I arrived in Los Angeles feeling strong and confident. Turns out, Isa had given an interview to a reporter talking about her relationship with me and clarifying that she was in no way repulsed by me.

I’d secured VIP tickets to the show and an all-access pass to the back lot. My truck pulled into the back gate at the television studios, and I shook my head as I took it all in. I’d been on a few news shows after receiving my medals, but those shows were nothing like this Hollywood mind fuck. Dancing under the Stars had a huge lot, trailers for makeup, hair, and the “celebrity guests.” The trailers reminded me of war bunkers, and my anxiety was on high alert.

Taking a deep steadying breath, I parked and walked toward the dressing trailers.

Before I’d even walked ten feet, I instantly recognized Pasha. He stopped mid-stride when he saw me. This time his hair was wavy and scrunched together in a man bun. He sported a face full of stubble and was dressed in gray sweat pants and a too-tight white T-shirt. He looked like a member of a 90s boy-band.

I held my cool, imagining Isa being fondled by this guy. How he’d touched her thighs when they’d danced. How he’d called me a freak.

“Allo, Grady. Welcome. I want to apologize to you. I was out of line. No hard feelings.”

He stuck his hand out, but I refused his handshake.

“I am sorry about what I said to you in Tahoe. You’re the man! I can’t believe it that you jumped on the bomb. That’s crazy, bro. Bella won’t shut up about you.”

“It wasn’t a bomb, it was a grenade.”

“That’s cool.” He lit a cigarette and it caught me off guard. Didn’t dancers take care of their bodies? I expected that shit out of my Marines, but not this guy.

“Let me get Bella for you.”

“No. She doesn’t know I’m here. I want it to be a surprise.”

“Okay, man. She will be around here. I can take you somewhere to hide until show time.”

Why was he being so cool to me? This guy was a snake—I’d already seen his true colors and I didn’t trust him at all. But I didn’t want Isa to see me before the show. “Sure, that would be great. I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. And tonight you will see Isa dance together with me. But I assure to you, it is just dance.”

The rage built in my chest. She was dancing with this motherfucker? After what he had said to me? Some loyalty.

Pasha stared at me, as if he was trying to read my face. “No, no, man. It is not like that. We were partners, for years. The fans, they want to see us one more time. She’s crazy about you. There is nothing going on together with us. And I’m really sorry about that day I came at you. I was wrong. Bella, she is like my kid sister, and she grew up. I was jealous.”

“It’s fine, man.” It still pissed me off, but I realized she probably hadn’t had a choice. Either way, I had to go with my gut—this guy was full of shit. When I’d met him, he’d been a dick to Isa and me. Now it seemed he was going out of his way to convince me that he didn’t like Isa and that he thought I was a good guy? Sorry. I wasn’t buying what he was selling.

He led me to a room on the floor above the stage. “Stay in here. The dancers will be walking down the hallway. Before we go on, I’ll bring you down to VIP sitting area. She won’t see you until she dances. It will be in a few hours. Can I get you something? Water? Something to eat?”

“Sure.”

He put his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t even mention it, seriously. I know I’m just dancer, but I love America. Back in Russia, I used to dream of coming to here. I am refugee; I was beaten in the streets. My parents risk our lives to come to here. Men like you are why we are free. I thank you for your service.”

Whoa. Over the years, so many people had thanked me for being a Marine, for risking my life. But most of them had been American born. Hearing Pasha’s appreciation for the military choked me up. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was plotting something, though I was sure that my therapist and Isa would say that I was paranoid. “Thanks, man.”

“I wish I had your courage. When Bella was teen, her mom died. I didn’t help her. I was too scared of ruining my own career and pissed off at her for leaving me. I’m glad she has a man like you. I’ll be back in a few minutes with your food and drink.” He walked out the door leaving me to deal with the whiplash he’d just given me.

I sat in the empty room with its dirty carpet and tiny windows. Even just a few months ago, this isolation could’ve sent me into a complete panic attack. But I felt better, definitely not healed, but calm.

For the last month in rehab, I’d pondered living with a new reality. Looking toward the future instead dwelling on the past. Maybe I would enjoy sharing my story with people, inspiring them. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to be deemed a hero.