20
MITCHELL
It only takes one thing to change your life. A breath to turn intention to action, a single decision based on a hunch to flip the world so it’s inside out, and one moment to switch what seemed out of reach to a reality.
And you can never go back. You can beg the universe, wish for the clock to turn back. You can rationalize the reasons for what came to pass, but the only thing you can do is to move forward.
Which is why I’m slogging up the hill after an emergency appointment with Adam earlier this afternoon. Sunday’s visitor threw my already floundering trajectory for a loop. All within a ten-minute span after waking from a great night with Bryn, the possibility of having peace in this new life was hit by the artillery of my old life.
But I slipped away without telling Bryn, and I bet she’s losing her shit. I’m already in the doghouse. Ever since Sunday, she’s been in a hell of a mood. Sure, she’s doing the same old things in front of the camera: holding my hand, looking up to smile at me on cue. But those moments when the camera is focused on something else beyond her face? She’s out, closed to me like I’m some salesman at her front door. She won’t speak to me about what’s bothering her.
I march through the rows of the upper vineyard, hindered by leaves that have grown lush in the last week. I’m headed toward the crew, who wanted to end today’s segment with an artistic view of Bryn and me against the vines, and the annual Fourth of July fireworks. I haphazardly tuck my microphone out of sight after clipping it to my shirt, since I took it off for my appointment. Thankfully, I made it to the clearing just in time for dusk to settle. Bryn’s already seated on one of my Adirondack-style chairs, softly lit by Joey’s strategically placed studio lighting.
I bend down and kiss Bryn on the cheek—our customary hello. Except she slyly turns her head away.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yep. How was your afternoon?” Her voice is in her sticky-sweet, camera-ready tone. She stands and heads to the closest vine, as if avoiding me, fussing with the leaves.
It’s like I’m barefoot on a carpet of eggshells, so I turn the conversation to the vineyard. “Good. Productive. Hired a couple of people to help me with the upper vineyard. Want me to show you what we’ve been doing?”
“Sure. Why not?” The look she gives me is impatient. Bored.
I frown. “Okay . . . so, these leaves. We can’t let them get out of control, so we train them to the stake. It’s pretty simple. Take the straying leaves and tuck them under others. Never forceful—we’re easing them to grow in one direction. It also exposes the fruit to the wind, helps dry them out to prevent pests and mold.” Her hands mimic mine, gently tucking leaves under vines. Small bunches of dark green grapes show from underneath. Like uncovering treasure, just seeing them puts a smile on my face. “Look at that. I should have you out here with me more often.”
Under her breath, she sniggers. “So you can leave me hanging like the other morning? No way.”
What the hell? Abruptly, I turn to demand an explanation, but the first firework whistles and explodes in the sky, startling me to silence. The crew signals for us to sit in the chairs, so I squash my thoughts and park myself next to Bryn while Joel photographs us from behind. The studio lights are turned down, and darkness settles around us.
Fireworks light up the sky and shower over our view in a multitude of colors, but I can’t think straight, because apparently I’m being ignored. She’s acting like the Bryn I first met, not the one who’d become my partner. It kills me to remain silent until the crew finishes up and leaves, until she and I are alone with the darkening sky and the spotlights of fireworks.
A fierce gust blows in, and my neck breaks out in goose bumps. I face her. “I hate when you do this, when you fire these one-line insults and refuse to speak to me.”
“Really?” She throws her head back and laughs. “That’s funny. Because you’re the one with all the secrets.”
“Secrets? What the hell are you—” My mind clicks on as a firework fizzles and it lights up her face briefly. “Are you talking about Mercedes?”
“Oh, she has a name? Yes, your old friend. But this isn’t just about her. We almost slept together, and I don’t know who the hell you are. We’re in this in-between place, and it’s complicated, and I hate it. Look, you left me after a night when we . . . you know . . . watched Gilmore Girls. This afternoon, you just upped and disappeared without letting me know where you were going. Not that you need to tell me your schedule, but hell . . . I don’t know . . .”
My response should be to stop her in her tracks because her questioning is out of line. I didn’t come into this “relationship” asking twenty questions about her past. Our agreement was to be with each other when the camera was on. Simple.
And yet, the thought of Bryn with another man causes me to lean over the arms of our chairs. As another firework whistles in the distance, I cradle her face and press my lips onto hers. Because even if we’ve got nothing official, were the tables turned, I would be asking for the truth, too.
The kiss works, and she stares up at me, eyes reflecting light from the last of the fireworks.
I tell her the most basic of truths. “Her name is Sergeant First Class Mercedes Murray, and she and I were deployed together.”
“A deployment fling.”
“No. Not even close.” I shake my head. Discomfort prickles through me, but I peel away another layer of truth. “She was driving through town, and because I hadn’t emailed her back, she decided to stop by. Since it was early, I thought it would be better to talk at my place, you know? But I shouldn’t have left you to wonder, and I’m sorry.”
Her eyes scour my face as she seems to debate what else she wants to ask. “What did she want?”
I hesitate as to how much more I should reveal. Baring myself to Adam had been infinitely easier because counselors and therapists are paid professionals. They don’t see me beyond the walls of their offices. Some anonymity is admittedly a comfort.
I’ve never discussed the details of my deployment with anyone else, not even my brothers. They only know I sought treatment for insomnia, and never pushed for the reason why.
I swallow what feels like rocks in my throat. “Bryn, my Army life is another story, for another time. Is it okay I don’t want to talk about it yet? It’s . . . it’s complicated. But I want you to know nothing underhanded is going on. Nothing mean or sneaky.”
Strands of hair escape from her bandana, and I tuck them back into place out of habit. I reach for her hand. When she entwines her fingers into mine, I relax into her hold as if we can communicate better if we’re connected somehow.
“Okay. I respect that you have things you don’t want to talk about.” Her eyes rise to meet mine and she grins, lifts our clasped hands. “Don’t you think this is weird? We’re supposed to be together for the camera, and yet here we are, holding hands even when they’re gone. And I think we just had our first real fight.”
Silence settles for a beat and the moment is a hundred-pound weight on my shoulders. Because yeah, this is fucking weird and confusing. I’m usually in relationships or out of them, and nothing in between. But I’m not able to put words to it, nor am I willing to risk losing the connection I have with her, as fragile as it is.
Though the thin veil of night has settled around us, I spot an honest smile on her face. I lighten the mood and tug on her arm. “I think the more important question is, did we make up? Am I out of the doghouse? Because I’m dying to find out if Lorelei ends up with Luke. Although I bet things would move along much faster if they all stopped talking once in a while.”
She snatches her hand back and shoves me on the shoulders, giving me that challenging playful look that turns me on. “Hey, buddy, don’t you dare pick on my show. I’m not afraid to throw down.”
The phone in my pocket rings, but before I answer it, I tug her hand back into my grasp. “Hello?”
“The two of you were just so adorbs watching the fireworks,” Levi teases.
And with the sound of my brother’s voice, it’s as if full dark has fallen on us like a curtain. The only lights left are the stars up above and the full moon.
“Shut the fuck up, jerk.” I cover the phone’s microphone and whisper, “Sorry,” to Bryn. Her eyebrows rise, then she shifts to the edge of the seat and points to Paraiso, as if leaving.
“You’re on conference. Laurel and Cody are on the line.”
The vibe of my brother’s voice sends apprehension through me, and I clutch Bryn’s hand. “Conference? Oh, hey, Laurel, Cody.”
Bryn sinks back into the chair.
Laurel speaks first. “I wanted to update all of you regarding the views and ratings, as well as talk about what we need to do to improve them.”
Incoming. If there was ever a time to force everyone onto the same page, it’s now. “Hold up.” I put the phone on speaker. “Laurel, Levi, and Cody, say hello to Bryn.”
A collective gasp resounds through the other lines. Through the light of the phone, I see Bryn mouth oh shit, and I smile despite myself.
“Wh—” Laurel starts to say.
It seems there are times when she’s caught speechless. I speak up. “I decided to tell her about our plan.”
“And are you okay with the plan, Bryn?” Laurel’s words are careful, deliberate.
“Yeah.” Bryn’s tone is placating. She flips the phone off with her pinkies, and I stifle a laugh. “Don’t you think we’re doing a good job? And oh, by the way, I’ll be sure to have my lawyer get in touch with you, to draw up the compensation agreement. Mitchell and I agreed to a fifty-five, forty-five deal.”
“You what?” Levi’s voice is a cannon’s boom.
Cody chimes in. “Holy shit, Mitch. Really?”
I wince—I didn’t think this far ahead. “We can talk about that later, guys. What’s the purpose of this call, Laurel?”
“Yeah, um.” What sounds like the shuffling of paper ensues from her side of the world. “The last two weeks have brought over a million views, with the majority of views in the last week, since you’ve been on the screen, Mitchell.”
“Holy fuck,” we all say, or versions thereof. Bryn’s covering her mouth as if to prevent herself from screaming, and the joy in her face is making all of the shit-fire I’m going to take worth it.
“It’s amazing, really. And the comments, don’t get me started there. Viewers have really grown to fall in love with Mitchell, and how quote ‘sexy and kind’ you are. And Bryn, you’re the heroine everyone’s wanted. Viewers think you’re fearless. It’s a phenomenal start, that’s for sure. But to sustain them, you both need to escalate the relationship.”
I shake my head. “Why?”
“We’ve raised the bar,” Bryn answers. Resignation crosses her face as she pushes the hair from her eyes. Fog has crawled into the clearing, foreboding and gloomy. “What we’re doing isn’t enough for them.”
“I mean, is it really horrible to be around each other?” Laurel asks.
“No,” I spit out. It’s not about being with Bryn, but being with Bryn more. Putting ourselves in potentially compromising situations where I can’t keep my hard-on to myself. If it’s already confusing now . . . “But what are you all expecting? It’s not going to be like Big Brother, is it? Because I won’t agree to that.”
“I can’t have that either,” Bryn says, mouth close to the phone speaker.
“No, but you can kiss on camera every once in a while. Or all the time. Look, you’ve got about five weeks left before the opening. Let the intensity grow, if not in a physical way, then in an emotional way. Maybe—and just hear me out on this—maybe our camera can follow you to pick out flowers at a local greenhouse. Don’t you need to pick up some supplies? Go to the Home Warehouse together. In fact? Why not do it tomorrow? I can arrange the logistics with the store from our end. Our viewers want to think you all are going to have a happily ever after, like the house, you know? A transformation on all fronts.”
Bryn’s eyebrows are scrunched into worry. Little do Laurel and my brothers know it’s not because we can’t do this, because we have. But we’re worried whether we can do so without fucking things up.
“They’ll do it,” a voice belts out.
“Levi.” Cody’s voice is admonishing.
“Mitchell. Bryn. Everything you’re doing is producing a return. Imagine a bigger return. Imagine a following that will get not only customers into the retreat, but business into the vineyard, too. We can’t ask for better odds, especially now that we know it’s working. The answer is pretty easy and clear.”
“Easy and clear for you because it’s not your privacy we’re playing with,” Bryn says.
Levi chokes out a laugh. Cody whistles in the background. Yeah, brother, she won’t be pushed around. “True, true. I give you that. But you’ve also got the opportunity of a lifetime. This is guaranteed money. Will you really say no to it?”
Bryn looks at me with eyes that mirror my thoughts. My brother’s damn convincing. But what we risk is our self-respect. Our honesty. The thing we talked about our last night together—integrity for ourselves and for our businesses. In my former life, trust was everything. Transparency was nonnegotiable. Just as I trust a fellow soldier to take a bullet for me, he can trust my word. And ramping up this romance online, to purposely put images in viewers’ heads that there’s more to us than a budding relationship—which we are, for all intents and purposes—is fucking wrong.
But she nods at the same time I do, because we come to the same conclusion. In our cases, if we refuse, we are saying no to survival.
And without being able to survive, then what’s the point of all of this?