Spencer had seen Brooke only in glimpses on Tuesday, and he was smart enough to know that was intentional. But whether it was because she was giving him space or had washed her hands of him, he wasn't entirely sure.

He hoped it was the first. He'd been an asshole Monday night—he knew that. Hell, he probably would have picked up on that little detail even if Brooke hadn't done such a damn good—and thorough—job of calling him out.

He had no excuse, only explanations. He'd been burning up with jealousy, as potent as any fever he'd ever experienced. Foolish, probably. Hell, Spencer didn't know Parker Manning from Adam, but the guy had definitely gotten under his skin. Because Parker had class and breeding and money. Not to mention the kind of clean-cut good looks that landed on billboards and magazine pages.

What Spencer had forgotten was what Parker didn't have; Parker didn't have Brooke. Spencer did.

And that's where his second explanation-not-excuse came into play. Fear. Because Spencer had looked at Parker and had felt a cold wave of debilitating fear rise up with the knowledge that while Brooke might be his right then, there was no guarantee that he could keep her. Hell, he'd lost her before. And God knew there were a hell of a lot better men in the world for her than him. So why the fuck should he be the lucky one?

She swore he was. Maybe she even believed it.

But he was having hell of a hard time believing it himself.

"Hey, you guys!" Mina's cheery voice cut through the din in the back bar that was being used as a staging area for the guys. Behind her, he could hear the muffled chatter of the emcee, an indie film star that Jenna considered an absolute coup for the contest.

"So the way it works is that you'll walk down the red carpet, climb the stairs, and then you can say a one-liner if you want. Like A vote for me is a vote for hotness or whatever. And you really ought to take your shirt off," she added, grinning as she pointed a finger toward a still-reluctant Cameron.

"Then you strut your stuff back here until everyone's gone. Then you'll all come back, line up on the stage, and the audience will cast their votes. Then you all get to mingle once the ballots are collected until we announce a half hour or so later."

She turned her attention to Spencer. "Since you're last, you don't have to come back. Stay on the stage, and these guys will join you."

"You got it."

In the main bar, the music started, and the first of the twelve started that direction. Some of the others gathered in the doorway to watch, but Spencer didn't bother. He wasn't nervous; he'd had too many years in the spotlight for nerves to catch up to him now. But he wished he was. Nerves would give him something to think about other than Brooke.

As much for the distraction as for friendship, he eased over toward Cameron. "They finally talked you into it, huh?"

Cameron shrugged. "I figured I'd never live it down if I didn't do it. But I'm doing it my way."

Spencer nodded slowly, not sure what the kid meant. "Your way? I'm guessing you're not taking your shirt off."

A sly grin touched Cam's face. "Wait and see."

That, at least, gave Spencer something to ponder for the rest of the wait.

Cam was number eleven, and as the kid headed up the red carpet, Spence moved to the doorway so he could watch—and the first thing he saw was Brooke, a few yards away and moving straight toward him.

"Hey," she said, when she reached the staging area's doorway.

"Hey, back."

A smile flickered on her lips, and she reached into the room, her hand extended for his. He took it, awareness coursing through him. This was Brooke. And, dammit, she was his.

"I wanted to wish you luck," she said. "And if you fall off our amazing new stage, I'll have to kill you."

He laughed, a little bit more than the joke deserved, but it felt so damn good to be civilized.

"Listen," he said, but he never got any further, because the entire room had burst into laughter and applause.

Brooke and Spencer both looked toward the stage, shifting this way and that to better see the spectacle of Cameron Reed, bartender extraordinaire, standing shirtless on the stage, the words Comic Relief written across his chest in what looked like lipstick, and a big arrow pointing up toward his head.

"Oh my," Brooke said. "At least he didn't really go for self-deprecating and aim that arrow the other direction."

Spencer snorted with laughter, and Brooke stepped into the staging area long enough to press a gentle kiss to his temple. "Knock 'em dead," she whispered, then faded back into the crowd right as his music began.

He made the trek to the stage, then sauntered across, making it a point to smile at all the women who were laughing and shouting for him to take off the shirt. Of course, he complied, then did a Mr. Universe-style pose, showing off front and back, before nodding to the crowd and then stepping to the rear of the stage as the other guys joined him for the line-up.

After that, he and the rest mingled in the crowd, where he and Cam were definitely drawing the most attention. He tried to find Brooke in the crush, but never managed to lay eyes on her.

He didn't see her again, in fact, until the emcee, Beverly, called for attention, and all the men trooped dutifully back onto the stage to get the results.

"A drumroll, please," Beverly said, and synthesized drums poured from the speakers. "And, ladies and gentlemen—but mostly ladies—your vote for Mr. February is Spencer Dean."

The place burst into applause and Spencer went forward to get the Mr. February T-shirt that Beverly was holding out for him as a prize. Molly and Andy were going to love this, that he knew for certain.

He was about to pull on the tee when he finally caught sight of Brooke in the audience. He'd expected her to be watching him, but instead, she was turned sideways, looking at someone in the audience, her eyes wide as if with fear and her skin as pale as death. What the hell?

He shifted, and when he followed her gaze, his entire body turned hot, burning with a heated rage that even brimstone couldn't match.

Brian.

Standing right there, his eyes on Brooke. His feet moving toward her.

No way. No fucking way.

He didn't think. He just acted. And the next thing he knew he'd leaped off the stage, grabbed the bastard's collar, and landed a brutal punch right on Brian's traitorous, fucked up, aristocratic nose.

He felt it crack beneath his hand. Smelled the unmistakable tang of blood. Heard Brian's howl as he went down, clutching his face as blood seeped through his fingers. Saw chairs scrape backwards and customers leap to their feet.

None of it made any sense. The wildness was still alive within him, and he shifted his stance, ready to pounce on Brian and fucking end him.

Brooke's hand on his arm stopped him, and he looked up to see her tear-streaked face.

Immediately, everything drained out of him, and he had to reach out and grab a nearby table to keep his legs from collapsing under him.

"Spenc—"

He didn't let her finish. "I'm sorry," he said, then turned and stumbled toward the door.

* * *

The panic that had filled Brooke upon seeing Brian still coursed through her veins, only now it had a different character. Now, she was afraid for Spencer.

"Spencer!" she called as he pushed his way through the crowd. She tried to follow, but a strong hand on her arm stopped her. She tried to jerk free, turned, and saw that it was Easton.

"Let him go," he said gently.

"But—"

Brent had pushed his way through the crowd and joined them. "Mina's called an ambulance. Is that guy okay? And what the hell was that all about?"

It was the voice of a cop, direct and to the point, but not without sympathy.

"I need to go find Spencer," Brooke said, realizing that she was crying. And that Casper and Nick were both hovering nearby. She wiped her nose on the back of her hand. Right then, being on camera was the least of her problems.

The world around her had fallen into slow motion. Tyree and Jenna and Reece had arrived to help Brian, and Brooke didn't have the energy to tell them he didn't deserve help. Easton and Brent were focused on her.

"Let's go to the back," Easton said. Brent nodded, and they led her to Tyree's office.

"Do you know what happened in there?" Brent asked. "More importantly, why it happened?"

Slowly, she nodded. And for only the second time in her life, she told the story of what happened with her and Brian, starting with their history as friends, then up to the day Brian raped her.

"Spencer knows," she said. "I told him a few days ago. Or, actually, I guess I should say I told him that I'd been date raped. He figured out the Brian part. There's a woman—Amy. She's a former employee of his, and she's pressing charges against Brian. She came to Spencer to see if he knew about any other victims, and he realized what Brian did to me."

The two men looked at each other, but said nothing.

"He had other reasons, too," she said, then told them about the financial shenanigans that Brian had been into.

Slowly, Easton nodded.

"I need to go find him," Brooke said. "Can I go now? Please?"

Brent laid a hand on her arm. "The man's a live wire right now, sweetheart. Give him until tomorrow morning."

"But—" She drew a breath, powering through the fear. "But what if they find him and arrest him?"

"My first job was with the District Attorney's office,” Easton said. “Let me make a few calls. And I also want to poke into this Amy thing. Even if the case isn't pending in Travis County, I might be able to learn something. I'll even go down to the police department and start there."

"I'll go with you," Brent said. "Odds are good I'll know somebody who can help us out. It's going to be okay," he added, giving her a quick hug. "Don't worry."

But that was easier said than done.