Page 88 of Playing With My Heart Strings

The clock is running down, and the stage screen behind us shows the running tally of results.

Sage, then me.

Then Sage. Then me.

Fifteen agonizing minutes pass, and despite Aspen’s outburst and exposing me on live television, the results readBaylor - 55%, Sage - 45%.

“Congratulations, Bay. I knew you’d make it. Prove them all wrong, okay?” She looks at me with glassy eyes, and I hug her before she gives one final wave to the crowd and walks off stage.

I’m left to join Katherine and Valerie. They both give me looks of acknowledgment. I’m unsure what their thoughts are. What Aspen said isn’t false, but she also painted herself as the villain of the group from the very beginning.

All that matters is a conversation between me and Dusty. But the minute the cameras stop rolling, he gives me a defeated look and rushes off stage.

35

dusty

Playing With My Heart

My mind swarmswith disbelief over Aspen’s revelation that Baylor was a setup, a plant. That she was the mystery girl because the production companychose to have her come on the show. Even if I thought Aspen was lying at first, trying to get her fifteen minutes of fame, I couldn’t ignore the response from the crew. If she was just trying to get attention, I have to believe they wouldn’t have panicked like they did.

The minute the director yells cut and the live broadcast shuts down, I push past everyone on stage and walk off, pressing my hands against my temples, willing it all to be some kind of sick joke. Maybe this was all a prank and I’m onPunk’dright now. I know it’s been a long-ass time since the show ended, but maybe they’re bringing it back. The camera crew out there was all fake and the real crew will jump out at any moment.

Fuck.

“Dusty! Wait, Dusty, please, just hear me out.” Baylor runs off stage after me, grabbing my forearm.

I spin around to face her, tearing my arm out of her grip. “What, Baylor? What is there to hear out?” My eyebrows draw together as I back away from her. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time!”

“I know. And I’m sorry. This truly isn’t what I had intended to happen.” Her lip trembles, and I have to force myself to look away from her deep-brown eyes. Eyes I’ve looked into so many times, seen them brimming with lust and what I thought was love. I’ve been a damn fool.

I clench my jaw and through gritted teeth force out the question I’m scared to ask. “Was any of this real to you, or was it all a game?” I don’t give her time to answer before I fire another one. “How long have you been playing with my heart, Baylor? Tell me the truth.”

She’s silent, her head hung and shoulders slumped, and that should be all I need. The lack of a response should be enough for me to leave and never look back, tell Colette St. James that I want her gone. But I can’t. I want—no,need—an answer from her. Something. Anything but what I heard out on that stage.

“Tell me, dammit!” I feel awful for yelling at her, butfuck, I thought I was falling in love with her.

No, Iwasfalling in love. Just not with the person I thought she was.

“It was never a game to me, Dusty. Yeah, in the beginning I didn’t want to be on the show, I was doing it to save my job, but that’s not the case now. Please believe me.”

Fuck. That’s how it was for me in the beginning, too, wasn’t it? I didn’t want to be here either. But how am I supposed to continue this, not knowing if every connection I’ve made so far has also been a lie? What does it mean when the one woman I can actually see a future with has been lying to me for weeks? Sure, there’s still Katherine and Valerie, but with Baylor it is—was—different.

Everything in me is screaming to grab her, pull her close, and crash my lips to hers. Forget everything that happened out on stage and believe her over Aspen.

But. I. Can’t.

Pain over her betrayal and yearning for her war against each other in my brain, but the betrayal wins out, cutting like a knife.

“I’m sorry,” I grit out. And then I do the cowardly thing and walk away. I don’t look back as I leave her standing alone in the middle of the hustle and chaos of the film crew.

I don’t look back as I call a car to take me to the hotel, and I sure as hell don’t answer the door to my room when several people knock on it throughout the night.

I need time. Space.

I guarantee that’s not what the producers want, but it’s not about them. It’s never been about the fucking TV show. I know it, and they know it.

Tomorrow, we’ll fly back to Nashville.

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