BEAST: A Bad Boy Marine Romance (15 page)

I
drove away
from the lake house, rage consuming me. I bit my nails, sped on the freeway, and blasted the music.

How dare Grady try to psychoanalyze me? Maybe he was just trying to project on to me?

Except that he was right.

Even worse, I loved him. Completely. I know we had spent such a short time together but every moment had seemed so intense. Like we crammed all the stages of a relationship into a week.

I had to get him back.

And Marisol—I could kill her. She claimed to have been trapped by the press and that she was in fact telling them that I actually liked him despite his scars but they misquoted her. If Grady never took me back, I would never forgive her.

I plugged my phone into the car and pressed the button for my ballroom mix, long hidden from my ears. First song that came on was a foxtrot, “You’re Nobody Till Somebody Loves You.” Dean Martin’s soothing voice penetrated deep into my soul. Memories flashed back of competing at Blackpool in England, Pasha leading me around the floor, the crowd screaming our number, my mom shouting louder than everyone.

Grady was right. I missed dancing—not the drama, not the show, but dancing. When my mom died, I’d banished that entire part of my life. It took being around a man who’d lost his own dream to realize how my own heart ached for mine.

I pulled over to the next shopping area, and set my eyes on a coffee shop. But I had something important to take care of first.

One last dance, for me, for Grady. Maybe if he could see me face my fears, he could conquer his.

I dialed the numbers, my hands shaking.

“Hello?”

Benny, I hadn’t heard his voice in years. My former mentor. My master coach. Benny held one link to my past. A past I refused to ignore anymore. “Benny, it’s Isa. I’m ready to dance again. Is there anyway you can find a place for me on the show?”

I
was alone
in this amazing house, the scent of Isa still lingering in the air. I was due back on base for my next round of treatments. Useless treatments that hadn’t helped me at all.

Had Isa meant what she’d said? That she not only loved me but thought that we could have a beautiful life together? Even if she’d told me the truth about what she’d said to her friend, the damage was done.

And she baited me. “But I’m going to do something about it.” I’d once been a leader, men followed my orders, lived and died by my decisions, they entrusted me with their lives.

A leader takes action, fixes what’s wrong, and doesn’t sit around and give up.

I’d never look the way I had before the war, but I could be that man again.

I logged into the computer and searched around, finding a list of residential treatment programs I’d been referred to. I’d always refused to even consider attending. But experiencing a glimpse of happiness with Isa made me want to see if I could really heal.

After an hour of searching, one program stood out to me. Thirty days, on a working ranch, hunting, fishing, living off the land. Of course there was the usual bullshit, daily therapy, group and individual.

Once I saw the price tag, my hopes were dashed. But I knew I needed this. I’d find a way. Maybe when I finished treatment, I could start over with Isa. But I wasn’t doing this for her, or even as a way to get her back, I was doing this for me.

B
enny 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. 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 him 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, watch me dance on television.

T
he 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. I wasn’t allowed a cell phone or internet access 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 were together twenty-four hours a day, I opened up to her more than I’d ever opened up to anyone. In addition to her physical beauty, she was compassionate and non judgmental. 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, who 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 like some lovesick puppy. 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.

I
arrived in Los Angeles
. 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. 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.

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 wasn’t clean-shaven, 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. Isa won’t shut up about you.”

“It wasn’t a bomb, it was a grenade.”

“That’s cool.” He lit a cigarette and I was shocked. Didn’t dancers take care of their bodies? I expected that shit out of my Marines, but not this guy.

“Let me get Isa 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 built 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. I want you to know there is nothing going on together with us. And I’m really sorry about that day I came at you. I was wrong. Isa had been 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 Isa and I were kids, 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.

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.