The Dancing Groom: Royal Palm Resort (Brady Brother Romances Book 3)

by Taylor Hart

  “You’re so dead.” Christian sounded genuinely bummed for him.

  “She’s dead in the water if I don’t get to the tryout. She went without me.”

  Christian gasped. “Okay, sending the address now.”

  Boston just hoped he hadn’t lost too much time.

  Chapter 27

  Addison rushed inside the theater building and through the hallway to the backstage area. There was a woman sitting at the check-in table rising from her seat.

  “Wait,” Addison told her. “I need to check in.”

  The woman stopped, cocked an eyebrow. “You’re late.”

  Addison was out of breath. “I know.” She wanted to explain, but it would push her into territory that was not a good place to go right now.

  The woman narrowed her eyes. “You’re Addison Clarke?”

  Addison smiled proudly and blinked back tears. “Adair now.” And Adair was a good thing to be, since she’d obviously been wrong about a drama king football player. She should have known tigers didn’t change their stripes so easily.

  The woman nodded and sat. “Of course. I heard you might come to the tryout.”

  The first bit of good news she’d heard all day. Addison watched the woman go through some paperwork. “Really? How did you hear that?”

  The woman let out a light laugh. “You know the dance world—it’s small.”

  That made Addison wonder what else they’d heard, and what they expected.

  The woman looked around. “You doing a solo dance?”

  Addison’s heart raced. “Yes.”

  The lady nodded, then frowned. “Seems you would be more suited to a partner tryout with all your experience.”

  Addison pushed down the urge to yell at the woman. She pasted on a smile. “Nope. Just me. I, uh, am hoping to show off my versatility.”

  The woman finished and showed her to the back of the stage. The tryouts had already begun, and the woman whispered to her. “You only have about ten minutes before the end of the solos, so you’d better put your stuff down there and warm up quick.” The lady stopped and put her hand out. “Your music.”

  Addison tugged the flash drive out of her pocket. “Right here. Number 2.” Luckily her solo routine was choreographed to the same music as the partner routine, so she had it with her.

  Addison noted her hands trembled as she put her bag down. Quickly, she took off her wraps and then moved to a space where she could stretch and watch the others. “I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.” Furiously, she blinked back tears and told herself it was her own fault for relying on someone like him.

  She pressed a hand to her eyes and wished her mother was still alive to try to calm her before an audition. She missed her so much.

  Then she thought of Jason. His kindness, his gentle hands. With Jason, she’d never, ever worried about a fake world or him dumping her for a supermodel.

  “Isn’t she the one from Dancing with the Stars?” she heard someone whisper.

  “Yeah, I heard she got way out of shape and can’t even dance anymore.”

  Something inside of Addison snapped. Her mind flicked to Boston. She would do this without him. Suddenly, her focus was back. She would show him she didn’t need his drama.

  More emotion surged, but she commanded herself to be professional. To be excellent. She imagined she was back on The Stars and this was just another performance.

  “Addison Adair.”

  Addison rushed around a couple of people and then onto the stage, but she tripped over someone and came crashing down on her ankle. Pain ripped through the joint. “Dang it.” She clenched her teeth, let go of her ankle, and stood.

  “Hello,” an older gentleman from the front theater seat called out.

  No. She had to do this. She turned. “Hi.”

  A lady sat on either side of him. She thought she recognized one from somewhere, but she wasn’t sure where.

  “Are you okay?” the man asked.

  Shoving back the pain and tears, she thought of Boston’s story about playing during that last game: he’d yanked his shoulder out, but he’d still carried the ball to the end zone. Well, she was every bit as tough as he was. Victory was all that mattered. She walked slowly forward, telling herself to forget the pain, ’cause she was doing this.

  Digging out the forced smile that she’d retired a week or so ago, she said, “Yes. Just happy to have this opportunity to audition.”

  Chapter 28

  Boston rushed inside the theater, hearing music that he recognized.

  No! She started without me!

  Dancers flooded the hallways. He pushed through them. He had to get to her. “Excuse me. Excuse me.”

  The second song of their routine came on, the Viennese, and he imagined her doing it solo. He cursed. Maybe he could still make it for the finale, for the song that mattered. He got backstage and called out, “Move!”

  A dozen dancers there stopped what they were doing and moved out of the way. He took off his bag and threw it to the side, then yanked off his hoodie and pulled off his sweatpants.

  The song was almost over, and he put on his shoes and then rushed out to the stage.

  He couldn’t believe what he found.

  Lying on the stage was Addison, her hand at her ankle, crying.

  Chapter 29

  Addison had done fine until the last leap, when she’d come down wrong on it again. The solo wasn’t as well-prepped as the partner routine, and she was paying for it.

  Now, as she watched Boston rush out to her, she was shocked, but angry. The music came to a halt right as she yelled, “Go away!” Her words echoed through the mostly empty auditorium.

  Boston didn’t listen. He knelt down and held her ankle with one hand, then inspected it with gentle finger pressure. “You okay?”

  “Why don’t you ask the love of your life? Hashtag, love you, Lana,” she said, unable to focus on anything besides her anger at the man next to her.

  “That was not me who posted that,” Boston retorted, his attention on her ankle. He lifted it, turning it gently from side to side. “And we’re not going to argue about this right now, okay?” He turned to one of the assistants standing in the wings. “I need some tape for this ankle, stat!”

  Her heart pounded. Part of her wanted to demand more answers and slap him, and the other part wanted to kiss him.

  Boston stared at the woman. “That means now.”

  Addison wasn’t surprised at all when the lady jolted and ran off to look for tape.

  Swiftly, he leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Let’s do this, champ.” He stared into her eyes. “I promise, Lana was being Lana. She hacked my account.”

  Was that really a possibility? She didn’t know Boston well enough to say for sure, but her heart was telling her to listen.

  Boston hesitated. “I know how it looks. It’s a long story, and right now, we have to dance. So you’ll just have to trust me.”

  Her eyes fluttered, but she realized she did trust this man. Suddenly, she relaxed. “I do. For now.”

  “Excuse me!” Both of them turned to see the director waving an arm. “This circus is not allowed.”

  Boston stood and stared at the director. “We need a do-over.”

  The director stood, his face contorting into disgust. “No. And who are you?”

  One of the women on the front row gasped and then pointed. “Boston Brady. That’s one of the Brady brothers.” She stood and joined the director.

  The director frowned. “Who?”

  “He’s the football player. His brother has ALS.” She turned to Boston. “How is he? I saw he’d gone to the hospital.”

  This was crazy to Addison, but not unusual now that she knew Boston.

  Boston nodded. “He’s okay, but that’s the reason we’re late—because of a mix-up at the hospital.”

  Addison was beside herself with exasperation. She just had to put the “mix-up at the hospital” aside and focus on why they were here.r />
  “Here’s some tape.” The assistant returned, handing sports tape to Boston.

  The director cautiously moved to the stage. “Ms. Adair, we don’t allow redos.”

  Boston knelt beside her, ripping the tape with his teeth. “You need to let her.”

  “I don’t do redos,” the director snapped.

  Addison stared at them as if from a distance. The moment felt surreal, like she was watching a movie.

  Boston expertly taped her ankle. “You’ll let her because she deserves it.” He paused, glancing at the director. “Her husband passed a few months ago, and she’s been busting her butt for this audition. And it’s my fault I’m late,” he finished.

  The director and the two women stared at them, seeming a bit overwhelmed.

  Addison was used to Boston, but most people weren’t. “Please,” she asked the director, feeling new determination. “I can do this.”

  Boston put his hand beneath her arms and lifted her up. “She’s amazing, but you already know that.”

  The woman who had been Team Boston turned to the director. In a quiet voice, she said, “We can’t do it. It wouldn’t be fair to the other applicants.”

  The other woman nodded. “Unfortunately, she’s right. We would be asking for a lawsuit.”

  The director hesitated, his mouth pinched as he considered. “I’m sorry, Ms. Adair. We will consider the performance you have already done, and if it doesn’t turn out how you would like, you are welcome to audition again next year.”

  Unable to believe it, she met Boston’s eyes. It was over. Just like that. She already knew her solo performance wasn’t strong enough to carry her into a company like Jive, especially with the humiliating fall that she’d ended on.

  She blew out a slow breath and held out a hand so Boston could help her up. She would take defeat graciously, and then she would go to her bungalow and cry her eyes out for days.

  Boston helped her up, and she whispered, “Thanks for trying.”

  The side of his lip tugged up. “I’m not done yet. Brady Guarantee.” Rising to his full height, he turned to face the director. “If you’ll kindly take your seats, ladies and gentleman, Addison Adair will be completing her audition.”

  The director scowled and his mouth pinched up again. “There are no do-overs. This is not football, Mr. Brady.”

  Boston looked confident, but Addison knew full well this was not his arena. She considered stopping him before he burned any bridges for her.

  “No do-over,” said Boston respectfully. “The sound engineer stopped her music prematurely. She still hasn’t finished. The third and best part of her routine is still to come.”

  The auditorium went silent. A pin drop would have sounded like crashing cymbals. Addison could practically hear the gears turning in the director’s head.

  With a raised eyebrow, the director looked at the women to his sides. First one, then the other gave him a small nod. “Very well. You may proceed. Cue the music!” he called as he took his seat.

  Proceed? She could finish the routine? Boston had earned her another chance. No running home with her tail between her legs to lick her wounds today!

  Boston put out his hand ceremoniously. “What do you say? Dance with me?”

  Addison laughed, afraid that if she spoke, tears would come out. She put her hand in his, thinking of that dance lesson when she and Shelly had tried to change partners. Never in a million years would she have expected to be here with this man as her hero.

  The music restarted right before the transition to the cha-cha, and she saw Boston’s head bounce as he mentally counted out the movement.

  On the first beat of the cha-cha music, she spun into him, giving him her best cha-cha wink.

  Everyone else seemed to melt away. The moves were easy, light, fun. The intensity between them heightened, and all thoughts of her ankle were gone. Not even on national TV had she felt this kind of juice flowing through her.

  They were in perfect synergy, floating through the air together. Forget the feet on the ground; they were both in the clouds, so light they could float away and she wouldn’t have noticed.

  All of the anger and hurt from earlier slipped away. It was no use to hold on to those feelings, because the language they spoke right now was clearer than anything else.

  Addison was in love, and she knew he loved her. He was telling her the truth. The fact that he was here was proof enough of that.

  If only this dance could last forever. But the final moves of the song were coming up, and she had a decision to make. Boston knew what she was thinking, and he gave her a wink.

  What did she have to lose? It was now or a year from now, and she was ready now.

  At the rhythm change, she ran to the edge of the stage, took a deep breath, then dashed toward him. He lifted as she leaped. She felt lighter than a feather; she’d never been thrown so high in her life. She tucked and rolled, then flattened out, hoping and praying that his arms would be where they were supposed to be.

  Boston did not disappoint. His arms were waiting, catching her at the bottom of her descent, then spinning in a circle as she let one toe slide along the ground. He twirled her around and tossed again, this time without the help of Addison leaping. He was the strongest partner she’d ever danced with, and again she flew, this time tucking into a backflip and coming down with his hands on her hips, landing perfectly in time with the final beat of the music.

  As she struck her pose, she couldn’t help but turn and meet Boston’s eyes. He beamed with pride and adoration as he looked down at her. Pure happiness coursed through her, and she found herself throwing herself into his arms.

  He caught her and twirled her, laughing. “You did it! You did it!”

  When he put her down, she couldn’t explain how all of the anger was gone and all she could feel was love.

  “I love you,” he said with a smile, his eyes tearing up. “That was amazing.”

  She felt like her own smile would split her face in half. “I love you, too.”

  “You do?” he asked.

  She laughed. “And it was amazing.”

  “Excuse me!” the director called out.

  Both of them turned, and she marveled at how, once again, Boston Brady had become the center of her world.

  “I think I should be the one to say if it was amazing or not.”

  Addison pulled away from Boston, nervous jitters assaulting the lower pit of her gut. She put her shoulders back and waited with as much dignity as possible.

  “Well?” Boston asked. Addison ignored the impulse to elbow him in the gut. It was time for poise.

  The director’s face broke into a grin, and then he clapped. “It was amazing.”

  The women next to him stood and clapped too, both smiling and nodding.

  Boston let out a sports kind of yell, followed by a woot-woot-woot as he bent to pick her up on his shoulders and carry her around, his fist in the air.

  Addison joined in. Forget decorum; they had done it! And whether she was picked up by Jive or not, she had already won the best prize imaginable.

  “Put me down,” she told Boston.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes going to her feet. “Is it your ankle?”

  “My ankle’s fine.” Addison winked at him. “It’s just too hard to kiss you from up there.”

  “In that case …”

  Boston’s lips came forward and met hers. If his dancing had left any doubt of his commitment to her, his kiss would have erased all of that. She was so ready more of this, and she wasn’t going to let him stop kissing her until the director ordered them offstage.

  Epilogue

  September—Miami

  Addison stood in the owner’s box in Miami with Ty and Luna next to her. It’d been a crazy four months since wrapping up her summer at The Palm.

  She’d gotten the position with Jive and had been killing it since. The company traveled all over the world, and they’d just gotten back from a twelve-
day tour in Europe.

  When she’d shown up on Boston’s front door—as a surprise, coordinated with Ty— Boston had stood there, stunned, then just held her for the longest time.

  It still amazed her that she’d fallen in love with the guy. He was so different from what she’d imagined: he was genuine, kind, loving, and concerned. They spent hours on Skype, and he flew wherever she was whenever he could.

  And their relationship wasn’t a social media fiasco to get more views. In fact, every one of his brothers and teammates she talked to asked what she’d done with the old Boston Brady because they never wanted him to come back.

  What they had was real, and that had spilled over to every aspect of his life. He did social media from time to time, but it was mostly to post inspirational thoughts, helping people see that what they saw on their screens wasn’t real life. He wanted to let people know that the things that mattered in life were around you when you put your phone down.

  He’d blocked Lana right off and blocked every fake account she created to try to get to him. He had a strict policy of never engaging in online fights. People still came at him on a regular basis, trying to bait out the old Boston Brady. His typical response was “I got nothin’ but love,” and that was hard to fight against.

  Within a week of the Jive tryout, the Surf had picked up on the change in his image, and they came to the table, ready to talk. The Wave had come, too, and a bidding war ensued, which worked out better than Boston had ever hoped. So here he was, signed up for another year with the Miami Surf, ready to be a team player, and never afraid to tell anyone how blessed he was.

  “I’m so nervous,” Luna laughed, holding to Ty’s shoulder.

  Addison really liked Luna and Ty. They were such an example of true love. Ty had recovered quickly after his stint in the hospital, but he was now living full time in South Carolina while Luna attended college, and he was continuing treatments with Dr. Cruz.

  The game started with the Los Angeles Wave kicking the ball out of the end zone. As the Surf offense took the field, she was surprised to see Boston as the starting halfback. It had been a game-time decision and apparently had gone Boston’s way.