Page 79 of Groomsman to Groom

“Promise.”

As she walks me to the door, Paisley suddenly pulls me into another fierce hug. “Mom would be so proud of you,” she whispers. “For putting yourself out there, for taking risks. And she’d be even prouder of how you’re handling this. Don’t forget that, okay?”

The mention of our mother brings more tears to my eyes. Her last coherent words to me were about a screenplay I was struggling with: “Trust the story, Bri. It knows where it needs to go.”

“I miss her,” I whisper into Paisley’s shoulder.

“Me too. Every day.” She pulls back, wiping away a tear. “But she’s here, in us. In how we love each other. In how we keep going.”

I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

Back in my car, I sit for a long moment, gathering strength. The visit with Paisley has shifted something in me—not healed the wound, but maybe cleaned it, made space for eventual healing. The pain is still there, razor-sharp and insistent, but now there’s something else too. A tiny flame of determination. A whisper of the woman I was before Hayes Burke broke my heart on upcoming national television.

By the time I return to my apartment, it’s nearly midnight. I move through the space with new purpose. I clean up the broken glass in the sink. I unpack one bag, leaving the rest for tomorrow. I shower, washing away the day and the last physical traces of theGroomsman to Groommansion.

Then I sit at my kitchen table, open my laptop, and stare at the blank document before me. My fingers hover over the keys, trembling. Tears still stain my cheeks, but there’s a steely resolve in my reflection on the darkened screen.

I begin to type.

Not the nextHallucination AIepisode for a hopeful season three, not yet. Instead, I write what I know—a woman taking apart and reassembling her heart after it’s been shattered on national television. A story about vulnerability and strength, about how the most painful endings sometimes lead to unexpected beginnings.

It pours out of me—raw, unfiltered emotion transformed into words on a page. It probably won’t ever see the light of day, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m writing again. What matters is that while Hayes may have broken my heart, he hasn’t broken my spirit.

I’ll call my bosses tomorrow. I’ll face social media and the gossip sites when it’s time. I’ll eventually watch the episodes and see how our story was edited for maximum drama. I’ll endure the pity and the judgment and the inevitable hot takes on my elimination.

But tonight, I’m taking back my narrative. One word at a time.

Hayes Burke may have written our ending on his terms, but I’m writing what comes next on mine.

29

Sailing On

HAYES

I’m back in St. Sebastian, as it’s a paradise constructed for romance—crystal waters so clear you can count grains of sand twenty feet down and sunsets that bleed pink and gold across the horizon. It should be perfect. I should be happy. Like the day I took the moonlight walk with Brielle when we were both here months ago.

Instead, I’m a ghost, going through the motions while my mind keeps replaying one moment on an endless loop: Brielle’s face as I handed the final key to Luna. The betrayal in her eyes. The tear I couldn’t stop from escaping. The words I wasn’t supposed to say.I love you, but there were just too many things working against us.

Four days. It’s been four days since I sent Brielle home, and the wound somehow feels fresher. The production team whisked us from Atlanta to this island paradise with barely time to breathe, let alone process. It’s time for the fantasy suite dates with Serena, Annabelle, and Luna. The overnight intimacy that makes viewers’ imaginations run wild while contestants dance around the did-they-or-didn’t-they speculation for years to come.

I adjust my linen shirt in the mirror of my beachfront villa. The producers have me in blue today “to match the ocean and your eyes,” the stylist said.

A knock at the door signals it’s time. I open it to find Tanya with a clipboard and an eager smile.

“Ready for your big date with Serena?” she chirps, checking something off her list.

“As I’ll ever be.” The enthusiasm in my voice non-existent.

“Great! Darren wants to remind you this is your first one-on-one with Serena, so really lean into the ‘why now’ conversation. It’s good tension.”

Good tension. Right. Because what makes great television is explaining to a beautiful woman why I’ve ignored her until there were only three contestants left.

The truth is that I was always compelled—or required—to pick someone else. But at least I respect Serena—she’s smart and beautiful, and from what I’ve seen, loyal to a fault. Even after the truth came out about Brielle and my prior meeting, Serena stepped forward with quiet support and a complete lack of drama that felt like oxygen in a room full of smoke.

But I can’t say that on camera. I can’t say anything real anymore.

“I’ve got some talking points prepared,” I assure Tanya, who nods and leads me toward the waiting golf cart.

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