by Dee J. Adams
The pool accident made big news and the show’s ratings doubled. To her surprise, Casey ended up winning that week—R&B—with Carrie, while Jack got voted out with Ryan. Carrie continued her winning streak during country week, singing one of Brendan’s songs while the show said goodbye to Dante and Rihanna.
Casey couldn’t believe she’d actually made it to the end and it was down to her and Brendan. She had plenty of time to think about what she’d nearly lost that night at the pool. It was hard to wrap her head around pursuing something with Brendan after the show, because her brain originally had him wired as the rebound guy. All the signs kept pointing toward him, but she never imagined finding someone so fast. She wanted time to explore, time to grow into her independence. A good man shouldn’t hinder you. Her mother’s words, which under normal circumstances might be true, didn’t apply to her ex. A concept Mom never understood.
For Brendan’s part, he’d made his intentions very clear. Hell, even the audience knew he wanted to see her after the show ended. Mentally cringing at the idea of the whole country—or at least the twenty million people watching the show—knowing her business, Casey took a deep breath and concentrated on this final week. Pop week. They’d already covered ballads, Broadway, rap, R&B and country so this seemed like a fitting end.
Hyper aware of Brendan following her through the house, she self-consciously glanced at her bronze, long-sleeved silk shirt, dark skinny jeans and heels. She felt pretty confident that no matter how she dressed Brendan had the upper hand when it came to being the favorite. He didn’t seem to realize his appeal. But maybe that was what made him so appealing. Dressed in a plain white T-shirt, faded blue jeans and tan work boots, Brendan was a god.
With an extra quick step, he opened the door for her and Casey walked outside. A gust of wind nearly blew her back, but she powered through it. A dozen giant palm trees swayed overhead and their fronds seemed to hold on for dear life. She quickly pulled her hair back in a low ponytail to keep it from whipping across her face for the next half hour.
“Wind is brutal today,” Brendan said, securing his own long hair in a similar ponytail. His biceps bulged as he wrapped the band and Casey looked away before the cameras caught her drooling. “What do you think they have cooked up for us now?” he asked, taking longer strides to catch up and walk by her side.
“Who knows? As long as it’s not anywhere near the pool.” Or under a light grid. She found with every new setup that she and Brendan were forced to participate in, she looked for anything that might be considered hazardous. “Or involve any bug eating,” she added.
He chuckled and the sound made her warm with awareness. “Hm…sounds like that’s where you draw the line. So maybe if I eat a chocolate covered scorpion and write a half assed song this week I could still win.” He didn’t sound as if he had any suspicions about their close calls, so maybe she was being paranoid.
“You? Write a half-assed song?” The guy didn’t know how to do that. Almost every one of his songs landed in the top two every week. “Hey, no one said anything about chocolate.” She lifted a pointed index finger. “I would consider that.”
He gave her a shoulder bump and the quick connection sizzled through her bloodstream. Lately any kind of touch from him sent a current of heat straight to her lady parts. He curved toward the set on their right—away from the pool, thank God—where a wall with the show logo and two chairs waited. “Looks like that’s our spot.”
Casey followed his lead and felt some reluctance to see the show end. As much as she despised the cameras, she’d had a chance to get to know Brendan without any sex to muddy her brain. Not that she could forget their kiss or his little exploration on the night he’d made them hot chocolate, but he hadn’t come close to anything like that again. Which had been a colossal disappointment.
“Think it matters where we sit?” Casey asked as they approached the two art deco metal seats.
“They don’t have our names posted anywhere, so maybe they don’t care.” So far, almost everything had been scripted to the detail. What time they got in the writing room, the music room, the time allotted alone in their bedrooms or the bathrooms. At times it felt more like a prison than a reality show. Brendan took the seat on their right and Casey sat next to him.
“I wonder if we can still do this out here with all the wind,” Casey said over another gust. “Maybe they don’t realize how strong it is.”
Brendan shook his head. “I think they just like watching us suffer.” Then he waved to one of the cameras in the yard since every word they said was being recorded. They had no clue how the producers put the show together around the live portions.
“You excited to finally have Seger this week?” she asked. It was an innocent question, but the second it came out of her mouth, she realized how he might think she was going to pull the rug from beneath him.
To Brendan’s credit, he didn’t show any sign of nervousness that she might use that card against him here in this final week. “Yeah, you’ve had him twice already. Did you like him?”
“Loved him. He’s awesome. I can see why the girls go crazy over him. He’s handsome and he can shred blindfolded.” She shot him a pointed stare and went for a little dig since the producers loved this stuff. “He’s great for a second place finish.” She would know since she’d placed second with him on two different weeks already.
Brendan smiled at the insinuation that she was going to win this week with Carrie. But he didn’t let it slide. “Let’s see, how many weeks have you won?” He glanced toward the sky pretending to think about it. “One, is it? Oh, did I mention I’ve won twice?” He cocked his head. His playboy smile was brutally hard to resist as he leaned forward. “Shh, don’t tell America,” he whispered. “Oh wait, they know.”
Casey smacked his leg and felt the sting in her palm. The man was hard-bodied and beautiful. “That’s right,” she said, rubbing her fingers. “You go ahead and get cocky, and when Carrie and I blow you and your boy, Seger, out of the water, you’ll be singing a whole different tune.” They were the only ones who knew just how close to the truth she was with the term your boy, but once again, Brendan didn’t even seem to sweat the idea. He just grinned and made her heart roll over.
Another gust of wind whipped through the yard and something creaked and screeched. Casey looked behind her in time to see the set wall pull up from its supposedly secured spot in the ground. Her heart bolted into her throat and before she could take a breath to warn Brendan, he was diving for her, knocking her to the ground as the wall blew forward.
Casey tried to roll away, but Brendan’s weight kept her pinned and she covered his head with her arms and hands, trying to protect him. A deafening crash sounded as the wall hit the chairs and splintered into chunks. Part of the debris landed on Brendan’s back and pain shot up Casey’s right hand as darkness closed in on them. The chairs had deflected some of the weight, but a big slab still landed on top of them.
Shouts of alarm drifted over the wind and pounding feet vibrated beneath her back as help came running into the set. Pinned in, Casey barely had room to budge.
“Bren—”
“Casey, you okay?” He lifted his head and his warm breath wafted against her cheek.
Her hand hurt and she felt something wet and warm slide through her fingers and down her hand. “I’m okay, are y—”
He kissed her. Check that. He didn’t just kiss her. Brendan sucked the breath right out of her lungs and Casey jumped on board bullet fast. She opened her mouth wider to his questing tongue and met his fierce demand with equal abandon. He tasted cool and minty. Sexy and scrumptious. Like paradise and dreams come true. She didn’t even care that he was crushing her, she loved the pressure, the heat. She wouldn’t mind enjoying this kind of kiss on a regular basis. God, he knew how to set her on fire with only his mouth. She inhaled him for another few seconds until right before the men lifted the heavy wall off them. A fresh gust of wind blew debris into their faces and they fl
inched and turned.
Breathing hard, Brendan looked down at her, his blue eyes filled with heat and desire and everything she was currently feeling. They would’ve had each other’s clothes off in seconds had they not been in the middle of a crowd. But the lust in eyes turned into something different as he assessed her. Something she hadn’t seen in a man’s eyes in way too long. Honest concern. “You sure you’re okay?”
Casey nodded then noticed the blood soaking the sleeve of her shirt and in his hair. Her adrenaline spiked a second time. “Oh, my God, you’re bleeding.”
Brendan looked at her arm as crewmembers moved in behind Miles and two other producers. He felt his head for injuries as he moved off her. Wind whipped more debris around them. “I don’t think it’s me.”
Casey finally got a look at her hand. A huge gash between her index and middle finger knuckles bled everywhere and made her instantly nauseous. This was sure to be in the show and only fuel her parents’ argument about participating in the first place. On the other hand, there was a better than fifty-fifty chance they weren’t even watching the show.
“Get the paramedics here ASAP,” Miles yelled over his shoulder.
Brendan whipped off his shirt. The wire for his RF mic snagged at his waist and he stripped the base from his jeans and dropped the whole unit to the ground. He wrapped his shirt around Casey’s hand. She tried to sit up, but he held her down. “Keep your hand above your heart. Try and relax,” he told her.
Relax? With his six pack abs and crazy broad shoulders staring at her. She almost laughed. “No fair,” she groused, trying to ignore her throbbing hand. “Taking your shirt off is going to get you more votes with the television audience.”
His straight white smile obliterated any pain she was feeling. “Nothing keeping you from doing the same thing.” The only way people heard that was if her mic picked it up.
“Oh, you’re hilarious.” Her sarcasm lacked bite as she grinned back at him. He was too damn cute. Had she not been bleeding freely—or nearly been killed—she’d have scrubbed any thoughts of keeping her distance, dragged him to a private place, and get hot and heavy for a few hours. She was totally up for trying to recreate Hawaii. “Seriously, are you okay?”
He nodded. “I’m fi—”
“How you feeling, Casey?” Miles stuck his head between them and burst her fantasy like a pin in an overfilled balloon. “Paramedics should be here in a couple of minutes.” His gelled hair barely moved in the wind.
“I’m okay.” She glanced at Brendan who kept pressure on her injured hand. “Thanks to Brendan. Again.” She shot a glare at Miles since she was D.O.N.E. DONE with all the accidents.
A scowl darkened Brendan’s face as he eyed Miles. “This is the third accident that could’ve killed one of us. Maybe one accident can happen, but not three. The safety on this set is for shit…unless you’re doing some survival reality shit on purpose. We’re not continuing until we find out what’s going on.” Oh, her mic was definitely picking up his volume now, even with the wind howling around them. Even crew members were glancing at each other nervously. Obviously Brendan was as tired of the bullshit as she was.
“Brendan, calm down,” Miles said, putting up his palms in surrender. “We’re almost at the end so we can’t stop now. Look. I get that you’re concerned and want—”
“What I want is a full-fledged investigation. I want cops, detectives, something. This is the second time Casey could’ve been killed and I’m not a big believer in coincidence.”
Casey had never seen this side of Brendan before. She never would’ve pegged him for the conspiracy theory type. But she was glad to know she wasn’t the only one with similar thoughts.
“C’mon,” Miles said, his gaze encompassing the area, “no one could predict the wind would be blowing this hard. This was a freak thing.”
“Like the light falling over Casey’s head was a freak thing and the stage cracking exactly where she was dancing a couple of weeks ago? I don’t buy it. For all we know, you’re purposely setting us up for your fucking ratings! And if that’s the case, you can bet your next paycheck that we’re going to have a lawyer on your ass faster than you can say your show is cancelled! I guarantee whoever is behind this is watching the show, waiting for results that have nothing to do with songwriting.”
That statement sent a cold chill down Casey’s back? Had she really been the specific target? Sure, she was a little suspicious, but she’d been thinking about the show itself. The ratings had certainly gone up. Good ratings translated to money for the network, for the show. Casey looked over at Miles, who’d turned to confer with Karen and one of the other producers. He didn’t seem too concerned that this interview wouldn’t happen. Why would he be? He had incredible footage to show the country instead.
Frustration burned through Brendan like molten lava. This night had gone to hell faster than Mach speed. If he had to be honest, he’d enjoyed watching the wind blow Casey’s flowing shirt against the sweet curves of her body. Maybe that was why he couldn’t keep his lips off hers when she said she was all right. Except she hadn’t been all right and he felt like shit. He had to do something more than watch her bleed.
Tired of waiting for the paramedics, Brendan took matters—more like Casey—into his own hands. “Let’s get inside and out of this fucking hurricane,” he groused. The whole concept of the show must go on could go in a dark closet and screw itself. Enough of the bullshit. He was done with these people.
Casey shifted to stand, but Brendan scooped her into his arms. She felt right. Like she belonged there. “Brendan, what are you doing? Put me down. I’m very capable of walking.” Her stern face didn’t sway him for a second and she seemed to have regained some of her color.
“I know. I just want to be safe. You’ve lost some blood and I don’t want a gust to tip you over.” He led the nervous group of executives inside, doing his best to protect Casey from flying leaves. One of the production assistants opened the door and Brendan set her down on the nearest leather sofa and glanced back to Miles, surprised he hadn’t issued a few threats of his own. The asshole was probably used to lawsuits. “Are you sure someone called 911?”
The producer nodded. “The studio paramedics should be here momentarily.” He’d barely finished the sentence when two uniformed men strode in from the front door. “See,” Miles said, “right on cue.”
Brendan had to move so the EMTs could work. Both male, they were all business as they took Casey’s vital signs and assessed the nasty gash. It didn’t take a genius to see her hand required stitches. A massive wave of helplessness washed over Brendan and left his gut queasy. Feeling inadequate and useless made him angry. Brought back memories he didn’t want surfacing. They flashed in his head anyway. The beating he’d suffered as two men had used him for a punching bag hadn’t really compared to watching his family members suffer a similar fate. He blamed himself. If he’d been more attentive when he’d first gotten into his house, if he’d done a better job of fighting off the initial attack, maybe his family wouldn’t have gone through such hell.
Something hit his face and knocked him back to the present. He recognized one of his Bruce Springsteen concert T-shirts and whipped it over his head. The EMTs readied Casey for transport and Brendan insisted on going with them.
Brendan spotted the man in charge in a circle of people around them. “Listen real close, Miles. We don’t come back for the last week until we’re assured that this set is safe. No negotiations.” Brendan didn’t care if he sounded like an asshole. He might not have any recourse and he didn’t know exactly what Miles would do, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t stand by and let something else happen to Casey. Aside from having to ride shotgun in the ambulance, he intended to stay glued to her side.
Even an ambulance ride all the way across town couldn’t rid them of cameras. Two guys dressed in black with handhelds followed them to the ER doors and burned up the last of Brendan’s patience. “I’m done with this shit,” he m
urmured. Lifting Casey’s shirt just high enough to unhook her RF mic from her waistband, he tossed it to one of the camera utility guys racing along with the cameraman.
“You’re being awfully brave,” she said. “We signed contracts saying we’d keep the mics on us at all times with the exception of the bathroom.”
“A visit to the hospital supersedes the contract. Your health is nobody’s business but yours.” He bent toward Casey’s ear as they rolled her through the doors. “Let me come in with you to a treatment room. It’s going to be the only chance we get to talk without cameras on us.”
“Right.” Her eyes widened in understanding.
The EMTs rolled the gurney through emergency and Brendan followed as if he had every right to be there. The best part was when the ER staff forced the cameramen to stop at the double doors leading to treatment rooms.
Once in a room, a nurse came in to assess the wound and get Casey’s history. The short Hispanic woman whizzed through the questions with a positive attitude and gave Brendan a good feeling about the hospital. Fifteen minutes later, she left them blissfully, finally, one hundred percent alone. After so many weeks of so many eyes on them, he almost couldn’t believe it.
Brendan checked the hallway before coming back and sitting on the edge of Casey’s bed. He had no clue where to start. Her eyes shone in that beautiful mix of blue and green that always amazed him. Blood stained the material covering her right arm and her ponytail had come out ages ago leaving her hair down and very sexy.
“You look so serious.” She scooped her hair off her shoulders and brought it forward in one silky chunk, wincing when she tweaked her injured hand. “What’s bothering you?”
A ton, but he went in order of his mental list. Glancing over his shoulder one more time, Brendan hit her with the question that had been on his mind since day one of the show. “Why didn’t you tell anyone about my relationship with Seger?”
She canted her head. “Because I didn’t think it had any relevance to the show. Obviously neither one of you knew the other was going to be there.”