Page 131 of Say Yes to the Nemesis
I need to talk to Wren. Need to warn her that our secret isn’t as secret as we thought. But first, I need to figure out how to protect her from the storm that’s coming.
It started as a stupid reality television show. Now I’m standing here rehearsing what I’m going to say to Wren when I tell her how much she means to me… and praying she doesn’t walk away.
Because Rich is right about one thing. When this all comes out, the fallout is going to be massive.
thirty-six
RYAN
My phone buzzes justas I’m finishing up another pointless conversation with Rich about “opening up emotionally for the cameras.” I glance down and see Coach T’s name on the screen.
Thinking about you, kid. Hope you’re remembering what we talked about. You deserve good things. Ellie’s doing great, by the way. Says to tell you she’s proud of you.
I stare at the message for a long moment, something tight loosening in my chest. Coach always knows exactly when to reach out, like he has some sixth sense for when I’m spiraling. The reminder about Ellie being safe, being proud of me… it hits harder than it should.
I type back quickly:
Thanks, Coach. Needed to hear that today.
His response comes almost immediately:
Trust your gut. And stop overthinking everything.
Trust your gut. Easier said than done when your gut is telling you to do something that could blow up your entire life. But Coach has never steered me wrong before.
I pocket my phone and go looking for Wren.
I find her in the kitchen, washing dishes that she definitely didn’t use. It’s one of her nervous habits, cleaning things when she’s stressed. She does it at Jay’s house, too, scrubbing counters that are already spotless when she’s anxious about something.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
She looks up. I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her mouth is set in a thin line. “Hey yourself.”
“You okay?”
“Peachy. Just enjoying the lovely evening conversation with my housemates about what a fraud I am.”
I move closer, lowering my voice even though there’s no one else around. “They’re just scared. They can see which way this is going and they don’t like it.”
“Can they? Because I sure as hell can’t.”
She turns back to the dishes, scrubbing a plate with more force than necessary. I want to touch her, to pull her into my arms and tell her everything’s going to be okay. But we’re in the common area of the house and there are cameras everywhere.
“Meet me upstairs in ten minutes,” I murmur. “Third door on the right. It’s empty.”
She doesn’t turn around, but I see her nod slightly.
The unused bedroom is small and sparse, clearly meant for crew or storage rather than contestants. But it has a lock on the door and no cameras, which makes it perfect for what I need right now.
Wren slips in exactly ten minutes later, closing the door softly behind her and turning the lock. She leans against it for a moment, her eyes closed.
“This is insane,” she says.
“I know.”
“We’re going to get caught.”
“Probably.”
