Page 42 of Playing With My Heart Strings

“I remember you talking about them on our solo date at the record store. How they used to sing together.” I’m hoping I’m not pushing too hard, but to my relief, she relaxes and her shoulders drop as if she let go of all the tension in her body.

“Music was a staple in our household growing up. My parents taught me how to play guitar and my mom…” she trails off. “My mom had this journal that she passed down to me. It’s filled with songs she wrote. She’s why I fell in love with songwriting. Lyrics have always…called to me, though. Songwriting is like poetry, there’s something so beautiful about it. Even the most haunting lyrics have beauty.” When she speaks, her eyes brighten, and I feel like I’m seeing Baylor in an entirely new light.

My fingertips wander from my thigh until they come to rest on her leg. She looks down then back up at me.

“Is this okay?” I ask, ready to pull back if needed, but she nods.

“Yeah, that’s okay.”

“I’m really glad you shared that with me, about the songwriting and lyrics. Thank you for trusting me with that.”

“You trusted me with your story about your parents,” she murmurs. We’re close enough that if I were to lean forward slightly, our noses would touch. “You showed me a new side of you tonight, Dusty Wilder. I know the media portrays you in a certain light, but I hope everyone sees the person I can see—the hardworking, generous one—after all this is over.”

We talk a while longer, at some point moving so we’re lying above the covers next to each other on the bed.

I’m staring up at the ceiling when I hear a soft snore next to me. I roll over, and sure enough, Baylor has fallen asleep.

Careful not to wake her, I get up from the bed and walk over to her side. As I lean down, I plant a delicate, lingering kiss on her forehead. She doesn’t wake, but I swear there’s a hint of a smile as I whisper, “Good night, Baylor,” and quietly sneak out.

16

baylor

Locked In

“Tonight,you’ll all be competing in a team challenge.” Jarrod walks into the briefing room at the production studio where we’re all waiting for Dusty—who I haven’t been able to get off my mind since last night. “You’ll be divided into teams of three. The winning team will earn immunity from this week’s elimination. Only one person from the losing team will be eliminated based on viewer voting, instead of being saved. If you’re all ready, we’ll head out and meet Dusty there.”

After a few nods, we gather our belongings and follow Jarrod out to the sleek, black vans waiting for us.

I climb into the front car, and Valerie and Aspen—unfortunately—follow.

Lord help me if I have to be on a team with her. We will definitely not be winning the challenge if that’s the case.

Valerie sits in the front seat, which leaves me and Aspen sitting next to each other in the back.

Lovely.

The drive is silent, however, which half puts me at ease and half makes me more anxious for this team challenge we’re participating in. I’m not quite sure what to expect.

About thirty minutes later, the car pulls to a slow stop in front of a large, dilapidated warehouse-looking building.

“What the fuck are we doing?” Aspen murmurs.

We move to get out of the car, but the driver stops us.

“Ladies, before you go, I was instructed to give you these to put on.” He extends his hand, and in it are three small, black blindfolds.

I give Valerie a sidelong glance as I reluctantly take the blindfold and tie it around my head. The fabric is opaque, and there’s no chance that I’ll be seeing anything, unlike some blindfolds that give you a bit of leeway and allow you to see through the fabric or shift your eyes downward to see the floor.

When we exit the vehicle, footsteps approach and a hand firmly grasps my arm before a producer identifies themselves. There’s mumbling coming from beside me, through a radio it seems, but the sound is too muffled for me to hear.

We walk for what feels like a long time, moving down long stretches only to take a sharp turn and go straight again. There are a few sets of stairs that we climb, but thankfully, the producer guiding me warns me about them so I don’t trip over my own feet. After a few more turns and long hallways, we stop. Keys jingle next to me, and then I’m walking a few more feet before being sat in a chair.

My heart pounds in my chest as handcuffs bind my wrists behind my back and the metal clicks into place.

Did we get in the wrong vehicle? Did we get kidnapped? Is this some sick joke?

Someone takes off my blindfold, but it doesn’t matter anyway. We’re surrounded by darkness.

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