Save the Date (Wild Wedding Series Book 3)

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Save the Date (Wild Wedding Series Book 3) Page 23

by Ann Marie Walker


  “So, grab your pom-poms,” the man doing the voiceover said as the clip rolled to an end. “Because Brody’s romantic journey is about to kick off.”

  He waited for his cue, then began the long walk to the field. He smiled as he followed the backward-walking cameraman out of the locker room and through the tunnel, all the while another pretaped audio segment listed his professional accomplishments and accolades as though he were a pro wrestler about to enter the ring. All that was missing was his fighting weight. Brody had made this journey hundreds of times in countless stadiums, but never like this. Usually his mind was focused on the game to the point that everything and everyone around him faded into a muffled fog. Not tonight though. As he emerged from the tunnel, the field was wide open and the seats were empty, and yet the pounding in his head had grown louder with every step.

  The A.D. held up her hand as he reached the goal line, counting down from five to one with her fingers. When she was finished, the lights on the camera went dark and everyone started moving. Fast.

  Clipboard guy appeared at his side. “The next shot is on the main stage.”

  Brody followed him into an elevator, emerging just as the commercial break was coming to an end. The concourse was filled with equipment and monitors.

  “Watch your step.” Clipboard now had a flashlight, which they used to smoothly navigate the snake pit of cords. It was when they reached the stage that Brody’s steps faltered.

  The show had constructed their customary “Sweetheart Showdown” set on the platform the NFL announcers used for their pregame broadcasts. They’d told Brody about the location beforehand obviously, but for some reason the reality of it didn’t hit him until that very moment. All at once, memories of another night spent on that same platform flooded his mind.

  Rebecca.

  Just thinking about her caused a now all-too-familiar ache to form in the middle of his chest. It had been happening since the moment he’d gotten her last text message. He’d tried calling and texting so many times that afternoon, he was practically a stalker. Like he cared. He would have camped out at her door if he hadn’t had to leave town for training camp. He’d tried to reach her nearly every night while he was away, but it was always the same. Unreturned calls and unanswered texts. By the time the preseason had started, he’d finally given up. Rebecca had made her feelings clear. She wanted nothing to do with Brody Dixon.

  But being on that platform, lost in the thoughts of their infamous date, Brody was reminded of the spitfire he first met. The one who gave him hell for cheesy lines, told him in no uncertain terms that he acted like a Neanderthal, and never took any shit, even from her overbearing brother. The woman he’d come to know better than any other was incapable of holding her tongue if something bothered her, and she never shied away from anything. So why had she just vanished from his life? If he’d done something to piss her off, the Rebecca he knew would have let him have it, not run from him. Unless…

  The contestants were being introduced one by one, but hell if he was listening. Rebecca wasn’t mad at him. She was hurt. And she wasn’t avoiding him. She was protecting herself. That had to be it. But why?

  Brody thought back to the night they’d spent together but couldn’t come up with anything that could have sent her into retreat mode. In truth, it had been better than he ever could have imagined. He hadn’t even had any death threats from her brother, despite the fact that Cole had reinforced his position on the matter earlier that same night.

  Wait. Could that have been what drove her away?

  Brody had no sooner had the thought than he dismissed it. There was no way in hell Rebecca would let her brother dictate her social life, even if he was worried about more than just her heart. Brody couldn’t really blame the guy. Cole was overprotective by nature, and that feeling was no doubt amplified by fears of losing her to cancer. That was another thing Brody couldn’t figure out. Why hadn’t Rebecca mentioned her illness? They’d spent countless hours together, and yet she never once brought it up.

  Fuck. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? Brody wasn’t sure of the how or why, but her disappearing act had to be tied to Cole spilling the beans about her illness. Nothing else had changed. Surely she hadn’t thought the news would send him packing?

  “Now that America has met the royal court,” the announcer said. “It’s time to introduce the man of the hour. Ladies, let’s meet your homecoming king.”

  A bright light shone in Brody’s face. It was go time. But instead of the dread that had been building ever since he’d stepped foot inside the stadium, it was relief followed by a sense of calm he hadn’t felt in weeks that settled in his gut.

  He’d been so lost, he’d let himself not only be dragged on to this farce of a show, but he’d let the best thing that had ever happened to him slip through his fingers. But not anymore.

  A smile curved his lips. It wasn’t the forced expression he’d been wearing for the last hour, but a genuine grin he couldn’t have wiped from his face if he’d tried. Cameras and queens be damned, because for the first time in months, Brody Dixon knew exactly what he needed to do.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It had been six weeks since Rebecca had slipped not only out of Brody’s bed, but out of his life as well.

  He’d called at least a dozen times that first morning. Actually, more like twenty-six judging by the number of voice mails on her phone. Not that she’d listened to any of them. She couldn’t. It would have broken her heart all over again to hear what no doubt was a string of messages ranging from concern to confusion.

  A clean break was the only way.

  For the most part, she kept herself busy with work. It was safe. It was comfortable. Rehearsal dinners, weddings, receptions. It was what she knew how to do. But on Sundays, after the chaos of the weekend ended, it was just her, a comfortable couch, and her memories. Those were her moments of weakness, and even though she knew she shouldn’t, she still curled up on the sofa each week to watch the Bears’ preseason games. She didn’t know much about football. In fact, most of what the announcers said went in one ear and out the other. But whatever Brody was doing, his team was losing. A lot.

  Something she definitely wasn’t going to watch was American Sweetheart. The promos were bad enough. Clips of Brody at dinner with a blonde, playing miniature golf with a redhead, or worst of all, walking through the aquarium with a brunette. She’d been in the wings, so to speak, as nearly every episode had been filmed, but seeing the scenes edited together with romantic music and speculating voiceovers was another experience altogether. Still, it wasn’t jealousy that filled her eyes with tears when the ads would flash uninvited on her television or tablet, but memories. Each and every scene that flickered across the screen reminded her of their time together. That dinner at the Hancock? Afterward, Brody had taken her to Al’s Beef for “real food,” and they’d laughed about how none of the girls on the show ever ate anything on their plate. The day of mini golf? That was the same day she and Brody had spent binge-watching her favorite episodes of The Great British Baking Show, which much to her amusement, led to a solid week of him using the expression “That’s a bad bake” in about a hundred different scenarios. And the aquarium date? That was the night he’d left a stuffed penguin at her door with a note saying that their feathered friend had insisted he buy it to remind her of their encounter. The gesture had been incredibly sweet, especially since the last time she’d seen Brody, she’d puked on his shoes.

  Of course, Rebecca didn’t need a stuffed toy to remind her of that day—or any day she’d spent with Brody, for that matter. Those memories were deep inside her, close to her heart. No reality show hocus-pocus could take them away. Didn’t mean she wanted to watch it play out.

  Still, when the day came for the first episode to air, she found herself in the middle of a heated internal debate. The urge to see Brody again was strong. On the football field, he almost always wore his helmet. But on American Sweetheart, she would be affo
rded a much better view. Probably even in a tuxedo, if past premieres were any indication. Then again, that would bring back memories of Hank and Cassie’s party. The night they’d admitted how they felt about each other. The night they’d made love. The last night she’d spent with him.

  She was standing in front of the television, still weighing the pros and cons of watching Brody with a bevy of Sweethearts, when there was a knock at her door.

  Rebecca swung the door open to find her two best friends standing in the hallway, armed with vodka and ice cream. “What are you guys doing here?” Granted, she’d been in a bit of a fog lately, but not so much that she would have forgotten making plans with the girls.

  “Did you really think we were going to let you watch alone?” Cassie said.

  “I wasn’t going to—”

  “Yeah, right.” Olivia made a sound that was half laugh, half snort. “You’ve never missed an episode.”

  “I’ve also never known the guy on the show.” In the biblical sense was how the rest of that sentence should have gone, but there was no need to point out the obvious.

  Cassie’s gaze dropped to the remote in Rebecca’s hand. “It’s normal to be curious.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat,” Rebecca said.

  “Which is why we brought ice cream,” Cassie said.

  Olivia raised the bottle she held in her hand. “And vodka.”

  The two women pushed past her, making quick work of gathering spoons and glasses. “You want me to add a little cranberry juice to yours, or you want it straight?” Olivia asked.

  Straight alcohol hadn’t gone so well last time. And while this time she would definitely not end up puking on Brody’s shoes, there was a high probability she’d end up sobbing on her friends’ shoulders. “Let’s stick with the ice cream.”

  “Fine by me,” Cassie said.

  Olivia shrugged. “I can’t drink anyway. But mark my words, once this baby pops out, we are getting hammered.”

  Cassie laughed. “Which will probably result in another one on the way.”

  “No way,” Olivia said. “I’m going back on the pill and making Cole wear a condom. At least for the next year or so.”

  It was all way more information than Rebecca wanted to know about her brother, but the sound of her best friends’ banter was exactly what she needed.

  The three of them settled in on the couch, a pint and a spoon in each of their hands.

  “Ready?” Cassie asked.

  Rebecca took a deep breath, then clicked the remote. The show had already started.

  “…earning him two Super Bowl MVPs,” the announcer said as the television sprang to life. And then she saw him. Looking devastatingly handsome in a black tuxedo, Brody was emerging from the tunnel, same as he had in every game she’d watched. Only this time, he wasn’t wearing his helmet and a scowl. He wasn’t jogging out with his teammates or stopping to confer with his coach. No, this time he was strolling—make that strutting—with a knowing smile on his face and a bouquet of red roses in his hand. And instead of smacking a teammate on the ass or checking the plays hidden beneath some device he wore on his wrist, he was headed toward a group of women who all wanted to be not only the next American Sweetheart, but more importantly, the next woman in Brody Dixon’s bed.

  The show cut to a commercial, but not before the announcer promised to introduce us to the women “vying for the crown” as soon as they returned.

  “You okay?” Olivia asked. Her tone was uncharacteristically somber.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s exactly how I thought it would be.” But what she didn’t expect was how much the pit of her stomach would twist just thinking about what was going on behind the scenes at Soldier Field. No doubt they were setting up for the introductions. That was how every premiere episode of the show played out. Of course, this was the first one shot on location at a football stadium. Rebecca was about to ask her friends if they thought the whole episode was going to be shot on the field when the show’s music blared from the TV along with a wide shot that answered her unspoken question.

  Brody and the seventeen contestants weren’t on the fifty-yard line. They weren’t on the field at all. Instead, they were on a makeshift “Showdown” stage that had been constructed on the announcer’s platform. Perfect, she thought, just like the “Brody Special.” Even in her head, her words were laced with sarcasm, but that didn’t keep her from thinking back to the night she’d spent there four months prior. Brody had changed so much since then, yet there he was, right back where he started.

  The show’s host shook hands with Brody, who had joined him on the right side of the set. To the left, the women stood in a group, each dressed in full-length gowns that turned the whole thing into a cross between a millennial prom and a beauty pageant. Had it always been like this? Rebecca had enjoyed the previous seasons, making a night of it with Cassie and Olivia. But what used to seem fun and engaging now rang hollow. Was it because she knew how much Brody had been dreading the whole thing, or was it simply because instead of merely being a spectator, she suddenly found herself feeling more like one of the contestants? And not a classy one either. More the kind who gets into a hair-pulling catfight.

  There was a bit of awkward scripted small talk between Brody and the host, followed by a video montage introducing each of the contestants. Rebecca made it through three clips—all showing the women at their jobs, home with their parents, and eventually clumsily throwing a football with one of their male relatives—before she’d had enough.

  “I can’t watch any more,” she said. Her voice was so thick with unshed tears, it hardly sounded like her own.

  Olivia snatched the remote off the coffee table. “Fine by me,” she said as the television went dark.

  “Yeah,” Cassie added. “Doesn’t seem like this season is going to be as good.”

  Rebecca appreciated her friends’ attempts to downplay a reaction that had nothing to do with the show taking a turn for the worse and everything to do with the green-eyed monster that had taken hold of her heart. She’d known it would be hard to see Brody in that setting, but she had no idea how hard it would be to see him standing beside the contestants, knowing he’d eventually pick one. It was crazy, really. She hadn’t reacted like this when she’d watched him on actual dates with these women. Of course, then she was waiting off-camera, knowing that when the cameras stopped rolling, she would be the one leaving with him. Not anymore.

  “Let’s put these in the freezer for now,” Cassie said, nodding to the Chunky Monkey that sat unopened in her hand. “And order a pizza.”

  “Or tacos?” Olivia suggested.

  Cassie shot her a look that clearly said, “Don’t be an idiot. Taco night was how all this started.”

  “Actually, scratch that.” Olivia rubbed her belly. “The baby votes for pizza.”

  Cassie’s fingers flew across her phone screen as she scrolled through her favorite food delivery app. “Anyone want breadsticks?”

  “Sure,” Rebecca said. If ice cream and vodka didn’t hold the cure, then maybe a good old-fashioned carb coma would do the trick.

  “Be sure to ask for the cheese sauce,” Olivia said. A moment passed before she added, “Oh, and horseradish if they have it or a side of sriracha.”

  Cassie smiled and shook her head as she punched in the rest of the order. Rebecca knew exactly what she was thinking. For months, the two of them had watched in a mixture of horrified fascination as Olivia’s cravings had grown increasingly spicy. Seemed instead of giving her heartburn, pregnancy gave the woman a stomach of steel.

  “Grr.” Cassie growled at her phone. “Ninety minutes.”

  “It’s okay,” Rebecca said. “I’m not that hungry anyway.” And it wasn’t like she had much else on her agenda. Kicking back with her two best friends for the next hour and a half was better than hanging out in her apartment alone.

  “Well, I, for one, am going to need some snacks.” Olivia waddled off to the kitchen, returning a
few moments later with a box of Apple Jacks.

  Cassie raised a brow. “Cole would not approve,” she teased, referencing Rebecca’s uptight brother’s need to try to control everything, even his wife’s pregnancy diet. It was their culinary version of Freaky Friday, seeing as how Olivia was normally the more health-conscious eater. But hey, what the baby wants, the baby gets. Far be it for Rebecca, or Cole for that matter, to judge.

  “Like I told him,” Olivia said before popping an orange loop into her mouth, “As soon as he gets pregnant, he can chime in on what I eat.” She picked a green loop out of the box. “But until then, he can shove his protein shakes where the sun don’t shine.”

  The three women shared a laugh, then settled into an easy flowing conversation that ranged from discussing the proper way to cook an artichoke to which tiara Cassie would wear when she walked down the aisle.

  “The whole thing is absurd,” she said. “They send me these pictures from the royal collection, and they each have a bazillion diamonds in them. I mean, what if I trip and fall and knock one of them out?”

  Rebecca smiled at her friend. “You’re not going to trip and fall.”

  A sharp knock caused all three of them to jump.

  “Finally,” Cassie said. “I’m starving.”

  But when Rebecca opened the door, the hallway was empty. Then a fluttering sound drew her eyes to the floor where a tiny rockhopper penguin stood adjusting his flippers. “Holy…”

  “Shit,” Olivia said from beside her, finishing her thought.

  “What?” Cassie asked. She scurried to join them at the door. “Did you order a penguin?”

  Olivia snorted. “I don’t think Uber delivers those.”

  “I did not order a penguin.”

  “How about a grown man in a penguin suit?” Brody stepped into view, dressed in the same designer tuxedo she’d seen him wearing on screen not two hours before and holding a bouquet of flowers. If that’s what you could even call it. All of the blooms had dirt on their stems. Some even had the roots still attached.

 

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