CHAPTER THIRTEEN ERIK

Day Forty-Two

D rew and I went to bed with full stomachs for the first time in weeks, but we didn't sleep. I was freezing all night, and the knot in my stomach tightened as the morning came. Drew wasn't himself. He was quiet and distant, but what did I really know? I boiled a pot of water and prepared instant coffee by the fire, reloading the cooling embers after a night of poor sleep. I wish I could read his mind. This was out of my element.

Drew remained on the bed of cedar bows with his hands behind his head, staring at the tent's blue ceiling. There was a sense of gloom hovering above him.

"You're awfully quiet this morning," I said. "Last night too."

"I have a lot on my mind," he replied, offering no additional information of why he was acting differently.

"Is that why your on-camera wrap-up was so short?" I pressed. "We usually share the screen and play off one another," I added.

"The shows over," he muttered. "Nothing more to say."

"Yeah, I get that, but we're still here. What about us? What happens now?" I asked, feeling like I'd known this would be the outcome once reality set in.

"I'm not sure," he said, sitting up. His eyes trained through the tent opening and on the beautiful morning, but I doubted he was seeing it.

"How about I make things easy on you and agree to be on my way later today with no drama?" I suggested. "I'll see you at the reunion show in a couple of weeks, and then we move on with our separate lives."

Still nothing—not even a "kiss my ass." His silence was starting to piss me off. Calm down , I told myself and breathed in a lungful of cool air to chill my brewing emotions. "I can take a hint, Drew. Plus, I knew this would happen. I'm good enough for you away from everything, but God forbid when we have to return to our real lives." I was acting up. I knew it. It was a defense mechanism I developed to guard my heart.

"It's not like that," he muttered, throwing a ball of wadded-up paper at me, barely missing the fire. "Read that shit."

I reached and grabbed the paper he tossed, my attention bouncing between him and the wrinkled paper in my hand. Slowly, I unwrapped the letter and read its content. I knew this would happen. I fucking knew it. "Makes sense," I said, tossing the note back at him. "I wouldn't fuck that up either."

"So, you understand my problem?" he asked, finally turning and looking at me. "What am I supposed to do?"

It pained me that he had to ask. I could do this. This would be over soon. "Take the money," I said. "I would." That was a lie. I knew there was no amount of money I'd ever take for a real chance at love. I'd also known that when the show was over we'd be done. There wasn't a shot in hell that the two of us would make it in the real world. Pairs like us didn't fit.

"You'd take the money then?" he asked, seeking my approval.

"Yes." I'd give him what he needed so he could get off easier. I choked back the tears after finding out I'd been spot on about our chances. "Is that what you wanted to hear?" I asked. "No hard feelings either," I added.

"We can still be friends then?" he asked, sounding relieved.

"Sure. Of course. Yeah," I stumbled, quickly turning away before he could see the heartbreak ripping across my face.

"Maybe," he began. "You know, maybe…" Drew cleared his throat before continuing. "Well, after some time…you know."

"Yeah, maybe. After some time," I agreed, scratching at the ground with a finger, etching my pain into the dirt.

"Thank you, Erik."

* * *

We waited for the arrival of the boat and crew. I sat by the river with the foil survival blanket wrapped around my emaciated body. Of course he didn't want me. Neither of us had anything to pack that mattered. I'd neatly stored my feelings away where no one could reach them. That was what I did. I didn't wear my scars. I buried them and I was good at it.

We sat on opposite ends of the boat as we made our way out of the river and into the bay, both of us wrapped in blankets and stocking caps. The camera crew caught our last moments on tape for broadcast the next night. Neither of us offered any evidence that our bromance or whatever the fuck it was, still existed. I assumed the audience would think that the disappointment of a tie had both of us down. Even Drew, a seasoned reality TV veteran, didn't bother with the camera, avoiding any classic Drew Montana soundbites.

At the crew's campsite, where they had also lived for more than forty days in tents, transportation awaited the cast and crew. Drew and a washed-up action-movie star from the late nineties, named Scotty Thatcher, were treated like celebrities and helicoptered away. The other non-celebrity participant was a woman in serious decline—just like me. A medical team from Victoria were medically evacuating her from the water's edge. I would return to Victoria with the crew and then be taken to Seattle for a complete medical workup. If I was released to travel, I'd catch a plane to Portland for rest and recovery before the reunion taping scheduled for three weeks away. The show was postponed an additional week to allow me and the other contestant time to recover. One week? Three weeks? Time didn't matter. There'd never be enough time to heal my heartache.

Drew didn't have the decency to even look at me or say goodbye before he ducked into the copter and lifted away to wherever stars went after reality shows like ours. The sudden end to our time together was a shock to my senses. I realized that I didn't exist anymore as soon as the cameras were turned off and the stars were flown out of the filming area. The whirring sounds of him drifting away was more than I could bear.

This conclusion was exactly how my life's script usually went. I'd miss him. I hated to admit that I had fallen in love with Drew Montana. Somehow I'd managed not to listen to my head, instead listening to my heart when it came to the time we'd shared. The Drew I knew was a TV star, able to charm the entire world. This Drew was reality. Period.