The sight of her had rendered him speechless, breathless, and in so much pain for her. He hated that she’d had no choice but to disfigure her body like that that, and he hated even more that he’d let all those feelings show on his face. He’d fucking let her know how much it made his heart—no, his very soul—ache to see the evidence of all she’d gone through. What the hell was wrong with him? Nothing like this would’ve happened if he’d stayed in Destiny Falls. He could have been there for her in a real way. None of this video chat bullshit.
Rising, he backhanded a stack of magazines off his coffee table and prowled the length of the room.
Stupid effing television show. Going to Miami was supposed to free him from Harper’s hold on his heart. It was supposed to elevate him as an advocate and inspiration for disabled vets. But he’d never felt more handcuffed to obligation, so far from where he was supposed to be. The one person he wanted to inspire more than anything was at home thousands of miles away, wallowing in self-consciousness and sadness, and he’d contributed to that with his terrible reaction when she’d showed him the most vulnerable part of herself.
She didn’t think she was beautiful or desirable anymore, which was absolute garbage. What he wouldn’t give to defy the miles between them, storm into her brick fortress, and prove to her otherwise.
He prowled through the condo, going over and over in his head how fucked up his life had become.
Before signing on to the show, Brandon would’ve dealt with his frustration by finding a hot chick—or two or three—and screwing her brains out. That sounded like exactly what he needed tonight, because he was long overdue. The last time he’d had sex was with Harper two months earlier, and he hadn’t even been able to come that night—or make her come, for that matter. He hadn’t even been able to stay hard for her. Maybe she really would have better luck with a stranger, even though the thought of that made him want to punch someone.
Maybe he’d have better luck with a stranger, too, someone who didn’t have the same loaded history and the weight of expectations. But sex with a stranger wasn’t an option for him for several more months, which left him with only one choice.
He picked up his phone and scrolled through his contacts for the number he needed. As the phone rang, he lifted the solitary framed photo from his mantle. The photograph had been taken at Duke’s party sometime in the hours after Harper and he had scrawled the bliss list contract on the napkin. At the time the photo was taken, they’d already failed as lovers and recast themselves as friends, but the way she’d looked that day—the wild flow of her hair, that low-cut sundress, the light in her eyes—would remain seared in his memory forever. He growled in disgust, but bit off the last of it when Lucinda answered his call.
“Lucinda? It’s Brandon Theroux.” He flattened the picture frame against the mantle so he wouldn’t have to look at Harper’s smile while he said, “I need a face-to-face with one of the contestants. Tonight. Can you help me arrange that?”
She didn’t miss a beat. “Yes. Absolutely. Did you have a specific contestant in mind?”
Her lack of hesitation and easy reply probably meant he wasn’t the first groom to make such a request. Made him wonder why he wasn’t taking full advantage of his position on the show. His every spare moment or thought had been too full of Harper, Harper, Harper. What the hell had she done to him?
“I don’t care.” He honestly didn’t. For his purposes tonight, any one of the remaining five contestants would do. “Surprise me.”
He strode to his fridge for a water bottle, but all he saw on the refrigerator door was the photograph of him and Harper at Locks after a Bomb Squad game. No wonder he couldn’t get her off his mind. He pulled the photograph from beneath the magnet and flicked it on top of the fridge.
“I’ll see who’s available tonight,” Lucinda said. “Where would you like this meeting to occur?”
“My condo.”
“That’s not going to fly with the producers, but I could arrange for a limousine to give you and the prospective bride plenty of privacy on a nice, long drive around the city.”
Classy—not. But then again, that’s how he rolled. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d seduced a woman in the back of a limo, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. To quote Harper: once a player, always a player. He could hear her as clearly as if she’d been standing beside him, her voice dripping with disappointment.
And he could hear his own advice to her that she should embrace casual sex, as he had. He’d only suggested it because he’d known there wasn’t a chance in a million years that she’d take his advice seriously. But she had. For all he knew, she was down in the bar picking up some stranger for a screw up against a wall.
He slammed his open palm against the door as he prowled to his bedroom. “A limo ride will be just fine. Make it happen. I’ll be ready.”
“I’m happy to see you’re on board with the program, Brandon. This is a good thing.”
He wasn’t on board with anything. He needed to get laid, and this was his only option. All that was happening tonight was him making the best of the biggest mistake of his life.
“I’m sure you already figured this, but I want to make sure you’re aware that you’ll be filmed for the first few minutes of the meeting. Then the limo driver will drop the cameraman back off at the studio, giving you two all the privacy you need.”
He hadn’t figured that, but the requirement didn’t surprise him. “Whatever.”
When the call ended, he let the phone clatter to the bathroom counter, braced his hands on the sink, and stared at his reflection.
It was official. He’d sold his soul to the devil. This, what he was doing tonight, what he’d become because of the show, wasn’t seizing the day. This wasn’t wringing every last pleasure out of life, as he’d vowed to do with the second chance he’d been given after surviving the explosion. If this was a test—figuring out his life’s new purpose, his reason for surviving when so many others hadn’t—then he was failing it.
What would his fallen brothers think of him now?
Chapter Eighteen
When Brandon stepped from his building’s lobby into the parking lot where Mac stood with a video camera on his shoulder next to an idling black stretch limo, a flash from the bushes caught his attention. A wiry man with a balding head jumped out, snapping pictures. Paparazzi.
Brandon didn’t bother hastening his step. As Lucinda had prepped him, he kept his cool, offering the man a smile and a wave. Free publicity was never bad publicity, especially when he wasn’t doing anything wrong that the tabloids might pounce on.
“They’re out in force tonight,” Mac said. “Ever since that list of America’s top ten bachelor soldiers that you’re on went viral.”
“That’s what this is about. Spreading the word about vets with disabilities. My only regret is that I didn’t wear shorts so he could capture a shot of my prosthesis.”
“That’s the spirit,” Mac said as he climbed into the front passenger seat.
He let himself into the back. When he ducked inside, long, dark-skinned legs were the first sight to snag his attention. Danielle. She was nursing a pink cocktail in a rocks glass and wearing a black mini-dress and red heels, a combo that made her legs look a mile long.
Her smile exuded honest sensuality. “Hi. Fancy meeting you here.”
He took a seat next to her and kissed her cheek in greeting. “I could say the same. You look stunning, as always.”
“Thank you. I try.”
He had a feeling Danielle was his future fiancé. Of all of the prospects who’d been on the show, she was the least desperate for his attention, which was a trait he found attractive. He’d first taken notice of her as a potential finalist at the beach party during their second day of filming, when she hung back, watching, and let the overeager contestants clamor for a sliver of his attention.
&nbs
p; She was honest and practical, without coming across as mercenary, and she was extraordinarily smart. Not only because she was a stockbroker, but because she asked intelligent questions, not only to him, but to the dance instructor who taught them the samba, and to the chef on the yacht, and she seemed to focus intently on the answers, learning. He could genuinely say that he liked her as a person.
His phone chimed. Not with Harper’s ringtone, but someone else from Destiny Falls. Hopefully Presley, whom he’d texted after getting off the phone with Lucinda.
“Excuse me a sec,” he said, reaching for his phone in his blazer pocket.
Sure enough, it was Presley. Got your text. Everything okay?
“I have to make a phone call,” he said to Danielle. “I’m so sorry. It’ll be a quick one.”
“Doesn’t bother me. I’ve got this nice drink to keep me warm for a little while longer.”
Presley answered her phone on the second ring. “Isn’t it a little late for you to be calling? Don’t you need your beauty rest, Mr. Model?”
She relished the opportunity to tease him about his chosen career, but he didn’t have the time or inclination to joke around tonight. “Are you at Locks?”
“No. Home. Why?”
“Harper needs a friend tonight. She’ll probably put up a good front with you but her head’s in a dark place.”
Presley sighed. “I wish she’d call me when she gets like that. It’s like she doesn’t believe it’s okay to be weak sometimes.”
Yep. That was his Harper. “This time it’s my fault. We got into it over the phone and I pushed her too hard.”
“You two drive me crazy sometimes.”
“We drive me crazy, too.” Which was a monumental understatement. “I wish I were there so I could make things right with her.”
He shouldn’t have said that, not with Danielle there, and not to Presley. There was no room in any of those relationships for his growing disquiet about his feelings for Harper.
“I’m going to take care of her, Brandon. You don’t have to worry.”
“Just make sure she doesn’t do anything irrational.” Like pick up a stranger in the bar. “And don’t tell her I called you, okay? She’d hate that.”
“It’s our little secret.”
When the call ended, Danielle gave him a patient smile. Her hand found his arm. “Is your sister okay?”
He didn’t want to talk about Harper any more. The whole point of this meeting with Danielle was to stop thinking of her, but he’d brought the topic of her into the limo with him when he’d called Presley.
“Not my sister. My best friend.” As if that word could capture the complicated, exhilarating, maddening nuances of his and Harper’s bond. “She’s fine, just having a tough day and I didn’t help matters. Thank you for asking.”
Her hand left his arm. She pinched the stem of a cherry resting in her drink and swirled it. “Your best friend’s a woman?”
“Is that so strange?”
She tipped her head to the side, considering the question. “I would use the word unusual instead.” She nudged her leg with his. “Especially for a man’s man like you are, soldier.”
It was a flirty comment and an even flirtier touch. One he planned to reciprocate once they’d put the subject of Harper to rest.
“I guess you’re right that it’s not too common. But don’t worry, Harper and I are firmly ensconced in the friend zone and that’s never going to change, in case you’re entertaining the idea of getting jealous.”
He reached his hand into her glass and plucked the cherry out, then ate it, winking at her as he did so. Funny how easy it was to fall back into his old flirtatious self, even if it felt awkward and disingenuous, like trying to read aloud in a foreign language when you didn’t understand a single word of it.
Danielle threw her head back and laughed at that. A genuine laugh full of confidence that told him loud and clear how amusing the idea of jealousy was.
“So that’s a ‘no’ about the jealousy?”
Her smile turned seductive, her eyes demure beneath thick black lashes. “Show me a picture of her.”
Nope. No more Harper. The next hour or so was about him and Danielle. He set his hand on her knee. “I’m more interested in looking at you.”
She shifted toward him, moving her body in a way that slid his hand from her knee to her thigh. Her hand toyed with his shirt collar. For the first time since he’d climbed into the limousine, his body stirred to life. Maybe he had a little of his old player-self left after all.
“If we might be getting engaged in a few weeks, then I don’t think there’s anything wrong about me wanting to know more about your friends.”
And . . . deflate. “Not exactly what I had in mind for tonight.”
To demonstrate what he did have in mind, he shoved his misgivings aside, figuring he could fake it until he felt it, and crowded her against the seatback, his hand roving to her outer thigh, his fingertips breaching the hem of her dress.
She pressed a hand against his chest, halting his progress. “But getting to know you better was what I had in mind. Show me a picture of her.”
Why the hell did Danielle care so much about Harper, if jealousy wasn’t a factor? It didn’t make sense. Regardless, she clearly wasn’t going to let the topic drop. He resumed his seat and gave her a long look. “You want to see pictures of my friends?” He refused to make this about Harper and Harper alone.
“Yes.”
He scrolled through the photographs on his phone to a group photo of Bomb Squad taken after last year’s Wounded Veterans International exhibition game. “This is the ice hockey team I played on for five years in western New York. My best friends on the team are Gabe and Theo,” he said, pointing to each man in turn. “Gabe and I were roommates before I moved to Miami.”
“She’s not in this picture.”
He almost asked who she was, but they both knew. His jaw tightened, locking up as it always did when emotions, good or bad, got the best of him. Stupid tell. He rotated his jaw, trying to loosen it up again. “You’ve got a one-track mind.”
“About some things.”
He took back his phone, the screen out of view from Danielle, and performed a rapid scroll through images in his picture library, photo after photo of Harper in a backward tour of their relationship. Her at the top of that lighthouse, then winning a dart tournament, driving a houseboat, sitting on her new bike, at the top of the Empire State Building, striking a silly pose at the Iceplex, skating to practice for her new pursuit as a hockey referee, in the hospital after her surgery, sleeping on his shoulder the night before her surgery, the two of them at Duke’s party . . .
So many moments, so many radiant pictures of her, none of which he cared to share with anyone, especially Danielle. Whatever he and Harper were, it was private and personal and only for the two of them.
He almost showed Danielle a photo of Harper before her surgery. It was a candid shot he’d snapped of her standing behind the bar at Locks, wearing the black tank top she usually wore at work, a photo he’d taken to use as her avatar on his phone. But that wasn’t who she was anymore. Now, post-surgery, she was even more beautiful and stronger, the light inside her brighter than ever. In the end, he decided on the photograph of her standing at the top of the lighthouse, the wind whipping her hair and a triumphant smile on her lips. She was dressed in her workout clothes of bike shorts and a tank top, no prosthetic breasts—just flat, beautiful, perfect Harper.
Danielle smiled at the photo.
“Hold that up for the camera,” came Mac’s voice from the front seat.
Crap. Brandon had forgotten he was there. Taking advantage of Brandon’s shock, Danielle plucked the phone from his hand and held it out toward Mac’s camera.
“Got it, thanks,” Mac said.
Danielle brought the
phone back close to her, but instead of returning it to Brandon’s waiting hand, she swiped through the photos.
Brandon bit his tongue against demanding the phone back, cringing through the encroachment into his private life. The truth was, Danielle had been right; they might be engaged in a couple weeks, so maybe she should the details of his friendship with Harper know because he certainly wasn’t going to give up that relationship, even if his temporary fiancé felt threatened by it.
“There are a lot of pictures of her on your phone. A lot of pictures of the two of you.”
“We’re very close. Like you probably are with your best friend.”
Danielle’s eyebrows flickered up. She kept scrolling, then stopped on the photo of Harper in the hospital. “Where does she live?”
“Western New York, Destiny Falls.”
“Your hometown?”
“Yes.” He surprised himself with that answer. Since when had he started thinking about Destiny Falls as his home? A mere three months ago, he’d been itching for a fresh start in a new town. He’d thought of Destiny Falls as a stepping-stone on his life path.
“Why was she in the hospital?”
Harper’s medical situation wasn’t his to share, not to Danielle or on camera. “She had elective surgery a couple months ago.”
She nodded. “And you were there with her?”
“Of course. I flew home for it.”
She swiped her finger across the screen again and the image shifted to Harper asleep on Brandon’s shoulder the night before her surgery. Danielle’s lips closed, straightened. She handed the phone back to him. “Will she wait for you?”
He liked Danielle, but she needed to stop insinuating that he and Harper were more than friends—immediately. He’d moved on and Harper had moved on. Period. End of story.
Game Changer Page 25
