’s developments. How you and Javier rekindled your relationship and are officially a couple now.” Even if she’s just trying to get back at me for filing a complaint against her, she’s evil.
Brett looks at me, impressed. “Wow, that happened fast. Didn’t think you had it in you.”
Andrew says quietly, looking at the monitor, “Me neither.”
The kiss plays again on the monitor, and I shout, “Turn it off! Please!”
Andrew looks at me with hurt in his eyes, then grabs a bank box full of personal items. “Well, I don’t work here anymore,” he says, and I can’t help but feel like it’s an accusation. “I should go.” Then he marches out of the trailer.
I don’t even bother trying to be discreet as I run out after him. “Andrew! Wait!”
He stops at the bottom of the stairs and turns to me. “Did you have a thing for Javier this whole time?” he asks, his eyes searching mine. “Why didn’t you tell me . . . before?”
My stomach drops, because I know he’s not just questioning me, but himself and what happened between us. Like maybe he was wrong in thinking that our date was incredible and we have a real connection. It kills me to see him rewriting our story as he stands here in front of me.
I open my mouth to confess, to tell him everything—that the kiss with Javier didn’t mean anything, that the producers made me do it, that I have real feelings for him. But then I see Kristina watching us from inside the trailer, her arms crossed. And my hands fall to my sides in defeat.
If I come clean now, it will have all been for nothing.
She’ll kick me off the show and I’ll have used Javier, betrayed Ciara, upset Madison, and hurt Andrew .
. . for what? A couple weeks as a reality TV show contestant?
I still haven’t raised enough money and publicity.
I still haven’t saved my lab and my friends’ jobs.
And even if I found a way to tell him, I’d be just like all the other fake-ass contestants he didn’t feel compatible with.
As I stand there with my heart breaking, Andrew waits for my explanation. And all I can say is, “I’m sorry.”
He looks at me like he’s waiting for something more. There’s no teasing twinkle in his eyes, no specks of gold glinting in the sun. They’re just sad as he shakes his head. “I am too,” he says. Then he walks away.
It takes everything I have not to cry as I watch him leave. Or maybe I’m just all cried out. I’ve wept more this week than I have in the past twenty-nine years combined.
I refuse to even glance in Kristina’s direction before I storm off. I don’t want to be around producers or contestants or cameras. I don’t want to lounge by a pool or drink at the beach. I just want to wallow in my murder shack. Alone.
But apparently Blue doesn’t get the memo.
I hear him enter moments after I’ve collapsed onto my bedroll. I cover my head with the pool towel I stole to use as a sheet. “Go away.”
“I’d be nicer to the one friend you have left.”
“Go away, please.”
He takes the towel off my head and looks at me sympathetically. “That was dramatic back there. You okay?”
I moan. “I fucked everything up, Blue.”
He snorts. “I gathered that. Let me guess, you had a great date with Andrew, like I thought. You realized you actually like him, and then Kristina made you go after Javi for ratings and her own sadistic revenge, but told you not to tell anyone or she’d kick you off the show.
And now you feel like shit because Ciara hates you, Andrew hates you, and you hate yourself for using Javi, who remains clueless. ”
I sit up and look at him, impressed. “Yep, that’s pretty much it.”
He looks me square in the eyes. “So what are you going to do about it?”
I lie back down. “Go back to bed and hope being on a reality show was all just a bad dream.”
“You’re not Wizard of Oz–ing your way out of this one, Toots. Plus, Kristina sent me to get you for a confessional.”
“I can’t. I’m sick.”
“Nice try. You used that excuse last night.”
“Then it’ll be believable! We’ve established I have a weak constitution. And it’s not technically a lie because I do feel sick to my stomach.”
“It’s the swirling combination of self-hatred and depression,” he says wisely. Once again, he nailed it.
“You should be a doctor.”
He shakes his head. “I enjoy recreational drugs too much.”
“I can’t do it, Blue. I can’t face Madison. I can’t put on a happy face for Javi and the cameras. I don’t have it in me. Please just let me wallow.”
He sighs. “Fine, I’ll figure out a way to cover for you. But only because I still like you and I’ve never seen anything sadder in my life.” And with that, he leaves me wrapped in my self-pity and a pool towel.
I don’t know how much time has passed when I feel a hand gently shaking me awake. “Grace. Grace, honey.” I must be dreaming because it sounds like the way my mom used to wake me up when I was a little girl. I blearily open my eyes to see a mirage.
Weird, it looks like my mom too. I reach out to touch her face.
“Careful, don’t mess up my makeup!”
My eyes shoot open. “Mom? What are you doing here?”
“Blue snuck us in,” my mom replies casually, as if she breaks into reality TV mansions all the time.
“Us?” I ask, looking around.
Just then my brother Matt pops his head in, looking around before he enters, hands in his pockets. “Sweet shack.”
I sit up, still groggy and confused. “Why are you here?”
My mom looks at me like it should be obvious. “Blue said you needed help, so here we are.”
Matt plops down next to me. “We came to rescue you, dumbass.”
“And how are you going to do that?”
“We still need to figure that part out,” he admits.
“Your father and Jesse are on standby ready to help too,” my mom says brightly.
“They are?” I ask, still not registering what’s going on.
“Yep! Just let us know what you need, honey, and we’ll do it.”
I stare at my mom and brother in a combination of shock and affection.
“You all want to help me?” The self-loathing that’s been circulating through my veins the past twenty-four hours is making this hard to believe.
“But . . . but . . . I don’t deserve your help.
All I ever do is judge you guys.” I turn to my brother.
“Or insult you to your face. Half the time I’m too embarrassed to even tell people we’re related. ”
“Try having a sister who’s a boring-ass scientist. I usually just say you’re adopted,” my brother teases.
My mom pats my hand. “Gracie, you weren’t the only one who was judgy or has made mistakes.
I’m sorry I thought I knew what was best for your love life and signed you up for the show without asking you first. From now on, I’ll try really hard not to interfere.
” She sighs loudly like she’s trying not to cry.
“I just love you so much and want you to be happy.”
I let that sit there. Because wow. My mom never apologizes.
And she has never admitted that she ignores my boundaries.
I don’t know if it’s her admission or the cumulative effect of the past few days, but when she pulls me into a hug I happily lean in.
And that’s when it dawns on me: Despite my mom’s larger-than-life online persona, she’s only human.
Have I been too tough on her? Because even when she was annoying the crap out of me, I always knew she thought she was helping. She just can’t stop her extra-ness. That would be like asking the sun not to shine.
I make a note to research whether what I’m experiencing is radical acceptance as Matt wraps his arms around both of us. “And I’m sorry for always making fun of your job,” he says with an apologetic smile. “Now that I’m learning more about what you do, it’s actually pretty cool.”
“What?” I say with a sputtering laugh in the middle of the group hug. “Is this really happening?” After twenty-nine years, I’m finally bonding with my family . . . in a shack in Malibu.
Until Matt ruins it by saying, “So Ciara is single now? She’s hot.”
I push him away from me with a newly discovered sisterly fondness. “Yeah, don’t remind me. I made a mess of everything. I’m the worst,” I sigh.
Matt shrugs. “I accidentally sent a dick pic to my ex last week,” he says, trying to one-up me into feeling better.
“I spelled Chrissy Teigen’s name wrong when I DMed her,” my mom admits.
“Jesse’s online girlfriend dumped him because he wanted to meet in person,” Matt adds with a wince.
“Your father made a shirt that said ‘Two Pump Guy’ and didn’t understand why it was funny,” my mom says with a giggle.
I burst out laughing. “What did he think it meant?”
“Lifting weights with both hands at once.”
When I stop laughing, I say sincerely, “Thanks for that. I might actually feel like a Lambert for once.”
“Oh Gracie,” my mom says affectionately, “you’ve always been a Lambert. You’re just smarter than the rest of us.”
“Yeah, you’re the smart one, I’m the buff one, Jesse’s the techie one, Mom’s the stylish one, and Dad . . . well, he’s just Dad.”
I laugh at that. And then start laughing even harder in incredulity. Is it possible that while I’ve felt like an outcast my whole life, they saw me as one of their own? That we’re all just Lamberts in our own way?
“Now stop being all mopey and let’s get to work,” Matt says.
I feel a warmth of gratitude flood my body. I can’t believe how much I needed this—clearing the air with them and even the unexpected group hug. I nod at them. “Let’s do this. Let’s unfuck my life!”