Game Changer

by Melissa Cutler

  He looked down at the photograph, at the tender way he rested his head against hers, how she’d burrowed into his shoulder, her arm flopping into his lap and her hair tickling his cheek. The moment he’d captured was one of his top ten favorite moments of all time. He remembered with perfect clarity how satisfied and relieved he’d been at his choice to fly home to support her. He remembered how much she’d needed him and how great it felt to be needed by her.

  He remembered how content he’d been to hold her while she slept, to listen to her breathing and let her warmth and softness seep all the way into the depths of his bones. He could’ve sat like that with her forever, just getting lost in the quiet peace of being together. Not an amputee with survivor’s guilt or a BRCA1 gene carrier living in constant fear of cancer, not two people who’d been locked in an exasperating romantic battle for five long years—just Brandon and Harper, two people who needed each other.

  Goddamn, what I wouldn’t give to be in Destiny Falls right now.

  A push of a button and the screen blanked. There was no use in wishing for what couldn’t be. Right now, he needed to get laid. He needed to forget.

  He looked up to find Danielle watching him. “I asked, will she wait for you?”

  He cleared his throat and pocketed his phone. “Friendships don’t wait. Friendships just are.” Then he forced himself to lean forward, forced his hand to lift and mold against Danielle’s waist. “Why are we still talking about her when we should be talking about us?”

  She touched his face, her eyes searching. “All right. New question. Why are you doing Meet the Groom?”

  Was this part of playing hard to get or did she really, actually want to drive around Miami at ten o’clock at night having a first-date conversation? Either way, he wasn’t going to be a jerk by pushing her any harder to get physical. “Haven’t you heard? I’m trying to find out if love is the answer.”

  She let out a great, silly bark of a laugh that made him smile.

  “No, seriously,” she said. “Ever since the group date to the VA hospital, I’ve wanted to talk to you one-on-one because I think you and I have more in common than you know, at least as far as our reasons for doing the show.”

  She’d piqued his curiosity. “Really? Okay. A huge part of why I agreed to go on the show was its reach, as far as spreading the word about issues that disabled vets face and expanding my potential to inspire people who’ve lost limbs. That’s a really important part of my life.”

  She nodded. “Your life’s purpose. I thought that might be the case.”

  Maybe that was his life’s purpose and maybe it wasn’t. Sometimes it felt that way, and other times, he was filled with such an all-consuming restlessness that he knew his search wasn’t over. That’s when his fallen brothers started showing up in his dreams again, when he started to feel lost and drifting. Much like he had tonight after his disastrous video chat with Harper.

  He didn’t plan to share any of those private thoughts on camera, though. “When the Meet the Groom producers approached me, I almost declined because I’m not looking to settle down. That’s definitely not part of my life’s purpose.”

  He cringed and glanced at Mac. That maybe wasn’t the wisest thing to say on camera. “I mean, I wasn’t looking to settle down. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized this show was handing me a great opportunity to make a real difference with people living with disabilities and the rest of the viewership’s perspective on amputees. And find true love,” he tacked on in haste.

  Mac snorted, but Danielle didn’t seem to pick up on his near-misstep. Instead, she hugged Brandon’s arm. “Exactly! My cousin was auditioning for the show and she convinced me to do it, too. I was like ‘heck, no,’ but then I got to thinking about what being on the show would do for Urban Treble.” She placed her hand over her heart. “My baby, my brainchild.”

  “Urban Treble. I like it. Treble’s a music term, right?”

  “Yep. And this isn’t just any ordinary music program, but one I started four years ago in Atlanta as an afterschool vocal program for children in disadvantaged families, like I was when I was a kid. Back then, I had church choir to lift me up. No matter what was going on in my life, I always had music.

  “So fast-forward to four years ago, when my sister’s boyfriend took off. She had to start working full time, and her son, Deshawn, was home alone all the time. That’s when I stepped in to take care of him after school. I started noticing all the other kids in his neighborhood who were in the same situation. I knew I had to do something to help these kids rise above.”

  The passion in her eyes when she talked about her life’s purpose was a palpable force in the car. “So, you’re a stockbroker and a singer?”

  “Yes. I double majored at Emory, and when I graduated, I still didn’t know if I was destined for Wall Street or Broadway.”

  “But you didn’t end up at either, did you?”

  “No. Grad school. But back to Urban Treble. The first year we had a respectable ten kids, and the next year, we tripled that number. Then we tripled it again the third year. And now, if I could get the funding I need, I’d quit my day job and run the program full time, expand it to other cities, apply for grants. The sky’s the limit.”

  Then she looked right at the camera. “And do you know the best thing about teaching kids to sing? They don’t need instruments or special equipment, nothing. All they need to do is show up and have the right attitude. Boy, once you get them believing in themselves, they shine so bright, each and every one of them. I always thought breaking the glass ceiling for women of color in the business world was my calling, but this”—she shook her head, the camera and Brandon forgotten, her smile and eyes a million miles away—“this is what God put me on the earth to do.”

  Lucky her, to know the reason she’d been put on the earth. A feeling tugged at him, a sensation that warned him that he’d taken a faulty turn in life and was barreling down a one-way street in the wrong direction. “So we both have agendas on the show other than finding true love.”

  She licked across her lower lip, her eyes darting to the camera as though she was debating the shrewdness of saying what she was about to. “I think you’ll find that every one of the contestants has an agenda, but perhaps theirs aren’t as noble as ours.”

  He had the sinking suspicion that she was leading him down a rhetorical path to make a very specific point, though he wasn’t yet certain what it was. “This is showbiz, after all. To be fair, I haven’t had any one-on-ones with the other contestants, so perhaps they also have noble agendas that I’m not aware of yet.”

  She hummed. “They were all quite green in the eyes when Lucinda called the brides’ house tonight and alerted me to your request.”

  His request? So Lucinda had made it sound as though he’d specifically asked to see Danielle. Interesting . . .

  She walked her hand up his arm. “I’m glad you did that because it sounds to me that you need to propose to a contestant who gets where you’re coming from. One whose reasons for being on the show aren’t so different from yours. Someone who’d be ideal for a temporary, mutually beneficial partnership.”

  And there they were—at the rhetorical destination that she’d coaxed him toward brilliantly.

  She had an excellent point, too. Temporary was a dirty word to Harper, and now that he knew her inside and out, he understood why. Of course Harper would have a problem with temporary after all the losses she’d suffered and living with a ticking time bomb inside her for so long. But Brandon was not Harper. He didn’t have any of those same hang-ups—and Danielle was correct. Temporary was exactly what he was looking for from the fiancé he chose.

  The sooner the engagement ends, the sooner I can get back to Destiny Falls.

  When had that become his plan? He didn’t really want that, did he? The push and pull with Harper would kill him if they lived in t
he same small town again. It was hard enough to manage their friend zone reality from thousands of miles away.

  Shit. His thoughts were consumed with Harper again. How did that keep happening?

  He forced his attention back to Danielle. “You’re quite convincing.”

  She preened. “In my line of work, I have to be. And with Urban Treble, too. Getting funding, spreading the word, that all takes a silver tongue.”

  “You can drop me back at the studio lot,” Mac said in a quiet voice to the driver over the mechanical hum of the partition raising.

  Looked like the supervised portion of their evening was over. He gave Danielle a deliberate, thorough appraisal from head-to-toe, trying to muster any semblance of arousal. She had a great body and a sharp mind and reminded him of a college girl he’d had on speed dial for a few weeks during the previous year. He should want her. He should stop thinking about Harper and make a move on Danielle again.

  He’d start with the hair at her temple, a light touch. Women liked that. Okay, yes. That was the plan. Hair first, then a kiss. He forced his hand up and brushed his thumb along the edge of her hairline. “Mac’s getting out and taking his camera with him.”

  Her hand came up to his chest again as a buffer. “I noticed that, and it’s almost time for me to get dropped off, too,” she said.

  So much for getting laid. “Call me Mr. Obvious, but I’m guessing you’re not going to let me seduce you tonight.” Damn it all if that didn’t fill him with relief.

  “Not tonight, and not until you choose me at the final candle ceremony. My granny always said, ‘A lady’s got to dangle a carrot to get a karat.’ Besides, I need my beauty rest for tomorrow’s date.”

  He settled back in his seat, undecided whether he should thank Danielle’s granny or resent her for sharing with Danielle the sage wisdom that was going to send him home unsatisfied and lonely. “Do the producers tell you in advance what we’re doing on the dates?”

  “No, and I hate that!”

  “We’re snorkeling tomorrow.”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s so transparent the way the show keeps inventing reasons for us to be in our bikinis! Sometimes I want to scream, ‘Love isn’t the answer, is it? Ratings are!’”

  “Love is only the answer to the extra credit question.”

  His phone chimed with the special ringtone for Harper’s text. His first thought was to take his phone out and look because what if Presley hadn’t honored her word and Harper was alone? What if she needed him? But that would be bad date etiquette—or whatever he and Danielle were doing—so he folded his hands together and resisted the overwhelming urge.

  “Is that a phone call?” Danielle asked.

  “A text.”

  “You can check it if you want. I don’t mind.”

  “My mama taught me better than that.” Actually, his mother had no idea how to use a cell phone, but that was beside the point.

  Danielle got a sly look in her eye, then shot toward him and plunged her hand into his blazer pocket to retrieve the phone. He let her do it because, frankly, he wanted to know the content of the text.

  “It’s her. It’s your Harper.”

  His Harper. “Yes.”

  “Looks like plane reservations. Buffalo to Miami.” She met his gaze, smiling. “She’s coming to visit you next week. Maybe I’ll get to meet her.”

  After their intense talk over video chat, he’d feared he might have ruined their friendship in an irreparable way, but she’d made good on her promise to come to Florida.

  With unsteady hands, he took the phone back, needing to see for himself. Accompanying the forwarded information from an airline’s email, Harper had texted, I did it. Flight scheduled. See you in eight days.

  The return flight to Buffalo was the following day, which meant she’d be staying one night with him. His heart rate kicked up speed, turning him lightheaded. If he had any sense at all, he’d put her up in a hotel. Over the years, Harper had made him feel a lot of things—joy, frustration, comfort, agony, and a million emotions in between—but he could say without a doubt that sensible wasn’t one of them.

  “Right,” Danielle said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “She’s just a friend. Anyone could see that judging by the look on your face right now.”

  “Exactly. We’re only friends.” And in eight days’ time, they’d be putting that statement to the test.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The plan was to meet Brandon at the exit near baggage claim. Harper walked through the airport with the crowd from her plane, pulling her carry-on suitcase behind her and trying not to let her nerves get the best of her.

  Since the night she’d shown him her scars, their conversations had been more-or-less normal. They still teased each other a lot and chatted nightly about what was going on in their lives, but she sensed an undercurrent of extra care, of eggshells being walked on, though she wasn’t sure if she was imagining it or if it was real.

  She spotted him before he saw her coming down the escalator. He was dressed in board shorts and a T-shirt, nothing special except that, worn on his killer body and in conjunction with his Hollywood-gorgeous face and his prosthesis, he turned nearly every head that passed. He looked like the celebrity he was, and that she’d known he’d become from the moment he’d first walked through Locks’ front doors.

  As opposed to the last time they were together during the days surrounding her surgery, she didn’t feel like a hag in comparison anymore. She felt comfortable in her own skin, pretty, even. That dark place she’d gone to eight nights ago with him over video chat was only a blip in the process. She’d felt sorry for herself right up until the next morning when she’d found a photograph of her mother tucked in the suitcase, a reminder of what a gift her second chance at life was. Few people were lucky enough to be tipped off to their dire odds of getting cancer before it was too late.

  Then, the next Wednesday, the women in the breast cancer support group had reminded her that there were a lot of different kinds of beautiful. Hair, no hair, breasts, no breasts, thin, plump—all of it was beautiful when worn with courage and confidence. As Brandon had said, the mere fact of being a survivor made a person beautiful.

  Harper wore her prosthesis only occasionally now, when it helped with the fit of her clothes, refusing to care what other people thought when they looked at her and noticed that something was different. Especially men. Today, she’d topped her jeans with a thick pink camisole and a white three-quarter length cardigan, no prosthesis.

  She was nearly to the bottom of the escalator when he pivoted in her direction, his eyes landing right on her. A huge smile spread over his face as he moved toward her.

  A sudden wave of self-consciousness smacked her from out of nowhere. It felt as though she’d forgotten how to act normally in his presence. Her suitcase snagged on the escalator and she lurched forward, bumping into him and stepping on his prosthetic foot. He braced his hands on her shoulders, catching her fall.

  “Oops. Sorry. Hi.”

  “Hi,” he answered back.

  They awkwardly half-hugged until his finger caught on her hair and pulled it, yanking her back.

  “Shit, sorry.”

  The people pouring off the escalator jostled her, knocking her further off-balance. He grabbed her suitcase and pulled her to a quiet corner of the room near an empty baggage carrousel.

  He offered her a sheepish smile. “I think we need a do-over with that greeting. Hi, Harper. It’s great to see you. How was your flight?”

  “Hi, Brandon. Great to see you, too. The flight was uneventful. The plane was a bit more cramped than I remembered them being.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it. I’ll see if I can swing an upgrade to first class for your flight home. The network could probably make that happen with the snap of their fingers.”

  “The perks of being frien
ds with a celebrity.”

  His features turned boyish and charming. “Gotta milk it while I can.”

  “Hey, could we try that hug again, too? I love hugging now that I’m flat.”

  She liked how snugly she could hug people. Total mastectomy perk that she never saw coming. She hadn’t been a big hugger before her surgery, not ever into touching or displays of affection. She attributed it to her upbringing as a military brat with an emotionally distant father, as well as losing her mother so young, but she’d discovered the joy of hugging during these past couple months. Very little in this world felt as satisfying as a tight, lingering hug from a friend.

  “Being flat matters?”

  “I keep forgetting we haven’t seen each other since right after surgery. Check out how good a hug feels now that my boobs aren’t in the way.” She threaded her arms around his sides and held him close. His spine went stiff, then he loosely dropped his hands to her back.

  “Tighter. You can’t break me,” she said.

  “Your incisions?”

  “Healed. Now squeeze.”

  His hands wrapped around her and he squeezed her tightly, as tightly as she’d needed for way too long. It was such a relief to smell him and feel him all around her. She buried her face in his neck and rewarded his efforts with a contented sigh. “That’s the good stuff.”

  He chuckled, the vibrations and movement of his chest tickling her collarbone. “You’re right. That was great. Barely missed your boobs.”

  They shared a smile and, just like that, the tension was broken. They were going to be okay on this brief trip, and maybe even have a little fun while they were at it.

  As their hug ended, he kissed her forehead, then held her at arm’s length and gave her a once-over. “It really is great to see you. You look great. I’m saying great a lot, aren’t I?”

  “That’s okay. I feel great.” She gestured to his leg. “That’s a nice Miami tan you’ve got going. It’s all those swimsuits they keep you and your brides in, right?”