Game Changer (15 page)

“It's near Miami,” he said. Her eyes flickered up to him, then back to the gift certificate. “I want to see the look on your face when you jump out of that plane the first time you skydive, but I don't want you to have to wait to cross that off your bliss list until after I'm done with the show. So, when you're ready, when you're better after the surgery, I'm going to fly you down for a couple days. You can come to a show taping and we can go skydiving together, maybe go to some clubs. There are a ton of great restaurants around the condo I'm renting that I know you'll love.”

She kissed his cheek. “Thank you. This is a lot different than the last time you gave me a plane ticket to Miami.”

She could say that again. “This is better,” he said.

Nodding, she smoothed her hand over the gift certificate. “The last time I was on a plane, it was for my father's memorial service in Texas, twelve years ago.”

“Then it's about time you try it again, this time for yourself.”

She leaned over Brandon and unzipped the overnight bag sitting on the floor next to the stairs, then tucked the certificate inside a photo album. Brandon caught a flash of what looked like cerulean-blue napkins. The cocktail napkins he'd written her bliss list contract and items on.

She hooked her arms around his neck and hugged him again. “Thank you. For everything. I'm serious, Brandon. I'm not sure how I would've gotten through tonight without you.”

He patted her arm. “You want to see the 4-1-1 on my prospective brides?” Whatever it took to get her through this never-ending night and keep her distracted until Presley showed up to take them to the hospital and keep him from getting socked with another urge to kiss her.

“I'm proud of you for using the B word without choking. But I thought you didn't meet them for three weeks.”

He stood and walked to the door, where he'd dropped his workout bag. His right leg ached like a motherfucker, but the pain wasn't going to kill him. He didn't even try not to limp, though he did have to actively work not to cringe when he knelt to grab the bag.

Since the trip had been spontaneous, he only had with him the clothes he wore and what he'd found in his car in the airport parking lot—a workout bag with dirty gym clothes, along with a handful of toiletries and personal effects. Thank goodness he kept a spare set of prosthesis accessories and tools in his bag at all times or else he'd be screwed. Returning to his seat on the stairs, he pulled from the bag a navy blue cardstock folder stamped with the production company's logo and thick with papers.

“Today the producers gave me dossiers on each contestant.”

“You're kidding. Did they get a dossier on you?”

“I asked, and no. The media doesn't even announce me as the groom until after the first day of filming, so they can film the genuine expressions on the contestants' faces when they first see me.”

She groaned at that. “That sounds horrible, like seriously a nightmare. I can't even imagine being set up with twenty strangers on a blind date and having their expressions when they first see me captured on film for all of posterity. No thank you.”

The perspective made him chuckle. She had a point, though he'd never thought about it that way.

She took the folder from his hands and flipped through it. “Savannah, Brittany, Danielle, Chastity? Oh my God, this is pure gold. I'm going to need to read this cover to cover.”

“No doubt you'll figure out which one of them is the perfect match for me.”

“Absolutely. Let's go up to my apartment and get comfortable.”

He'd never been up to her apartment, and he was annoyed at the part of himself that was eager for the rare glimpse into her private sanctuary. There was a time not too long ago that, if she'd made him an offer like that, his dick would've turned hard in an instant and he would've spent the entire walk up the stairs planning her seduction. What a difference a couple weeks and some lousy sex made.

“Won't we wake up Kayla?”

“She sleeps like a rock.”

He kept his eyes on the dossier in Harper's hand as he followed her up to the second floor of Locks, wallowing in the surreal nature of the moment. He was being invited into Harper's apartment for the first time, and it was because they were going to sit down together and pour over the details of twenty women he was about to start dating, one of whom he might propose to in eight weeks.

The second floor of Locks was divided by a long hallway. Over the ground floor bar sat a large banquet room that Harper rented out year round and opened up to diners and bar patrons on weekends during the tourist season. The space opened up to a huge balcony with a perfect, one-eighty view of the Erie Canal. Then, to the left, through a locked hallway and sitting atop the kitchen was her private apartment.

She rarely invited people in. Even some of her friends claimed to have never been inside. The duality of her. She was a generous hostess and bar owner, hosting parties, providing meeting space for Bomb Squad, and hanging out until the wee hours of the morning with her friends at the bar, but never too private, never too personal.

Brandon followed her inside, taking note of the photographs of her family and two cats lazing on chairs. Fresh flowers abounded on every flat surface he could see—the kitchen table, the coffee table, the bathroom. Fresh flowers everywhere.

“So many flowers. Looks like you've already gotten a head start on your bliss list.”

She fingered the petals of a peach rose in the arrangement near the door. “I did. I've tackled flowers and my charity goal.”

“Yeah? Tell me about the charity.”

“I've started donating space and food at Locks for a breast cancer support group that meets on Wednesdays. They're going to start using the upper-level banquet room next week.”

“Good for you.”

With a smile and shrug, she gestured to the sofa. “It's just a start. Have a seat and get off that leg. Can I get you another beer? I don't have any alcohol up here but I could run back down to the bar, no problem.”

“Water's fine. I'm eager to take a look at these dossiers with you.” He'd already poured over them on the flight and had dog-eared a few pages of contestants who stood out to him, but Harper's interest gave him a rare opportunity to get a woman's opinion on his prospects.

He eased onto the sofa while Harper puttered in her kitchen. He'd tried to put up a good front for her downstairs, but his relief at getting off his legs brought forth a hiss from between his clenched teeth. He breathed deeply, relaxing and forcing the little fireworks of pain in his stump to dissipate.

He was tempted to take off his foot but didn't want to risk his leg swelling, which would make the custom-molded sleeve harder to get on in the morning and far less comfortable. Been there, done that.

Harper brought him a glass of ice water, then plunked down on the sofa next to him. He laid the dossier across their legs and let her flip through it at her own pace.

“I'll tell you right now, Chastity is a no,” she murmured.

“She does have a screw-loose shine to her eyes, doesn't she?”

Harper smiled. Whether consciously or unconsciously, she scooted a few inches toward him, until their legs touched. “I would too if I had that name. Too much pressure to behave.”

She continued to flip, offering advice and catty comments on every one of the twenty women.

“I like Danielle. She has kind eyes.”

Brandon had thought so, too, and a pretty face to go along with them. He stared at Danielle's portrait shot, at her dark skin and brown hair and bright smile. And those winning brown eyes. “Agreed, but she's a stockbroker with impressive education credentials. Not sure we'd have much in common.”

“Mmm,” Harper hummed, flipping the page. “Victoria is young. She reminds me of Kayla.”

The comparison made him twitch uncomfortably. “Then she's out.”

Going through the pages of women with Harper made the experience feel even less real, as though they were watching television together and discussing contestants meant for some other man, some mystical celebrity groom.

If he stopped to think deeply about what he was doing, and consider the vast number of opinions that viewers would have about him and the women in the dossier, he'd be paralyzed with fear. The trick for him was going to be to focus on his dual purposes in doing the show: inspiring vets and amputees, and having fun. If he could do that and forget about the fact that he was going to be on national television, then he'd be golden.

After they reached the last page, they chatted about the promo he'd done and the condo he'd found to rent. Slowly, she drooped sideways, leaning into him, her head on his shoulder. He kept talking, babbling on about the production staff he'd met, including his personal assistant on the show, Lucinda, and a cameraman he got on well with, Mac.

After a while, he paused and listened to Harper's even breathing.

“Harper?” he said in the barest of whisper.

She didn't answer.

He eased the dossier off her legs, then slid his arm around her shoulders and snuggled her into his chest. Screw the new friend zone rules. She needed his support, physically and mentally, and he needed her close to him to settle his own fears about her surgery.

He got his phone out to set an alarm for the morning, but saw the camera icon on his phone and got a wild hair to snap a picture of them together like that. He wasn't sure why. Maybe he'd show her the photo when she woke up to prove that she really had slept, in case she didn't believe him. And maybe he wanted an image of her, of the two of them, to carry with him back to Miami.

He snapped a few photos of them, then set the timer on his phone for seven. Resting his head against hers, he closed his eyes and let the rhythm of her breaths lull him to sleep.

Harper counted her blessings with every step she took from the hospital parking lot to the main entrance. Brandon held her right hand and Presley her left, and they walked as a united front into the lobby.

Two steps in, Harper froze, gasping. More than a dozen Bomb Squad players and her friends, including Theo, Allison, Emily, Liam, Marlena, Olivia, Will, Gabe, Duke, Donna, Kayla, and many more, had taken over the lobby. When they saw her, they stood and surrounded her. Even Kayla had somehow managed to sneak out from the apartment without Harper knowing it and stood amongst the others.

Olivia was the first to reach Harper. Harper released Brandon and Presley's hands, then hugged her friend tightly.

“You told us not to come, but we ignored you,” Olivia said.

It was too much. Harper's ribs squeezed. Her throat constricted. So many people cared about her. She had to be the luckiest woman in the world. She turned her face away from Olivia and buried it Brandon's sleeve, getting a grip.

He slung an arm loosely around her waist, then slapped shoulders with Theo.

“Didn't expect to see you here, man,” Theo said.

“Didn't expect to be here, but after our conversation yesterday, I found myself driving from the pre-production soundstage to the airport.”

Theo nodded, even as his eyebrows flickered up. “I wondered if something like that might happen.”

“Yeah, well, since all I have are the clothes on my back, I'm going to be knocking on the boat landing door later to borrow some stuff, so consider yourself warned.”

“Deal.”

That's right. In all that had happened, she hadn't registered Brandon's lack of luggage. His presence took on a whole new meaning. She wished she knew what Theo had said to Brandon to bring him back to Destiny Falls, and she almost asked, but she had more friends to thank and hug, and then an appointment with the hospital administrator who was in charge of checking her in for her surgery.

Reluctantly, she stepped away from Brandon's anchoring touch, then hugged each of her friends in turn.

“Please don't stick around until the surgery's done,” she told the group. “I honestly don't want anybody to see me right afterward, when I'm looking my worst. There's a lot I can't control right now, but it'd be nice to feel up to doing my hair and putting on makeup before I see you all again. Can you at least give me that?”

“None of us care about that, but fair enough,” Duke said.

Flanked by Brandon and Presley, she followed the surgery prep administrator to a pre-op room. There were questions to answer, last-minute paperwork to sign, an IV to start, and vitals to take.

She stopped at the door to bid good-bye to her two closest friends.

“That doesn't count for us, right? What you said to the others,” Presley said. “I'm not going to be able to stay away from the hospital knowing you're here.”

Harper hugged her hard. “It doesn't count for you, sweetie. I don't know what I'd do without you.” She glanced at Brandon. “Both of you.”

Brandon looked up at her from under dark lashes and even darker eyes, his expression somber. “You're not going to have to find out.”

She hugged him, feeling her emotions bubbling over. She forced herself to mellow, knowing that tears would worry him unnecessarily. He'd taught her what it meant to be strong in the face of adversity, to find the joy—to seize every moment of every day. He had his leg blown off without anesthesia, so she had it easy in comparison. If he could be tough, then she could, too.

And then, after she got this surgery out of the way, she was going to live with the verve of someone who'd cheated death. It was going to be an amazing life. She had so much to look forward to—and she knew that Brandon would be there cheering her on every step of the way.

Rubbing his hands over her back, he kissed her hair, then her temple, then her cheek. “I'm so proud of you. Sweet dreams, baby,” he murmured into her ear. “I'll still be here when you wake up. You can count on it.”

***

Harper woke to a dark room. Her chest was heavy and throbbing and her eyes were dry and itchy with grit in the corners. She raised her hand to rub away the sand, but pain sizzled up her side and into her shoulder. She groaned and lowered her arm to the bed once more. At least she felt up to trying to lift her arm. Her first few times waking after surgery, she'd been too out of it to care about grit in her eyes.

The surgeon had prepared her for the domino effect that slicing into her chest muscles and skin would have on the rest of her body. He'd warned her that her ribs would feel so tight, she'd wonder if they were broken. Her neck and shoulders would be stiff. He'd warned her that the mobility in her arms would be limited until she healed, possibly preventing her from raising her arms for a while. Guess he hadn't been exaggerating that one.

She closed her eyes, breathing through the pain and taking stock of her body.

“Harper, you doing all right? Are you in pain again?” Brandon's voice cut through her meditation.

She fluttered her eyes open again to see him standing over her. The hours after surgery had been a fuzzy carousel of sleep, pain meds, nurses, and the garbled sounds of hospital bustle. Through it all, Brandon and Presley had stayed by her side, bringing her water, adjusting her pillows and blankets, and talking to her until she forgot about the pain and drifted off to sleep again.

“What are you doing here still?” she croaked. “You should be asleep.”

“It's only nine thirty. But I did send Presley home to rest for the night.”

She rolled her head to the side and looked at the window. The curtain was closed, but she saw an adjustable chair with a footrest transformed into a makeshift bed. “You should go back to my apartment and rest, too. You don't have to stay here with me. There's plenty of nurses.”

He smoothed her hair away from her cheek. “I'm here because I know what it feels like to be in a dark, impersonal hospital room in the middle of the night right after a life-changing surgery. I've been there, so I know what you need. You're not going to talk me out of staying.”

What she really needed was another round of pain meds and sleep, but neither of those were things he could provide, so she took the bait and asked, “What do you think I need?”

His hand stroked her hair again. “You need to hear that you're not alone.”

“I know. You're here, but I still wish you'd go home and rest. That bed you made up over there doesn't look comfortable at all.”

He propped his foot on her bed and crossed his legs at the knee. He wasn't wearing his prosthesis and the pant leg flopped over his other leg at an awkward angle. “One, get over yourself already. And two, I've slept in far worse places when I was in the army. This is like Club Med.”

That made her smile, but the snort she attempted only brought on a throbbing, burning ache across her upper torso. “Ow.”

He bolted upright, his legs dropping to the floor. “Pain?”

“My chest, my arm.”

He pressed the nurse's call button attached to the rail of her bed. “Can I get you some water while we wait for the nurse?”

“Don't want to move.”

Lowing his face, he lifted her hand to bring it to his lips, but the movement in her arm made her groan with in pain. “That hurts, too?”

“Arm.”

“That's probably because all those muscles are connected—your chest, your shoulder, your arms. It's all going to be sore for a while.”

“Sucks,” she breathed, her voice hoarse and shallow.

He released her hand, then stood and hopped to the opposite side of the bed where her adjustable table sat. He poured a cup of water and then worked the straw past her lips.

She took a tiny sip and rolled the water around her mouth before swallowing. Her throat was sore, but not nearly as badly as the rest of her body.

He kept the straw in place and ran his open palm over her hair in long, soothing strokes. “Again. One more sip.”

She obliged him, then pushed the straw out with her tongue. “Where's your foot?”

He nodded toward the window. “Charging. In the corner.”

“You have to charge it?”

“Every other night. That's the latest in sophisticated technology, right there. Takes a lot of juice to keep it going.”

“We could loan you a pair of crutches tonight. There's a spare set on this floor,” said a female voice from the door. Harper rolled her eyes in that direction and saw a perky blonde nurse with a generous smile and an ample chest that stretched her scrubs. Just Brandon's type.

Brandon's most charming smile blossomed in full effect. “You'd be a lifesaver. No, an angel.”

Here we go . . .
As if she could handle watching him flirt with a pretty, young woman while she lay there, deformed and looking like she'd been hit by a mac truck.

What a nasty thought that was, both about herself and about Brandon. Grimacing, she squeezed her eyes closed, embarrassed. Old habits sure did die hard. Brandon had flown into town specifically to be here for her and had been nothing but supportive and doting since his arrival. If he wanted to help pass the sleepless night he was spending by her side in a hospital room by flirting with the nurses, then she should be giving him her blessing.

“But first,” Brandon said, “let's get our patient taken care of. She woke up in pain and could use some meds.”

“We can handle that. Hi, Harper, I'm Lindsay and I'll be taking care of you tonight.”

Nurse Lindsay took Harper's vitals and asked some questions before bustling out with the promise to return posthaste.

“She's sweet,” Harper said. “I can't even muster up some annoyance that you were flirting with her while I'm lying here all pathetic and ugly and in pain.”

“Stop with the toxic bullshit talk about yourself. You're not ugly or pathetic. I don't even think you could be pathetic if you set your mind to it. And give me a break about the flirting. I've been in enough hospitals and medical centers to know it can come in handy. Maybe Lindsay'll bring pain meds and crutches back a little quicker than she would have otherwise. Maybe she'll sneak me in a tray of breakfast along with yours. Maybe she'll give me her personal cell number so I don't have to use the call button to summon her to your bedside.”

She snorted, an attempt to laugh, though the action cost her dearly as another round of pain lit her chest up like a lightning storm. “You're such a saint. No, an angel,” she wheezed through the pain.

He kissed her forehead. “I'm glad you can see that.”

“I hope she really does give you her number. Maybe you two can hook up before you leave town.”

“Normally I'd agree with you because she's really hot, except I have a feeling you're going to be a very high-maintenance invalid.”

This time, she rejected the urge to laugh and only smiled instead. “I'm visualizing myself throwing my pillow at you right now.”

“Plus there's the little matter of me signing the
Meet the Groom
contract that stipulates I can't date outside the show or be linked romantically to any woman except the contestants until the finale airs in early December.”

“Really? That's harsh.”

“I know. That page of the contract hurt to initial.”

“As soon as I feel better, I plan to laugh my ass off that you signed a celibacy contract.”

“It's not precisely a celibacy contract because, as my agent pointed out, there's nothing in the contract language preventing me from getting to know the contestants better after hours, if you catch my drift.”

Oh, she caught it, all right. “My money's on Chastity. Or Winnie.”

He gave a quiet laugh. “Maybe both.”

Maybe both. Maybe all of them. Her heart sank, which was a whole new kind of ache. Not because she was jealous, but because the conversation made her feel inexplicably lonely to the point of being invisible. Brandon was under contract not to be romantically linked to any women outside the show. He couldn't go on a date with Nurse Lindsay, but he was staying for four nights in Harper's apartment. He was driving her car and spending every waking minute with her, but no one cared about that. He wasn't violating any contracts with her because she didn't count as a romantic prospect. She was a helpless lump in a bed.

The pain and the sorrow snuck up on her, sending tears streaming over her cheeks. She couldn't even raise her hand to wipe them away. How pathetic was that?

Brandon let go of her hand, then hopped to the wall. He turned on the recessed light over the sink and grabbed a box of tissues. He dabbed at the corners of her eyes and dried her cheeks. Then he gathered her face in his hands and forced her gaze to him. “You're not alone.”

She wrenched her face away from his hands, a bitter taste on her tongue.

Something heavy was set on her legs. Her bliss list photo albums. Brandon opened it to the first page—her contract to herself shining in bright cerulean blue. He perched on the edge of the mattress. “Let's go over these again.”

She didn't feel like it. Too much pain, too much sadness. Where was Lindsay with her medication?

“Fishing,” Brandon said, reading. “Skydiving, the Empire State Building, refereeing a hockey game, charity. That one is growing on me. One of the group dates I'm going to take the prospective brides on is to the VA hospital in Miami. I've already been there twice, scoping it out and bringing donuts to the patients and medical staff. That's kind of hypocritical for a fitness model, isn't it?”

“But sweet,” she rasped, feeling the pain in every word.

“Every town I visit, I make time to visit the local VA hospital. I've tried bringing healthier treats, but they love junk food and donuts aren't nearly as tempting to me as cookies, so donuts are the least I can do. Brings them a little hope. I've kept in touch with enough of the veterans I've met that I finally started carrying a business card.”