Evolving Dreams (New Beginnings Series)

by Tepe, Mandie

  “First, I need an emergency meeting with all of the department heads. We’ll have a good old-fashioned brainstorming session.”

  “I’ll order in lunch and we’ll meet in the faculty lounge. The TAs can fill in if it runs long.” She glanced at her watch. “Your workshop was supposed to start five minutes ago. You go on and I’ll take care of everything.” She watched Meg sign her name to the contract and pick up her bag. “Thanks for hanging in there with me, Meg. I know we’re asking a lot more of you than you originally signed on for.”

  Meg left the office and was on her way to conduct her workshop, trying to make adjustments in her head as she went. As she came around a corner, she saw Sean and the guard walking toward her with several bags slung over their shoulders.

  “I can’t believe you did this, Meg,” he hissed as he came closer.

  “I didn’t do this, Sean. You let Steffy do this. I hope you’re able to see that someday soon.”

  He stalked past her and she turned around and called his name. “Sean! Wait a second.”

  “What?” he answered shortly as he stopped and turned around.

  “You might want to know that Trace has been deployed. The team shipped out in the wee hours of Monday morning. Don’t know how long he’ll be gone or where they are.” She turned back around and continued on to her class.

  Sean stood there stunned for several moments before shifting the bags over his other shoulder, turning around and continuing out of the building—the guard still following closely behind him.

  • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

  By the end of the week, the showcase plans were evolving into something really exciting. Meg had recruited Monte to come down and partner with her for a couple of her routines. She had commandeered three very promising SDDI students—Scott, the TA who had gone to Abernathy’s for Monday night football; Sergei, Anthony’s TA; and Declan, a brilliant street/hip hop dancer—to partner with her for the rest. They had all entered Marcy’s office that Wednesday afternoon as if going to the gallows. Why would they be called into the director’s office? What had they done wrong? When Marcy and Meg explained what they wanted, they were ecstatic. To be able to perform with a nationally acclaimed dancer like Meg would bring them experience and status they never expected.

  As they left the office Sergei had looked over at Declan and said in a stage whisper, “I think I’m in love with her.”

  To which Declan had replied, “Dude . . . I may have to call your boyfriend, Johnny, and give him a heads-up.”

  The three of them laughed as Sergei said, “No, don’t do that. He’s the jealous type.”

  Meg had enjoyed her evening with the SEAL wives, but didn’t let on that her professional life had exploded and she didn’t know what her future held. She had cheerfully joined in as they made taco salads and then critiqued the contestants’ creations on Project Runway. She knew the other women were watching her closely to make sure she was doing okay with Trace gone. And those she hadn’t met before were watching her closely to see if she was even good enough for Trace. She hoped she had passed the test on both accounts.

  The new stresses at work proved to be a blessing in that she didn’t have time throughout the day to think and worry too much about Trace and his team. She worked late most evenings playing catch up. But nighttime rolled around and he was all she could think of. She was one to pray in general, but she had never prayed so much or so hard as she was doing these days.

  Sean was calling several times a day, leaving messages, which she never returned. She had nothing to say to him and she knew he only wanted to plead with her to get back in her good graces or harangue her for taking on the contract without him. Either way she didn’t want to hear it.

  Thursday evening she packed up her things at Trace’s house and moved them over to Tobi’s apartment. Tobi had offered Meg her sleeper sofa . . . not too comfortable, but appreciated just the same. Meg had decided that she had no right to stay at Trace’s house anymore with her partnership with his brother dissolved.

  “He may hate me when he gets back and finds out that Sean and I have broken up the partnership and I kept my job and Sean is out. It looks bad. Don’t you think? It looks like I betrayed Sean,” she had cried to Tobi.

  Tobi had just shaken her head and said, “When he hears all the details it’ll look bad, alright. It’ll look bad for Sean. He’s the one who betrayed you and I can’t believe Trace’ll blame you for anything.”

  “But they go back, Tobi. They’re family. I’m just a girl he met a couple of weeks ago.”

  Tobi had just laughed, “There’s no way you’re ‘just a girl’ to Trace. Believe it.” She had sighed. “Okay, Meg. Get your stuff together. You’re welcome to stay with me. My place is small . . . and it’s not on the beach . . . but we’ll have fun.”

  So Meg had moved over there and continued to work hard and tried not to worry too much about Trace. But it was hard not to.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Trace sat on the hard seat of the military transport plane with his head resting back against the wall of the plane, his eyes closed. It had been a long two-and-a-half weeks, but they were on their way home. They were banged up a little, but nothing too serious.

  The team had gone into Central America after the CIA and FBI counterterrorist agents had gotten intelligence there was a lot of chatter that an Al-Qaeda terrorist cell was trying to make arrangements to get across the border through Mexico. That border was like a sieve and they all knew it. The mission was to track down that cell as soon as possible, and when they did, to stop it and extract as much information as they could with the CIA’s assistance. They found those extremists and got information leading them to some fringe cells that were assisting them. After two weeks they had a line on the Mexican drug lords who were willing to hook them up with the coyotes who would usher the terrorists into the United States for a huge amount of money.

  The team had worked this mission with an intensity Trace had rarely seen before—and he had seen a lot of intensity in his teammates. This was too close for comfort. This is what anyone who fought these extremists had been afraid of . . . that they would find a way to pour across an almost unprotected border and right into their families’ and friends’ backyards.

  Trace sighed, “I can’t wait to get off this plane and get home. Was it really only a little over two weeks we were gone?”

  JoJo was seated next to him. He looked over at Trace and smiled knowingly. “Yep . . . only a couple of weeks. Wonder what could have made it seem so long.”

  “Okay . . . what are you getting at?” Trace said resignedly.

  “Nothing.”

  Trace scowled at his friend’s falsely innocent expression. “I missed her. Alright? I admit it!” he said defensively. “When I had time to think about her, that is.”

  “I know how you feel, man. While we’re doin’ the work we don’t have time. But we pay for it on the trip back. It’s all you can think about. Welcome to the club!” he said with a snicker.

  Trace just smiled, put his head back and closed his eyes. Might as well enjoy the anticipation, he thought.

  • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

  Two hours later he wasn’t smiling anymore. He was steaming . . . and worrying. He had gotten home to find the house empty—which wasn’t surprising with Meg at work. But after he got out of the shower and was planning how to surprise her . . . ordering in dinner . . . flowers . . . he started noticing things. Her peppermint tea was gone. She hadn’t left her flip-flops on the deck beside the back door. He’d rushed into “her” bathroom and it was as if she had never been there—no shampoo . . . fruity smelling lotions . . . nothing. Her clothes weren’t in the closet and her laptop was gone. Where was she?

  He finally found a note on the end of the bar next to the wall. “Please call me when you get back. –Meg” For an hour-and-a-half he had been calling, but she wasn’t answering
her phone. He finally realized she may have been teaching class or maybe she was in rehearsals. He jumped into his Jeep and drove like a mad man over to the San Diego Dance Institute. He’d never been there, but thank God for Yahoo! Maps.

  Trace walked in the front doors and asked a young woman in workout clothes seated at the front desk where he might find Meg. She asked for his ID and informed him he wasn’t on a list and she couldn’t let him in without Miss Conlan’s—or security’s—approval. He rubbed his hand over his eyes and thought about how he was too tired to deal with this. But he knew he couldn’t rest until he saw Meg and found out what had gone wrong. Why had she gone? Things had been so good when he left. He turned around and looked dejectedly around the lobby. Now what?

  “Trace? Is that you? You’re back!”

  He spun around and saw Tobi jogging toward him. “Tobi! Am I glad to see you!”

  She laughed, “I’m glad to see you too, big guy . . . but not as glad as someone else I know is going to be.”

  Trace blew out a breath. “Really? I’m not so sure Meg’s going to be glad to see me. She moved all of her stuff out of my house. Do you know where she is? I really need to talk to her.”

  Tobi grabbed his arm and started pulling him toward an archway leading to a hallway. She looked over her shoulder at the girl behind the desk. “It’s okay, Laury. He’s with me.”

  Laury waved them on and turned back to her computer screen.

  Tobi led him to a set of double doors just a little way down the hallway and they entered an auditorium. The room was dark except for the bright lights over the stage. A few people were sitting in the seats in the front row watching the stage. There were several people in a box in the back of the theater. One was running the sound board and the others were just hanging out watching the stage too.

  He looked up on the stage to see what held everyone’s attention and his breath caught in his throat. There she was. They were dancing to Taylor Swift’s You’re Not Sorry, and he could feel the mood of the dance rolling like waves from the stage to where he stood just inside the doors—lost passion, pain, angst. Meg and her partner were holding tightly to one another. Then, in the next split second, they were across the stage from one another. She spun around and ran full tilt leaping into him, wrapped completely around him as he lifted her to set her gently down . . . then they spun apart again. He watched until the music died and he heard the spectators begin to cheer. He realized he had been holding his breath and had somehow moved up even with the front row in the center aisle. Meg’s partner stood up from his reclining position and reached down to help her up from hers. They wrapped their arms around each other in celebration, obviously pleased by the performance. He was shocked when he realized it wasn’t Sean, but Scott—who he’d met at Abernathy’s several weeks before.

  Meg turned toward the group in the front row. “Be honest. What do we need to tweak?” she asked, still short of breath.

  The group began protesting, insisting the performance was perfect.

  “Come on. We all know no performance is . . .” she trailed off as her eyes moved over to see him standing there. “Trace!” she exclaimed, even more breathlessly—if that were possible.

  He knew how she felt. He could hardly catch his breath either.

  A smile bloomed over her face as she scurried over to the stairs and the others looked at him curiously. “You’re home!” she cried as she flew down the stairs and ran lightly toward him in her bare feet.

  She threw her arms around his neck and that’s when he truly felt like he was home. He curled his arms around her lifting her off her feet. He heard some throat clearing and sensed Tobi shooing everyone out of the room. “Okay, everybody! That’s enough for today. We’ll pick up here tomorrow afternoon.”

  Trace set Meg down and she turned toward them, “Thanks, guys! Great job. Scott . . . you’re my hero! You got those lifts down. We’ll get together to polish it up tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Meg,” Scott said on his way backstage. He looked at Trace. “Hey, Trace! How are you? Welcome back.”

  “Scott. Good to see you,” Trace replied, but thought it was good to see him go too. He was a little uncomfortable about how intimate Scott and Meg had seemed while they were dancing—and was still wondering where Sean was.

  “Come over here so I can get a good look at you,” Meg said as she pulled him closer to the stage lights. “Not too worse for the wear, I guess,” she said doubtfully, noticing a few bruises and cuts here and there.

  Trace didn’t know what to say. “You look beautiful.”

  Meg laughed, “If you like your women really sweaty.” Her smile died. “When did you get back?”

  “A couple of hours ago. I tried to call, but your phone must be turned off for rehearsal.”

  “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.”

  He couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Meg, why did you leave? All your stuff is gone. What’s up?”

  She looked away as if she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. “I do want to talk to you about that, but this isn’t the time or place.” She glanced back up at him. “I’ll go clean up and meet you back at your house. You look so tired,” she murmured. “I’ll pick up dinner. Okay?” She looked pleadingly at him, not wanting to get into anything too heavy until they were truly alone.

  He let her off the hook. “Okay. Don’t be too long, though. Alright? You’re starting to freak me out.”

  She stretched up on her toes and kissed him, her hands on his cheeks. “Don’t freak out,” she whispered. But she looked even more nervous than he did. He couldn’t figure out how that could be unless she had to tell him something he wouldn’t want to hear.

  Trace watched her run back up the stairs, across the stage and disappear. He turned and made his way out of the building the same way he came in . . . alone. He hoped this wasn’t a sign of things to come.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Trace sank down into the hot tub as deeply as he could without submerging the bandage on his shoulder and looked out at the ocean view as the sun started to set. It was the first really peaceful moment he’d had in over two weeks. He glanced over at the sound of the patio door sliding open and saw Meg step out with two glasses of wine.

  “Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes.” She handed him a glass and sat on the side of the tub gathering her full skirt in her lap and sliding her feet in the water. She sighed quietly in relief.

  “Climb on in,” he suggested.

  “No, thanks. This is great.”

  He noticed a major bruise on her thigh, just above her knee. “Working hard in the studio lately, huh? The showcase is coming up soon.”

  “A week from Friday,” she said as he reached over, ran his hand behind her calf and stretched her leg out straight toward him. He began massaging her foot under the warm bubbles.

  “Are you going to tell me why you left?” he asked.

  “We’ll talk about it over dinner.”

  “Now you’re really starting to scare me.”

  “I can’t imagine anything I could say that would scare someone like you. Especially with what you must have gone through the last couple of weeks.”

  “You’d be surprised. I’m kind of surprised,” he answered cryptically.

  “I know you can’t say much, but tell me if things went okay on your mission.”

  He took a sip of wine and said, “Everything worked out. We made it back with only a few very minor injuries.”

  Meg reached over and lightly touched his bandage with her index finger then stretched out her thumb and laid it over his heart. “Very minor injuries just inches away from very major injuries?”

  “No,” he grinned. “Kevlar.”

  One corner of her mouth raised in a semblance of a smile but Trace could still see the faint worry lines between her brows. Just as he started to say something the oven timer went off.

  As Meg stood up her skirt fell into the water. “I’ll go get dinner on the table. You go get ready and I’ll
meet you in five minutes,” she said as she stood on the deck and bent over to wring out the hem of her skirt.

  Trace sat tongue-tied and watched her turn and head toward the sliding door, the hem of her gauzy cotton skirt clinging to her calves.

  Inside, as he stripped out of his swim trunks and changed into cargo shorts and a sweatshirt, Trace wondered what was going on. Well, he knew what was going on, but wondered how it could be happening.

  He’d offered his brother and his brother’s partner a place to stay for a few weeks. She was supposed to be a spoiled, self-involved diva. But she wasn’t. When he left on the mission he knew he’d developed feelings for her and that she had developed feelings for him. He figured the time away would prove his feelings were just a crush or something. But when he got home and found her and all of her things gone, he was shocked at the wrenching feeling in his gut. He should have only been concerned about finding something to eat and then crashing in bed for a good twenty-four hours. But all he could think about was finding Meg. Was she okay? What was going on?

  After he’d tracked her down he realized this was not just a crush. She’d noticed how exhausted he was and insisted on sending him home to rest and bringing him dinner. Just as she had done the past few weeks he’d known her, she was taking care of him. He was getting too used to it, and that scared him. Until he found out why she had left, though, he couldn’t allow himself to get used to having her around. He instinctively knew he needed to protect his heart. She had the power to hurt him badly. No one else had ever had that power before . . . this was new.

  • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

  Trace walked into the kitchen and his eyes lit up. Lasagna!

  “Now don’t get all excited,” Meg laughed. “It’s not really home cooking. I found one of those places you can get casseroles and stuff made up and then bring them home, bake them, and pretend it’s home cooking.”

  “That counts,” he said.