Bella
Benny had pulled some strings, and I’d been asked to come on the show as a member of the troupe. The troupe. A backup dancer to younger dancers. Dancers I’d trained. But I had no problem eating my humble pie. This gift helped me in two ways—I needed the money and it would also provide me a way to heal my soul. Reconnect with dancing. Fall back in love with the passion that had consumed my life.
I hadn’t danced in years, and I was grateful for this opportunity.
Benny Brooks, my larger-than-life former coach and resident jerk judge, strolled into the studio wearing a purple suit with a black dress shirt and a bolo tie. At almost sixty, the self-proclaimed Silver Fox still commanded a room and even had recently married a dancer forty years his junior.
“Isa, luv, I knew you’d be back. That was surer than a bum in the bucket.”
I laughed as he embraced me and gave me the required cheek kiss. I’d missed his crass Australian humor. “Thank you for giving me the opportunity.”
“Well, that’s not all, lassie. I read that you’re involved with that hero, that soldier.”
Great. Grady was right, the story had gone viral. “He’s a Marine, not a soldier.”
“Right. We’ve been after him for a year to come on the show. Maybe you could sway him?”
Ha! That was almost laughable. “He’s not even speaking to me now.”
And that was the truth. Grady had gone radio silent. My texts went unanswered, my calls went straight to voicemail. Even his Facebook page was offline. Nothing. It was like he had vanished from the world, like he’d only been a figment of my imagination.
Benny started to say something, but I tuned him out as an idea hit me.
“Actually, Benny, maybe I can reach him. Will you let me dance a tribute to him on a show?”
Benny squinted his eyes. “Of course, luv. We can do sometime in the next few weeks if you like. Just let me know what you need.”
I squealed and hugged him. I couldn’t wait to choreograph a dance for Grady. Show him with my body what I hadn’t been able to say with words.
But how could I make sure he’d be watching? I quickly hatched a plan.
I picked up my phone and called a reporter—the same reporter who had written that horrible article about him.
After leaving a quick voicemail, my phone rang.
“Miss Applebaum, thank you for reaching out to me. Did you want to go on record regarding Grady Williams?”
“Yes. I did. Yes, we had a deal, but along the way, I fell in love with him. Grady’s the most heroic, romantic, and sexy man I’ve ever met. I love him. I’m dancing a tribute for him in a future show. Please make sure to include that.”
I answered some more questions and agreed to send him pictures of Grady and me.
This plan had to work. He would see the article, and hopefully, see me dance.
Grady
The blue sky had threads of purple and amber running through it. Sunset approached, but for the first time in years, I wasn’t scared.
I’d been in Montana for the past four weeks, riding horses, taking care of the farm animals, and inhaling the fresh air.
I missed Isa. Her smile, her warmth, her love. We’d had no contact at all, and I wondered if she had tried to get in touch with me. But I wasn’t allowed a cell phone, internet access, or even the daily newspaper here, and I loved being disconnected from the world.
But not from her.
The more time I had away from her, the more I realized how much I loved her, no matter how ridiculous that sounded. We’d spent a week together, an amazing week. But we’d been together twenty-four hours a day, and I’d opened up to her more than I’d ever opened up to anyone. In addition to her physical beauty, she was compassionate and was able to see me for me. And I loved her feisty personality, the way she called me on my bullshit, trying to make me a better man. She made me want to be a better man.
I’d do whatever I could to get her back. Glimpses of myself pre-accident started reappearing in my personality. Could she love the badass Marine instead of the fucked up vet? Time would tell.
“Hey, Grady. Pull up a seat.” Ben, a fellow Marine with PTSD, hovered around the television. We were allowed to watch one hour a week of TV, and since we didn’t get any access to porn, Ben had decided Dancing under the Stars was the closest alternative.
“Nope, not interested. My girl used to be on that show.” My girl, was she still my girl? Was she ever?
“Yeah? Which one?”
And then, as if my eyes were deceiving me, Isa’s incredible body appeared on the screen. Not a clip from an old show, but live. Her hair was now jet-black, her skin was tanner, but luckily she hadn’t lost any of her luscious curves.
“That one.”
The announcer spoke: “And join us next week for a special treat when two-time Dancing under the Stars winner, Bella Applebaum, will be dancing a special tribute to an American Hero, Sergeant Grady Williams.”
What the fuck?!
The show showed an old clip of her dancing with Pasha, that jackass leading her around the floor. I wanted to kill the motherfucker for ever touching her.
“Damn, dawg. She’s fucking hot. Look at those fucking legs. Did you hit that?”
“I’m about to hit you if you don’t shut the fuck up.”
But I couldn’t blame the boy; Isa was hot. Gorgeous. She teased me with glimpses of her thighs, her gown seemed to be painted on her incredible ass, and her chest glistened in the glow of the spotlight.
“Dude, I’m out.”
I went back to my room to pack, my treatment was up this week anyway.
I had to go get my girl.
Grady
I arrived in Los Angeles feeling strong and confident. Turns out, Isa had given an interview to a reporter talking about her relationship with me and clarifying that she was in no way repulsed by me.
I’d secured VIP tickets to the show and an all-access pass to the back lot. My truck pulled into the back gate at the television studios, and I shook my head as I took it all in. I’d been on a few news shows after receiving my medals, but those shows were nothing like this Hollywood mind fuck. Dancing under the Stars had a huge lot, trailers for makeup, hair, and the “celebrity guests.” The trailers reminded me of war bunkers, and my anxiety was on high alert.
Taking a deep steadying breath, I parked and walked toward the dressing trailers.
Before I’d even walked ten feet, I instantly recognized Pasha. He stopped mid-stride when he saw me. This time his hair was wavy and scrunched together in a man bun. He sported a face full of stubble and was dressed in gray sweat pants and a too-tight white T-shirt. He looked like a member of a 90s boy-band.
I held my cool, imagining Isa being fondled by this guy. How he’d touched her thighs when they’d danced. How he’d called me a freak.
“Allo, Grady. Welcome. I want to apologize to you. I was out of line. No hard feelings.”
He stuck his hand out, but I refused his handshake.
“I am sorry about what I said to you in Tahoe. You’re the man! I can’t believe it that you jumped on the bomb. That’s crazy, bro. Bella won’t shut up about you.”
“It wasn’t a bomb, it was a grenade.”
“That’s cool.” He lit a cigarette and it caught me off guard. Didn’t dancers take care of their bodies? I expected that shit out of my Marines, but not this guy.
“Let me get Bella for you.”
“No. She doesn’t know I’m here. I want it to be a surprise.”
“Okay, man. She will be around here. I can take you somewhere to hide until show time.”
Why was he being so cool to me? This guy was a snake—I’d already seen his true colors and I didn’t trust him at all. But I didn’t want Isa to see me before the show. “Sure, that would be great. I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. And tonight you will see Isa dance together with me. But I assure to you, it is just dance.”
The rage b
uilt in my chest. She was dancing with this motherfucker? After what he had said to me? Some loyalty.
Pasha stared at me, as if he was trying to read my face. “No, no, man. It is not like that. We were partners, for years. The fans, they want to see us one more time. She’s crazy about you. There is nothing going on together with us. And I’m really sorry about that day I came at you. I was wrong. Bella, she is like my kid sister, and she grew up. I was jealous.”
“It’s fine, man.” It still pissed me off, but I realized she probably hadn’t had a choice. Either way, I had to go with my gut—this guy was full of shit. When I’d met him, he’d been a dick to Isa and me. Now it seemed he was going out of his way to convince me that he didn’t like Isa and that he thought I was a good guy? Sorry. I wasn’t buying what he was selling.
He led me to a room on the floor above the stage. “Stay in here. The dancers will be walking down the hallway. Before we go on, I’ll bring you down to VIP sitting area. She won’t see you until she dances. It will be in a few hours. Can I get you something? Water? Something to eat?”
“Sure.”
He put his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t even mention it, seriously. I know I’m just dancer, but I love America. Back in Russia, I used to dream of coming to here. I am refugee; I was beaten in the streets. My parents risk our lives to come to here. Men like you are why we are free. I thank you for your service.”
Whoa. Over the years, so many people had thanked me for being a Marine, for risking my life. But most of them had been American born. Hearing Pasha’s appreciation for the military choked me up. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was plotting something, though I was sure that my therapist and Isa would say that I was paranoid. “Thanks, man.”
“I wish I had your courage. When Bella was teen, her mom died. I didn’t help her. I was too scared of ruining my own career and pissed off at her for leaving me. I’m glad she has a man like you. I’ll be back in a few minutes with your food and drink.” He walked out the door leaving me to deal with the whiplash he’d just given me.
I sat in the empty room with its dirty carpet and tiny windows. Even just a few months ago, this isolation could’ve sent me into a complete panic attack. But I felt better, definitely not healed, but calm.
For the last month in rehab, I’d pondered living with a new reality. Looking toward the future instead dwelling on the past. Maybe I would enjoy sharing my story with people, inspiring them. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to be deemed a hero.
Bella
The tribute to Grady was tonight and my legs were restless. What had I been thinking? Of course he wouldn’t see it. The guy clearly hated my guts. I still hadn’t heard a word from him since I’d left him standing in the driveway of the cabin. I couldn’t believe how much of a fool I’d been.
But at least my luck was changing. With the money from this season, I’d actually be able to afford to finish college next semester.
Dancing under the Stars had changed so much from when I’d been on it. Now it was all about the drama—fake fights between the judges and dancers, showmances, and scandals. And the dancers were now treated as celebrities.
I emerged from the production trailer, shaking at the thought of reentering my own world. My skin sparkly, my dress sequined, my nerves shot. The sun blinded me, illuminating me in a beam, like maybe an alien would abduct me from this place. Maybe I hoped it would.
I walked toward the sound stage.
I was sure the public thought that this show was filmed on some glamorous set, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. We were housed in a studio in the back of the lot that resembled a high school auditorium. The audience members were sandwiched into chairs around the stage, and the “ballroom” wasn’t even regulation size, which made it impossible to dance a decent waltz. Last time I’d danced here, the show had this amazing live band, true musicians to play our songs. Always warmed my heart and reminded me of my favorite competition, Blackpool in England—the only competition where we danced to live music. But the TV band had been fired, and we would now be forced to dance to crappy prerecorded songs. This decision was the result of the producers’ cheap iron fist and the sinking ratings of this show that had overextended its shelf life by five years.
Would Grady be watching me tonight? Somewhere silently connecting with me? My heart hurt. I was convinced he was avoiding me, but I held out hope he was somewhere getting the treatment he needed. I refused to give up hope on us until I could speak with him.
The haunting sounds of the show’s opening number played over the speakers. My time was here. One featured dance, one rumba, for Grady, for my fans, for me. My official goodbye to the ballroom. Last time, I’d just quit mid-season. This time, I’d do it right. Even if Grady wasn’t watching me live, he would be with me when I stepped onto the floor.
Pasha came behind me and squeezed my hand. “You look beautiful, Bella. You’re going to do great tonight.”
I gritted my teeth. Since we’d been back on set, he’d been overly nice to me, apologizing for how he’d behaved in Tahoe. And though he’d repeatedly asked me out, I’d told him that I was only interested in Grady. I had begged Benny to let me dance with another partner, but this was the only way he would allow me to do the spotlight. And I understood—to so many people in the ballroom world we were Pashabella. A championship couple. United through dance. They wanted to see us dance together, and this would be the last chance they had.
“And now, for the first time in four years, two-time Dancing under the Stars champion, Bella Applebaum, and her former partner, Pasha Gravilov.”
Pasha led me onto the floor, and the lights dimmed.
Last time, I’d danced had been for my mother. She’d sat in the front row of the show, her cheeks glowing from the incandescent lights. When I’d received a perfect ten, she’d beamed at me, so proud. I remember thinking she was so beautiful, her red dress clung to her curves, her long, black hair curled at the end.
I almost wished that had been my last memory of her.
The music began, “Grenade” by Bruno Mars. It was an acoustic version that had been reworked into a classic slow rumba, soothing, melodic. The perfect song for Grady.
Pasha pushed me into a back break and pulled me back into him. My head rested on his chest as my feet did swivels on the floor. My soul soared as he spun me out to fan. As my eyes grazed the audience, there in the limelight I saw Grady.
I almost stopped dancing. He looked so handsome, and completely out of his element. He was dressed in a fitted suit, his eye gleaming, and a rare smile on his face. I struggled to continue, but Pasha saved me, pulling me back into him, guiding my body into the movements, presenting me to the audience, showing me off to the only man who mattered.
This song, this dance evoked exactly how I felt about Grady. I loved him, I’d do anything for him. He was the most selfless, kind man I’d ever met. All I wanted was to be his.
Pasha gripped my thighs, throwing me into a split, acting as the perfect frame for my picture. When the music died down, the roar of the applause drowned me.
I looked back up to meet Grady’s stare. He was standing, clapping harder than anyone, his scars accented by the bright camera in his face. Ay dios mío! No! The camera director was focused on him. They probably intended to make it a clip for the show. How horrifying! I had no idea he’d be here.
Pasha quickly led me off the floor, away from Grady, and gave me a kiss on the top of my hair.
“You were amazing, Bellichka. Are you sure you don’t want to compete together with me one more time?”
“Positive. But thank you, I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“You need to go back to your dressing room. I think you have a surprise waiting.”
He knew? Had Grady contacted him to get on set? Maybe Pasha had set this up as a way to apologize to me?
After making my way through the maze backstage, I ran to my trailer, anxious to jump into Grady’s arms. I pushed past security an
d saw the door to my trailer ajar. He must’ve run in first.
“Grady?”
My trailer seemed empty. I heard running water in the shower. Maybe Grady was waiting for me to join him? I couldn’t wait to rub my hands all over his rock solid body, kiss his face, tell him how much I’d missed him.
But when I opened the bathroom door, no one was there.
And the shower was on.
What in the world?
The loud slam of my trailer door chilled me.
I stepped out of the bathroom, praying to be reunited with Grady, but instead Pasha was standing in front of the door, holding a gun.
I screamed, but he pointed the gun at my head.
“You’re mine, Bellichka. All mine. You ruined our partnership, you ruined my life. We spent years training and you tossed me aside. All I ever wanted was you. Now you’re going to pay. No way are you going to choose a monster over me.”
Grady
The crowd was heavy and the room was stuffed with equipment. A few reporters came at me, but I blew them off. The only person I wanted to see was Isa.
Watching her dance, in her element, made me truly appreciate her beauty. But more than that, I was overwhelmed that she had dedicated a dance to me. I now believed what she’d told me all along—she wasn’t repulsed by me; she was in awe of me. Though Pasha’s slimy hands on my woman repulsed me, I knew in my heart that I was the only man on her mind.
I’d be reunited with my woman in minutes. The anticipation of wrapping my arms around her, this time vowing to never let her go, invigorated me. I walked out of the set toward the dressing trailers, when I heard a scream.
It was Isa.
Fuck.
I bolted toward the dressing trailers. Which one was hers? The others were labeled but there were some that were unmarked. I didn’t have time to waste. I kicked down the door of the first one—no sign of Isa. I sprinted to the next one, busting in, but again, my girl wasn’t there.
Heroes Ever After Boxset: Books 1-3 Page 15
