Page 17 of Beast

Another link took me to his official webpage. I laughed when the page loaded—it played that song “Grenade” by Bruno Mars. I loved that Grady could keep a sense of humor about his injuries. On second thought, that song would make a good rumba . . .

I missed dancing, connecting to the floor, expressing the emotion of a song. For years it had been my outlet, kept me sane when my family life was chaotic. But after my mom killed herself during my last night on the show, the memories of me dancing had been laced with tragedy.

Wow, Grady wasn’t the only one who needed therapy.

Despite all my intense work on myself, I was cognizant enough to realize that I was completely screwed up. I’d never been in a healthy relationship. And my own interaction with my father was complicated. He’d become distant after my mom died, not that I blamed him.

And he refused to talk about my mother.

I tried to tell my father once how much I needed to share memories about her with him, but he claimed it was too painful to remember. I thought it was more painful to forget.

I closed my eyes, and replayed last night over again, haunting questions increasing my anxiety. Would I ever be able to find a man who was emotionally present and responsible? Would Grady ever recover from war? Could he move on from his traumas and find happiness in a normal, stable life? A man like that, so strong and sexy . . . I wondered what it would be like to be his.

But I’d never know. I’d closed that door before it was even cracked.

After stalking Grady, I finally closed the window, determined to push him out of my mind. I logged in again to my student services account, hoping the hold on my account had mysteriously vanished in the night, but unfortunately it remained.

Something was off. My father hadn’t even returned my text.

A thought chilled me. Was he avoiding me?

I rummaged through my notebook to find my passwords. Finally, I was able to log in to my trust fund, a fund I had set up with my earnings from Dancing under the Stars. I had made my father trustee.

The blinking screen seemed to take forever to refresh. But there was no mistaking the negative balance in glaring red.

-$359.

What in the world? This had to be a mistake. I had checked last quarter and had over thirty-five thousand dollars. Definitely more than enough for this final year of school.

I shot off a frantic text to my dad. Maybe he was in Vegas or on one of his benders? I would not wait for him to respond. First thing tomorrow morning, I would head to the bank. No one else had access to these funds— except my father.

And he would never touch it.

Would he?

9

Grady

My hand grasped the thin envelope, crumbling it in my fist. My heart knew the words written inside—medically retired. Not fit for duty.

Worthless.

I ripped open the letter, the stoic black ink confirming my worst fears. I was out, done. I’d be medically retired at the end of this enlistment—six more months. Nothing left of me but a broke-ass civilian, doomed to spend the rest of my life shuttered away from public view so I didn’t scare the children. A future working the graveyard shift was my best bet so no one would have to look at my fucked up face.

Why hadn’t I died in that shanty house? Honorably, a hero. Maggots eating my body in Arlington, a twenty-one-gun salute blazing.

At least I’d be with my best friend, Rafael.

I missed that motherfucker. His raw sense of humor, his supremely bad taste in music, his penchant for dousing his MREs in hot sauce. But more than anything, I missed the way he took care of everyone in our unit. He truly had our backs. If you needed some extra cash, Rafael wouldn’t hesitate to lend it to you. If you needed a ride from the airport at two in the morning, Rafael would be there even if he were due to PT on base at six.

He had a wife and a beautiful little girl who worshipped him. Who missed him. Who would do anything to see him one last time.

I had no one.

No one would ever love me like that. No woman would ever want to look at me every day for the rest of her life.

It should’ve been me.