Game Changer (14 page)

“Okay, besides that pressing issue.”

She stomped toward the dartboard. “Damn it, Brandon. Why won't you play along?”

“Sorry. I'm just worried about you.”

Shaking her head, she yanked three darts from the board. Everybody was worried about her and she was done with it. She'd wanted to talk to him because he helped her feel tough and encouraged her to celebrate the surgery instead of letting it drag her down. “I expect better than that from you.”

“I'm not allowed to worry?”

She backed up to the line, propped the phone between her ear and shoulder, then threw the first dart. Bulls-eye. “Absolutely not.”

“That was a great bulls-eye.”

She blinked, pulling her face back. “How did you guess that?”

“See, when I donated some body parts to the universe, I didn't have all this anticipation that you have. I have some flashes of memory about the moments before the explosion, then I woke up in a hospital the next day weighing a little less. But you've got it bad with all this waiting and planning. I bet you haven't even tried to sleep tonight.”

She held her phone out and looked at it, wondering if she'd accidentally hit the video chat app instead of the phone, but no. “I laid down on the sofa for about two minutes before the restlessness got the best of me. How did you know I hit a bulls-eye?”

“Because I can see you through the window, which sounds a lot more stalkerish out loud than it did in my head.”

She let her mouth flop open as she processed that. He could see her through the window? As in, the window of Locks? Her heart gave a decisive squeeze that left her breathless as she raced to the door.

She dropped the darts on a table, then unbolted the locks and flung open the door.

Brandon. His clothes were wrinkled, he had dark circles under his eyes that mirrored hers, and he was leaning heavily on a cane, but he was there. Right exactly where she needed him to be. He stepped inside and she threw her arms around him. “You're not supposed to be here.”

His cane clattered to the ground and his arms tightened around her. “I'm here anyway.”

“We already said our good-byes. You bid farewell to my boobs.”

“I know. But, as it turned out, I couldn't miss your big day.”

She had to swallow around the lump in her throat. “This isn't my big day. This is a road bump. My big day is going to be when I'm well enough to get back to my bliss list.”

“Fair enough. I hate that I'm going to miss that part, because that's gonna be awesome.”

Tears welled in her eyes. Yes, it was. She hated that he was going to miss it, too. “How did you get out of the show for the day? I'm sure you're on a strict filming schedule.”

“I managed to get five days off for family illness, until you're out of the hospital and settled back home. And I was only able to because we're in a pre-production phase. They've got me recording some bits and interviews and doing a ton of promo, but nothing major. I don't meet the prospective brides for another three weeks, when the actual show starts taping. I wish I could stay and support you longer, but
somebody
scheduled surgery while I'm in the middle of the busiest summer of my life.”

She sniffed. “What a selfish person.”

“I know. She's terrible like that.”

Affection bloomed inside her. She turned away so he wouldn't see the traitorous tears she couldn't keep from falling, but he snagged her shoulder and pulled her back into his arms, letting his shirt collect her silent cries as she buried her face in his chest and clung to him.

It felt so good to be held tight in Brandon's arms, to smell his familiar scent while she cried quietly against his chest. Hearing his voice over the phone would've been enough to bolster her, but this was infinitely better. She was so grateful they'd become friends. She'd be stronger in the morning thanks to this moment of weakness in his arms, this release of all her pent-up nerves and fears.

She was vaguely aware of the sound of the door closing. Then his arms were around her again. He stroked her back, pressed his lips into her hair, and kept quiet, rocking slightly. She clung to his shirt, and though she was able to keep her sobs at bay, she could feel the drain of fear and anxiety from her body with every tear she shed. Eventually, she had nothing left to give up, but she couldn't quite seem to let him go. She rested her cheek on his chest and released a deep, cleansing sigh.

He propped his chin on the top of her head. “I have a question.”

“Okay,” she croaked.

“Are you wearing that black couture bra right now? Because if you wanted to model your bra choices for me, I wouldn't mind. I'd totally give you my honest opinion. Soldier's honor.”

Despite everything, she chuckled and backed up enough to give him an admonishing smile, even as she lowered the neck of her shirt to reveal the black satin bows lining the top of her bra.

He nodded his appreciation. “Nice.”

“It is, isn't? It would've been cheaper to use a couple of Benjamins as pasties, but I always did love this bra. I guess I can still use it after the surgery if I use inserts, but it won't be the same.”

“What inserts? Like, prosthetic boobs?”

“Exactly.”

“Isn't that false advertising?”

She nudged his foot. “You use a prosthesis.”

“Yeah, but I don't stuff socks in my underwear.”

You don't need to.
She ground her molars together and gave herself a mental slap. Where did
that
thought come from? Okay, and now she was picturing his package, the way it had looked during sex, aroused and glistening and promising endless wicked pleasure. Bad Harper. Had to be the anxiety leading her thoughts astray.

Feigning nonchalance, she checked her watch. “I really should try to sleep, but I'm not at all tired. You can go up to my apartment and rest, if you'd like. You look beat.” She stepped past him and scooped his cane from the floor, then handed it to him. “I might be up later.”

He shrugged as though disinterested in the idea, then leaned on the cane again. She could've been imagining things, but she thought she saw his body shudder in relief. “What time do you have to be at the hospital?”

“Presley's picking me up at seven thirty. I should call her and let her know you'll take me so she can sleep in.”

“I wouldn't, if I were you. We can both take you. You can never have enough moral support.” Even though Harper wasn't keen on sharing her fleeting time with Brandon with anyone else, she nodded her agreement.

“Why don't you pour me a beer and then we can play some darts? I think it's a good night for me to indulge in a drink,” he said.

“Darts, eh? Feel like getting your ass handed to you?” she said.

He clutched his heart in mock-offense. “Maybe I've been practicing. You don't know.”

“Mm-hmm.”

He prodded her shoe with his. “To sweeten the pot, I'll make you a bet.”

“I thought we were done making bets.”

“We're friends now. Bets aren't minefields anymore,” he said. “Here's my proposition: if you win, I'll give you your birthday present tonight. If you lose, then you'll have to wait until the day I fly back to Miami to open it.”

“My birthday's not until July. Practically two months away.”

“Eight weeks, to be precise. Which I only know because it coincides with the taping of the
Meet the Groom
semi-final round, which is sucky timing because it means I can't come visit you for your birthday proper, but there's nothing we can do about that. Plus, I'm a dude. Good birthday gift ideas are rarer than lightning strikes, so when I have a good one, I've got to go for it. So, what's the deal? Are you going to take me up on my bet or are you going to be a wet blanket?”

“I wouldn't want to be a wet blanket, but how about we take a rain check on the darts? You need to rest your leg.”

“I will. Let's do this first.” He tucked the cane under his arm and extended his hand. “Do we have a bet?”

She really should've insisted that he rest his leg or catch a few hours of sleep. Though he made a valiant attempt to hide it, he was clearly worn to the bone. But, selfishly, she couldn't make herself let him go.

She clasped his hand and gave it a shake. “Have you ever known me to pass up a bet?”

***

Harper won their dart game handily. Brandon knew she would. The bet had been nothing but a way to distract her from her worries and pass the time.

Listening to her voice mails, hearing the fear behind her rambling words when he'd checked his phone on the tarmac in Buffalo, had made him so grateful that he'd chosen to make this trip.

He'd been debating about it since the moment she'd told him her decision at Duke's party. But he hadn't solidified the choice in his mind until Theo had called him that morning to update him on Harper and to reassure him that the team was going to look out for her, so Brandon didn't have to worry.

But of course he was worried. It was great that the team and all of Harper's friends were going to support her, but nobody knew her like Brandon did, and no one would be able to understand what she was going through like he would. He and Harper were inextricable parts of each other's journeys, and he needed to see for himself that she was going to make it through this rough patch all right.

And when he'd arrived at Locks, when she'd thrown herself into his arms and wept, there was nothing for him to do but send up a thanks to the Powers That Be for giving him a push to make the right choice.

“Do I get my gift now?” she asked.

“A bet's a bet.” From his gym bag, he pulled out an envelope and handed it to her.

She walked to the stairs and sat, smiling. He followed, limping slightly and fighting to ignore the waves of discomfort shooting up his leg, and sat on the step below her, propping his back to the wall and stretching out his right leg.

“I've never seen you use a cane before.”

“I don't often need one, thank goodness. Only when I travel. No matter how strong I get or how perfectly my prosthesis fits, airports still kick my ass,” he said with a self-deprecating smile.

She dropped to the stair above his, her legs bridging his. “That sucks.”

“Not really. Out of respect for the nine soldiers I was with when the IED exploded and who didn't make it out of that desert alive, I'd never complain about a little airport fatigue.”

She fidgeted with her fingernails. “You were given a gift.”

“I know. A gift and a duty.”

“It's more than your life being spared. You exude this inner strength and optimism, so much confidence. That's your true gift.”

Her words were laced with wistful sorrow, as though an optimistic outlook was something she could only dream of obtaining, which couldn't be further from the truth. He gave her knee a casual squeeze, and was relieved to find the action devoid of loaded subtext the way their touches had been before sex. The change was a relief. Huge. “Funny, because I've always thought your confidence and inner strength are your two greatest qualities.”

She snorted as though she thought he was full of shit.

“I'm serious. Your strength is your most beautiful asset.”

She smacked his arm. “That sounds like something my grandmother would say.”

“Do I look anything like your grandmother?”

She brushed her thumb across his cheek, a shadow of a smile on her lips. “Granny always did have preternaturally flawless skin, just like you.”

He clenched his abs to squelch a shiver at the casual intimacy in the feel of her hand on his skin. His eyes settled on her lips, of all the damned things, and his body stirred to life. So much for a lack of sexual undercurrent. Some friend he was.

He raised his left knee, masking his reaction. “Yeah, but your granny's not an expert on women, like I am.” He forced his hand to remain casually set on her knee, then molded his lips into his signature smile, grand and flirtatious and impersonal—the one Harper hated. “That's why I'm America's Favorite Groom. Haven't you heard the news?”

Snorting again, she pulled her knee away from his touch, brought her legs up to the step she sat on, and slid across the step to prop her back against the opposite wall, so that they were facing each other. “If the women of America only knew the truth that their groom was actually the biggest commitment-phobe in the history of modern civilization . . .” She flashed jazz hands. “Scandal!”

“Only to women like you who are walking around carrying a ball and chain, looking for a willing victim.”

“Oh, please, like the prospective brides on
Meet the Groom
aren't doing the same thing.”

This was a good thing, that they could joke about his romantic exploits and her desperation to settle down. Back in the friend zone again. Disaster averted. But since they were making up friend zone rules as they went along, he had another one to add for himself: no more casual touching. All that did was confuse that primordial male part of his brain that had survived despite his own personal evolution.

“On the contrary, I don't think any of them actually expect to settle down with me,” he said, resting his head against the wall, his body relaxing again. “They're in it for the fame and the adventure, just like me.”

“Fair enough. And for the record, I'm not walking around with a ball and chain anymore.”

“Wow. No more ball and chain,
and
you're planning to venture out of your brick fortress? I'm proud of you.” He put out his fist and she gave him knuckles.

“I'm pretty proud of myself.”

“Hell, yeah. Now will you open your gift already?”

After another long look at the envelope, she tore it open. When she saw the gift certificate inside, her eyebrows pushed together as though she was having trouble processing it.