The Leftover

by Brooke Williams

  “When do the tapings begin?” Megan’s nerves appeared as the idea became real. She had been caught up in her sister’s excitement at first, but now that Molly was talking about actual details, her pulse raced and her hands shook.

  “Next week.”

  Megan gasped involuntarily. “That soon?”

  “I know. We have a lot to do, but you’re up for it, I promise. I wouldn’t put you in this situation if I didn’t think you were capable.”

  Megan smiled. “You’ve always believed in me. Thanks for that.” Maybe other parts of her life could be different if she listened to Molly more often. The show could be the start of a whole new world. Or a completely embarrassing disaster.

  Megan leaned her head back against the couch and closed her eyes as Molly said, “And I always will. I’m so excited—almost as much as when I was the one going on the show.”

  “Yeah, but now you get to sit back on the couch, eat pickles and ice cream, and watch me make a fool out of myself.”

  “That’s right!”

  “Hey, you’re supposed to be supportive. Look what I’m doing for you.” Megan stood from the couch and resumed pacing.

  Molly laughed. “Gotcha. You’ll be great. We both know it.”

  “Um, I can’t say that we do.”

  “Well, I know and that’s enough for now. Go get ready and I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Okay, okay.” Megan drew the phone from her ear to hang up, then brought it back up. “Wait,” she called before Molly could hang up. “What’s the surprise you mentioned before?”

  Molly laughed. “I told you, you’ll find out when you get to the studio.”

  “Fine, have it your way.” Megan rolled her eyes. “One last thing. What are they calling the show?”

  “Are you ready for this?” Molly asked. “The Leftover.”

  Chapter Two

  Cane Trevino surveyed the items in the back corner sales office. It was a makeshift exam room, but as a paramedic, he was used to doing exams on the fly. In fact, the medium-sized office was better than most in the field. He still wasn’t sure what possessed him to take the side job when KETO called him.

  Maybe this will help me forget about—

  Mike, the show’s producer, stuck his head in the door. “She’s on her way up.”

  “I’m ready whenever.” Cane raised a hand and smiled as he caught a glimpse of Mike’s ever-present clipboard through the closing door.

  He consulted the cast list. “Molly,” he whispered as he crossed her off the list. “Sorry about that.” She had fire in her eyes and true enthusiasm for the show. She would have gone far and loved every second. “Megan Malone.” He scribbled the new name at the bottom of the list as a light knock sounded at the door.

  Cane stuffed the list under the medical charts. “Come on in.”

  A head of sandy blonde hair poked through the slight opening. “Are you the medic?” the woman asked. Her voice was surprisingly smooth given her frazzled appearance.

  Cane threw his stethoscope around his neck and stood. “That’s me. Please, come in.”

  The woman eased around the corner and hesitantly closed the door behind her. Her eyes widened as she inspected his face.

  “Megan?” he asked. “Megan Malone, right?”

  Megan dropped her eyes to her hands and nodded, adjusting the wire-rimmed glasses on her nose.

  “I’m Cane.”

  “I know.” Megan blushed.

  Cane made a face. She recognized him from Accept this Dandelion, just like everyone else in the city. So she knew all about his romantic history, his heartbreak, and his embarrassment. It was nothing new, but he wished he could get away from it all.

  Forcing a smile, he gestured to the plastic chair at the side of the room. “Have a seat.”

  Megan obeyed silently and Cane noticed she had yet to meet his eyes.

  “I think congratulations are in order.” He sat on a nearby stool and wheeled closer to her. It was easier to move past his local fame and act as if he were an everyday professional. Unless she pushed him to talk about the show, he would prefer to ignore the fact that she knew who he was and what he’d been through.

  Megan shrugged.

  Cane frowned. “You aren’t happy about being an aunt?”

  “Oh. Sorry, I thought you were talking about the show.”

  “It should be an interesting venture.” Cane was just glad his part in the process was on the sidelines and not in front of the camera this time.

  Megan nodded and Cane wondered if she would talk more once she was a contestant.

  “How did Molly convince you to take her place?” Cane could tell she hadn’t volunteered.

  Megan shrugged again, an almost pained expression on her face.

  “Sometimes we have to do things for our siblings. I get it.” He leaned over to try to catch her eye. Was she ever going to look at him? “I take it you’re not excited.”

  “I’m not doing cartwheels, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I might ask that as part of the exam.” Cane kept his expression serious.

  “Really?” Megan’s blue-gray eyes finally met his as a look of sheer panic crossed her features. “I haven’t done a cartwheel in years. I’d probably hurt myself. Or you.”

  Cane raised his hands. “Relax, just a joke.” He had finally gotten her to talk, and he liked the melodic tone of her voice.

  Megan chuckled and took a deep breath, seeming to relax a bit. “Funny.”

  Cane shuffled some papers on the nearby counter and handed the stack to Megan. “Look these over and fill out the medical history sheet if you would. When you’re through, we’ll start the exam.”

  Megan nodded and grabbed the pen he offered. She bent over the questionnaires and got to work.

  Cane took a moment to study the woman before him. Her hair was a cross between brown and blonde, a color one only got the natural way. It was shoved into a messy ponytail and the light brought out different shades every time she moved her head. Her bluish-gray eyes were intriguing, especially now as they focused on the paperwork. Her glasses were slightly askew on her small nose, giving her a cute, distracted look. Her jeans had holes in the knees, but not the fashionable kind. These holes were from hard use, not from scissors. Her faded maroon t-shirt was plain, without any designs or words.

  She couldn’t have been more different from the woman who haunted his dreams, yet . . .

  Ever since Eva, Cane found himself comparing every woman to her and no one measured up. But the fact that he found himself even slightly attracted to Megan was a big step forward. He smiled as she bit her lip in concentration—probably thinking about when her last immunizations were. Maybe he could finally get past Eva.

  He absently stroked his chin. Eva was Megan’s polar opposite, at least in the looks department. Eva had dark, shiny hair, chocolate brown eyes, and a petite stature. Her smile could light up any room and . . .

  Cane made himself stop. He still ached every time he thought of her. He had come very close to what he thought was love, and when he had made it to the final two on the second season of Accept this Dandelion, he had thought Eva felt the same way. In the end, Eva chose neither of the remaining contestants and instead ran off with the show’s host.

  Unfortunately, Eva wasn’t the first woman to break Cane’s heart, although losing her was by far the most painful incident. Cane always got the “friend” card. He was every woman’s best friend and no woman’s soul mate. He fell for women hard and fast only to be told that he made a great friend, but nothing more.

  Eva had been different; he’d been sure of it. The way she looked at him made him feel like she could see past his faults and into the depths of his soul. She was beautiful, no doubt, but her beauty ran deeper than her appearance. He’d been sure she was the one and had been completely blindsided to learn he wasn’t for her. The last year had been tough as he avoided women and tried to pick up the pieces of his heart. He no longer trusted his inst
incts when it came to the opposite gender.

  Cane shook his head. The thin silver lining of being on the local dating show was that Mike, the producer, had called him for this program. Cane had saved one of the other bachelors from choking on Accept this Dandelion, and the station knew about his occupation as a paramedic. Whatever the reason, it was a much-needed change of pace and he was grateful for the opportunity.

  “All finished.” Megan’s voice broke into his thoughts.

  “What?” Cane focused on Megan. What a cute nose.

  “With the papers. I’m done.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. That was fast.”

  “Not a lot of illnesses in my family.” Megan held the papers in Cane’s direction.

  “That’s never a bad thing.” Cane looked into her light eyes, Eva’s dark brown ones fading into his past. He glanced over the paperwork, noting she marked only headaches as an issue, as well as eyesight. “Do you plan to wear your glasses on the show?”

  “Do they want me to be able to see?” Megan cocked her head to the side.

  Cane chuckled. “I think that would be best, yes.”

  “Then I’d say where I go, they go.” A smirk flashed across her face before her eyes dropped to her hands again.

  “How long have you had them?” The question wasn’t on any chart. Now that Megan was finally talking, he just wanted to hear more.

  “Grade school. And yes, I’ve heard it all . . . four eyes and such.”

  “I think they look nice on you.” Cane tried to catch her eyes again but failed.

  A startled look passed over her features. “Th–thanks.”

  Cane rolled his stool closer. “Let’s get to work.” He swung his stethoscope from around his neck and stuck the ends in his ears. He pressed the metal side to her chest and listened to her heart. It was beating rapidly, but the rhythm wasn’t abnormal. He moved his arm around her back and pressed it to one side. “Take a deep breath for me.” Megan inhaled. Cane moved the instrument. “And another one.” She inhaled again and he felt her breath on his neck as he brought the stethoscope back around her side. “Sounds good.”

  Megan folded and unfolded her hands as Cane reviewed the paperwork again. “No history of trouble with running or swimming?” he asked.

  “Medically? No.”

  Cane frowned. He was curious as to whether there was a story behind that comment, but it wasn’t his place to ask. “I’d like to take your blood pressure now.” He removed the cuff from the counter and wrapped the band around her arm. As he squeezed it tighter, Megan seemed to be holding her breath.

  “120 over 80. That’s very good.”

  “It’s usually lower. White coat syndrome.”

  “I’m not wearing white or a coat,” Cane quipped.

  “Maybe that’s why it’s not higher.” Megan glanced up and smiled before resuming the examination of her cuticles.

  Cane sat back, scribbling down some notes, and realized he was grinning. He found her charming. She was a little shy to do well in the social part of the game, but she had a subtle sarcasm that would gain fans within the city. People might identify with her in some way. She was an underdog, for sure, but who didn’t like to root for the dark horse?

  “I need to take some blood and then you can fill this up.” He placed a cup on the table next to her chair and prepared the needle to withdraw her blood. When he swiveled back in her direction, he noticed the stricken look on her face.

  “I’m supposed to fill that with . . .”

  “A urine sample,” Cane supplied.

  Megan blushed crimson. “Of course.”

  Had she never peed in a cup for a doctor before? “Are you right handed?”

  Megan nodded.

  “Great. I’ll check the veins on your left arm. That way you won’t overuse your arm later and form a bruise.”

  “How thoughtful.”

  Cane detected a hint of sarcasm as he pulled a latex glove over each hand. He ran his finger up her arm to look for a good spot. Megan shivered.

  “Sorry.”

  She shook her head.

  “You have nice veins.” He grabbed the needle and swabbed her arm with alcohol before inserting it and beginning to draw the blood.

  “If I had a nickel for every man who said that to me.”

  Cane snorted. “You get that a lot, huh?”

  Megan nodded, more animated than before. “Only from every cute doctor this side of I-80.” She clapped her free hand over her mouth, and he caught her wide eyes as she ducked her head.

  Cane bit his tongue, holding in his laughter. He didn’t need to enhance her embarrassment. She obviously hadn’t meant what she said to be so personal—more of a passing thought that she accidentally said out loud. He let the silence settle between them as he finished drawing blood. Once the vials were secure and she had a bandage, he removed his gloves.

  “Okay, fill the cup for me, bring it back and then you’re good to go.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Relatively painless, huh?” Cane winked at her.

  Megan glanced at the cup. “Are there any red flags?”

  Cane leaned back on the counter next to his stool. “Do you want there to be?”

  “No. Yes. I mean, I don’t know.”

  Cane stroked his chin. “I don’t see any reasons why you wouldn’t be able to compete on the show at this stage.”

  “Great,” Megan muttered.

  Cane’s heart went out to her. She was about to embark upon an experience that was obviously out of her comfort zone. He knew what it was like to make a fool of himself on TV, and he had an inkling that she expected to do the same.

  “Just do your best, Megan.”

  Megan half-smiled at her hands.

  Cane let a few beats pass as he studied her unusual eyes. Her glasses almost framed them and set them off in a deeper way. She would add an element to the show. He wasn’t certain what, but definitely something.

  “Now, about that urine . . .”

  Chapter Three

  Megan closed the door behind her and slapped her forehead. Her cheeks were still fiery hot from delivering the cup to the cute medic, who just happened to be former local TV star Cane Trevino. If she was going to make it past the first day on The Leftover, she was going to have to get over her embarrassment . . . fast. She’d had a crush on Cane when she’d watched the second season of Accept this Dandelion with her sister.

  “Megan.” Mike, the producer, appeared with a large clipboard extending before him. “Everything all set?”

  Megan looked down. “I . . . I think so.”

  “I’m sure the medical tests will be fine, but we have to jump through all the hoops. Are you ready for your screen test?”

  “My what?” Megan’s eyes widened and she self-consciously smoothed her hair back into its lopsided ponytail.

  “It won’t take much time. We just need to see you on camera for a few minutes so we can get a read on how to shoot you during the show.”

  Megan frowned. Molly hadn’t mentioned any on camera tests. But she probably knew Megan wouldn’t have come if she had.

  “I, uh—sure.” She was fairly certain Mike wouldn’t take no for an answer by the way he turned on his heel and barreled across the studio before she could say more. Megan stuffed her hands into her pockets, ducked her head, and followed.

  “Sit here.” Mike tossed his clipboard in the direction of a soft interview chair Megan recognized from the local news program. “Our camera crew will ask a few questions, adjust lighting, things like that. We’ll be filming outside, but it’s good to get an idea how you look on screen.”

  “If you’re looking for my best side, I’m pretty sure it’s the back of my head,” Megan muttered under her breath. She tried to control her breathing—in two counts, out two counts.

  “I’ll give you a call as soon as the tests are in and get you details about the taping.” He turned to the nearby camera operator. “We good here?”

  “R
eady to roll, boss.”

  Mike disappeared into the dark part of the set. Megan shifted her eyes back and forth and crossed one leg over the other. She leaned back into the chair and then scooted forward and crossed the other leg. She was all nerves and every second that passed made it worse. At least there weren’t any people that she had to make eye contact with. Maybe she could pretend she was talking to Molly. She could get through this.

  “So,” said a voice from the other side of the camera, “tell us what it was like when you heard you were going to be on The Leftover.”

  Megan cleared her throat. Where was she supposed to look? “I don’t know that I’m on the show yet.”

  The operator coughed. “Okay, what was it like when you heard it was a possibility?”

  “I think I said something to the effect of ‘not going to happen.’” Megan decided to focus on the dark background behind the camera.

  “You were in shock, right?”

  “I wouldn’t call it shock, exactly. More extreme denial. As in no way, no how would I ever go on TV and compete against other locals like that.”

  Megan winced as she realized what she had said. She was telling the crew that she in no way, shape, or form wanted to be on the show. Her usual social awkwardness was coming across loud and clear. Megan tried to sit still, but she had to fidget. She scratched her nose and re-crossed her legs. She was going down in flames.

  But she had to try—for Molly. Megan sat up straighter. “My sister was supposed to be on the show,” Megan filled the silent, oppressive air around her. “She’s really athletic and she would have killed it. She asked me to replace her and now that I’ve had time to let it sink in, I’m honored that she considered me worthy to fill her shoes.”

  There. That was better. Awkward and rambling, but better.

  “Are you and your sister a lot alike?”

  “Well, we wear different-sized shoes. She’s got these puny little feet and mine are more like boats.” Megan held her foot up in front of the camera and giggled. “See?” As she brought her shoe back to the concrete floor beneath her, only one thought crossed her mind—if Molly ever saw this footage, she’d think Megan was intentionally trying to get out of the show. But she had to keep talking—it was better than her usual silence, no matter how silly she felt. “We also look completely different and are good at opposite things, but we couldn’t be any closer.”