Page 89 of Winging It with You

“Go home, Clint,” I say quietly. I’m emotionally drained and embarrassed and need to find Theo. “There’s nothing for you here.”

As he’s escorted off the stage, I walk in the opposite direction after Theo. I have no idea where he’s run off to but I have to find him.

“Asher, wait…I don’t even know what to say,” Jo whispers as she quickly catches up to me. “I am so sor—”

“I really don’t want to hear it, Jo,” I mutter without stopping or looking at her. I can guarantee that Jo had absolutely no knowledge of what just took place, but I am so exhausted and all I want to do is put as much distance between me and this stupid show as humanly possible. “If you care about me at all, just let me go.”

She puts our friendship, if you can even call it that, before the show and lets me walk alone through the complicit crew members.

Where are you, Theo?

25

Theo

Mahagiri Resort Nusa Lembongan

Bali, Indonesia

I feel like I’m going to be sick.

One, for being subjected to that disgusting, demeaning public reunion.

And two, for allowing myself to actually believe there was a chance Asher had feelings for me. Real, genuine feelings.

But seeing Clint show up like that and get down on one knee, and watching Asher contemplate his proposal, was all too much. The lack of an immediate and hard no from Asher very abruptly reminded me that Asher probably hadn’t fully moved on. And now that Clint wanted him back, whatever we had been building toward didn’t mean much in comparison.

No one tried to stop me when I ran offstage. They all just let me go, either in solidarity or secondhand embarrassment. Now I’m running as fast as I can, faster than I’ve run in my entire life, to put as much distance between myself andthemaspossible—past all the excess camera equipment and lighting boxes.

When I finally make it to the row of parked vehicles, Arthur, who’s leaning against our van, making no effort to hide the lit cigarette between his lips like he normally does, says nothing when I rip open the passenger-side door.

He rounds the van and silently gets in the driver’s seat. “Where to?”

“The airport.”

“You sure about that, son?”

Arthur isn’t a man of many words—it’s something I’ve come to appreciate about him, because far too often, people feel the need to fill every single second with the sound of their own voice. Not Arthur. He speaks when he has something important to say…no more, no less.

“Please just drive.”

And he does. We sit in silence as he pulls away from the set. Away from Asher and everything we have worked toward the last several weeks. Away from the prize money and the interviews and everything that comes with being on a reality competition show.

Away from the heartbreak.

Because that’s what this ache in my chest is, right? Total and utter heartbreak? Not to be confused with the debilitating humiliation I feel or the embarrassment washing over me when I think about Asher with Clint.

No, this is most certainly heartbreak—something I’ve strived to avoid feeling for a long time, and despite every intention ofnotfalling for Asher, I did, and I’ll never forgive myself.

It frightens me to think about how quickly I allowed myselfto get wrapped up in Asher. This competition, despite the thrills and the grueling obstacles, showed me that I could open up to someone. That I was capable of letting them in and sharing parts of me that I’d convinced myself were better off hidden away.

I allowed myself to believe I was worthy of love.

But none of that matters now because I’m sure Asher and Clint have already rekindled whatever was left of their toxic relationship, and everyone is swooning over this made-for-TV fairy-tale moment.Dalton must be loving this.

Arthur glances away from the road in my direction.

I hold his gaze a beat longer than usual before looking away, turning to the window and the city passing by. I hear a light sigh escape him before he clears his throat.

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