Page 151 of Repairing the Wreckage

The rest of the week goes by fast. I spend a few days at Jerry’s helping him get caught up on paperwork that he’s neglected. I take Molly’s advice and call Venom to catch up and to talk about what might happen at the reunion. His take: nothing good.

Every night I talk to Molly for at least a few minutes before she goes to bed, and she sends me texts and selfies throughout the day.

It’s not quite the way things were before I left. Actually, except for her being an hour away, things are even better than before.

At the back of my mind, I can’t help wondering if the reunion will be the thing that tears everything apart.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Griff

Supreme Fighter mansion—the last place I wanted to return. The actual “reunion” show is being taped at a studio tomorrow. But we were all asked to meet at the mansion the night before to “get into the same head space.” If that isn’t a red flag that we’re being led into a trap, I don’t know what is.

They offered to send a car for us. I declined.

Molly was too nervous about navigating the busier roads of downstate New York, so I’m behind the wheel of her car.

“It says it’s seven hundred feet ahead on our right.” Molly points at the windshield.

The car’s GPS system announces the same information a second later.

“None of this looks familiar,” I grumble, staring at the perfect green lawns and glimpses of estates hiding behind high privacy walls and iron gates.

“You were in a high pressure, disoriented state when you arrived?—”

“And barely conscious when I left.” I slow the car and make the turn through the wide-open gates. “The day they let us ride the motorcycles, I was too worried about the camera crew in front of me and the other vehicles behind me.”

I guide the SUV into a parking spot close to the gate. Several other cars are already here. The detestable prison-style vans they carted us around in are nowhere to be seen.

“Wow.” Molly stares out the window at the sprawling mansion. “It’s…even bigger in person. And kinda tacky, honestly. All it’s missing is a big, gaudy fountain of cherubs out front.”

She nailed in five minutes what it took me weeks to figure out that I didn’t like about the place. “Inside’s not quite as bad.”

“You know Hayden looked it up.” Molly presses a finger to the glass. “They actually used this place in another crappy reality show.”

“Makes sense. It’s probably a tax write-off for some douchebag.”

I step out of the car and walk around to open her door. The crisp, late autumn air feels good on my face after the long drive.

“I’ll grab our stuff later.” Once I’m sure we’re staying.

I glance at the open gates and pat the car keys in my pocket to reassure myself I’m free to leave at any time. This time they’ll have to pry my license and cell phone from my cold, dead hands. I never want to feel trapped like that again.

Molly curls her fingers around mine. Love for her and overwhelming desire to keep her safe thrums through me.

“Ready?” she asks.

“No.” I stare at the huge mansion, its opulence hiding the ugly truth—it’s nothing more than a giant shark tank. Inside those walls, blood and lies triggered a feeding frenzy of cameras to capture every moment for someone else’s entertainment. “You should take the car and go home. Leave me here. I should’ve listened to Remy.”

What the fuck was I thinking, dragging Molly into this sick world where everyone has a hidden agenda we can’t even guess? I’m supposed to protect Molly, not bring more chaos into her life.

I suffered through drama, isolation, and exploitation in this house for months. But I agreed to it. Molly didn’t. She’s doing this for me. All because I admitted I basically want to come here waving my middle finger at everyone. Sure, the money’s an incentive but it’s not worth whatever falsehoods the producers have cooked up in their relentless pursuit of sensational content.

“No.” She stares up at me with determination shining in her blue eyes. “They used me too. Projected a persona onto me without ever letting me speak for myself. I want to do this. Show people I’m an actual person. Not a naive little girl who can’t think for herself.”

“Whatever we say, they’ll just twist it to fit their story. There’s no ‘reality’ here.”

She shifts her gaze to the house. “I know. But I’ve been silent for months. Even if it doesn’t go the way we want, at least I’ll know I tried to speak up for myself.”

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