Page 107 of Say Yes to the Nemesis
Because it feels like lying.
You’ve never been good at faking feelings. That’s not a bad thing.
It is when all the bachelorettes are looking at you like you’re their last shot at love.
You’re not a villain. You’re just a dumb hockey player who got dropped into a rom-com and forgot his lines.
I stare at that one for a second.
Yeah, well. The blooper reel’s gonna be brutal.
Don’t worry. You’re still the emotional support himbo of my heart.
I almost smile. Almost.
Today’s group activity is something ridiculous. An obstacle course set up like a Tough Mudder. There’s a mud pit, a climbing wall, a tangle of ropes, and of course, cameras everywhere to catch every fall and flop. At the starting line, the crew is doing their best to rev up the energy, directing contestants like it’s the season finale. Some are buying it.
I’m just here to observe. Stand on the sidelines and pretend I’m not dying inside while Wren army-crawls through sludge like I didn’t have her pressed up against a hotel window three nights ago.
Wren’s terrible at it. She falls twice in the first minute and nearly gets tangled under the net. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from going over to help her. Raven’s right behind, glaring at the mud like it personally insulted her. Everyone’s playing their part, hamming it up for the lens.
Except for Wren. She looks like she’s fighting an entirely different battle. Somehow, she’s still adorable, even when she’s struggling to get back up from the last fall. I catch a flash of crimson in the corner of my eye. Before I know it, she’s back on her feet and moving faster than before, ponytail bouncing through the chaos.
Wren’s the star of the scene. She’s laughing, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder to see who’s catching up, face lit up like she’s having the time of her life. The complete opposite of the weekend, where she couldn’t even fake a smile the last time I saw her.
She’s laughing like it’s easy. Like this means nothing. But I know that laugh. I know when it’s real. This isn’t it.
Unless she’s faking it. Unless she’s trying to play it safe. But why? Why freeze me out when we were finally real?
Now she’s back to acting like she loves every minute of this. The thrill, the competition, the set. I’m the only one who seems to remember how she acted when it was just her and me. Is she really over it already? Over me? Am I the only one still frozen in that hotel room, thinking there was more?
The thought drops like a weight in my gut. What was I expecting? That she’d quit the show for me? Jump into my arms and announce we’re soulmates on national television? I’m the idiot here. She’s right back in the game. I’m the one stuck wondering what’s real and what’s for show.
I’m so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I don’t notice Raven catching up to them. She’s got dirt smeared across her face and a determined look that says she’s not giving up, no matter what kind of craziness happens. Everyone else might be in on the drama, but Raven is laser focused. This is the closest I’ve seen her to having fun since we got back.
I keep my eyes on them, just far enough away that I can pretend her laughter isn’t needling at me. Wren and Raven trade teasing shoves. It feels like Wren’s actually enjoying this. All the mud and madness.
Raven jokes through the whole thing. “If I survive this, I want a drink and a tetanus shot.” I hear her say it and snort.
Raven’s perfect, of course. No surprise there. She takes it like a personal challenge, her blonde ponytail whipping in the wind as she scales the climbing wall without a single hesitation. Raven’s a little ball of athletic fury, an Amazon packed into a five foot two frame. She probably finishes the course in record time.
Meanwhile, JacqLyn is a machine. Loud, strong, and hilarious. She’s barreling through the obstacles, whooping like a cowgirl as she tears through the mud pit. She actually doublesback at one point to help Raven out of the sludge, shouting “Yeehaw!” like she’s riding a bucking bronco.
Divya… refuses to crawl. She stands on the sidelines for a second, hands on her hips, and scowls like someone’s made her touch garbage. Then she literally walks around the obstacle, mud-free and defiant. I swear one of the producers gives her a thumbs-up.
The whole thing’s over in about an hour. To me, it felt like ten. I towel off, even though I wasn’t the one competing. Sweat clings to my back anyway. Watching Wren trip over a tire and mutter “Jesus take the wheel” under her breath was almost too much. My pulse was pounding like I’d run the course myself.
As the crew collects cameras, I can’t stop sneaking looks at Wren, who’s standing in a circle with JacqLyn and Raven. She’s laughing too loud, like she has to convince them and herself again that she’s over me.
After everyone clears out, Rich finds me near the trailers.
“We need to talk about who you’re eliminating,” Rich says, walking right up to me with that smug producer grin, like we’re best buds and nothing’s wrong. Just like that. No lead-up. No easing into it. He gets straight to the point. He’s not subtle about it. Typical. The guy’s relentless. He wants an answer.
I already know what he’s about to say. That I have to choose between cutting Wren and cutting Raven. That the girl I’m sacrificing my sanity for has to be the one I send home. He doesn’t give me a second to breathe before he says it.
“Wren or Raven. They both underperformed.” He crosses his arms over his stupidly defined chest and acts like he’s offering me some great advice.
My jaw tightens. My face probably looks like it belongs on a missing person poster. I don’t say anything. I can’t say anything. I look off toward the catering tent, pretending I didn’t hear him.
