by Vera Quinn
Analissa
Kailey
Ivy
To Dance Again
Parker Stevens
Cold Spring New York
Ellie
The alarm clock blared loudly, forcing her out of her dream. Ellie growled and rolled toward the sound, intent on ending it, permanently. Her hand reached out, smacking loudly against the bedside stand as she tried to reach the offending gadget. Cursing her short arms, she heaved herself across the soft cotton sheets and found it finally. She took aim and threw it as hard as she could, smiling in the dark at the satisfying crack it made as it hit the wall. She heard the pieces clatter to the floor and huffed happily as she pulled the blankets over her head. She was damned if she was going to get up yet, nothing to get up for anyway. She closed her eyes and tried to slip into the peaceful darkness. She tried to focus on getting back into her dream and had almost done it, could almost feel her feet sliding across the floor again when it was all shattered. The blanket was pulled off her head and thrown to the floor. She growled again, pissed this time as she pushed her long dark hair out of her eyes and glared at the man standing at the foot of her bed. If someone could die from a look, Logan would have been six feet under already. Instead, that huge pain in the ass smiled at her and raised one dark eyebrow in challenge. God, sometimes she hated him.
“Get up,” he said unceremoniously as he threw the blinds open and turned to face her. “I’m tired of you lying there, feeling sorry for yourself.”
Ellie flopped back against the pillows, not caring if she did look like a petulant teenager. She had plenty to feel sorry for herself about and didn’t care what anyone thought. She wanted to wallow a little, okay a lot, but she had every right. She slowly raised her hand and extended her middle finger and waved it at him. Logan turned back in time to catch her salute and barked with laughter. “Don’t be a bitch,” he said as he threw the last blind back, “it doesn’t suit you.”
“But it’s who I am,” she said with a sigh as she glared at him from her Laura Ashley sheets. “And don’t I pay your salary? Where do you get off telling me what to do?”
Logan crossed his massive arms across a chest a body builder would be jealous of and looked totally unimpressed. His green eyes twinkled merrily, and Ellie knew he was enjoying this. He sat down on the side of the bed and smacked her with a decorative pillow. “If you were a bitch, I wouldn’t still be here. And FYI, your mother pays my salary. Putting up with your ass for the last year has been hard enough, just be glad I like you.”
“You like the money, you massive douche,” she said with a sigh as she hit him back.
“Bullshit,” he said with false irritation as he grabbed both pillows, tossing them on the floor. “If it were only about money, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled as he offered her a hand and helped her sit up. “So you say.”
Ellie grunted as she moved her body to the side of the bed and tried to ignore the embarrassment she felt as she reached for her prosthetic. She wasn’t trying to be a bitch, and most of the time she kept the dark thoughts to herself until she was alone. It was the mornings when she had trouble keeping it in. Waking up every day was like it just happened all over again. Every night she could almost convince herself that it was a dream, but every morning when she woke, the nightmare started all over again. She wanted him to go away so she could put the prosthetic on. He had seen her through it all—the good, the bad, and the ugly. She knew he would stay even if she asked him to go. He didn’t take her shit. Maybe that was why he’d stuck around. Despite what she’d said, she knew he was there because he cared about her. He’d been her physical therapist after the amputation and had moved to be her daily helper while she adjusted to the new prosthetic. She had come to depend on him, but she still didn’t want his pity.
She slipped the leg into the sleeve that kept the skin above her knee from chaffing and attached it to the end of her leg. She groaned as the stump hooked up with the prosthetic. The limb was still sore after having been fitted with the prosthetic only a month before. Sometimes she almost felt the lower part of her left leg even though it had been removed thanks to osteosarcoma.
It was rare, osteosarcoma, but somehow Ellie developed it, anyway. It started slowly at first, pain in the knee and some swelling. Ellie’s mother, Alicia, pushed Ellie’s worries aside and pushed her to work harder, to “Suck it up”. Alicia was a stern, disciplined woman who had fought through two knee surgeries herself to become one of the first African-American women to be named a principal dancer with a company in New York City. Ballet has always been an expectation and a requirement. Ellie took her first stumbling steps and was almost immediately fitted for her first pointe shoes. She learned early that if you wanted something you pushed yourself and went after it.
Her mother’s own career was cut short when her luck ran out and she tore her Achilles tendon beyond repair. Her mother had never given up on her dream, morphing it instead into blind ambition for her only child. Injuries were brushed off, iced down and pushed aside. No matter how much Ellie hurt, she didn’t want to disappoint her mother.
Ellie knew there was a problem with her left knee when she was eighteen. A fall during an audition for a spot in a minor ballet company was what really struck dread in her heart. Alicia brushed it off as if it had never happened, quickly covering the knee with Icy Hot and pushing her to continue dancing. Ellie’s Irish father put his foot down and carried her off stage. He refused to let Ellie dance until the knee felt better and much to Alicia’s consternation, he got his way. Not many times in their marriage did he get his way, but when it came to Ellie, he always did.
The pain got worse and worse, thanks to hours of barre practice and work. Ellie could still hear her mother’s voice echoing in her head even now. “Chin up, rib cage back, back straight and behind tucked in.” She heard it so often through the years that she still dreamed about it. The pain and swelling continued but Ellie disregarded it, not wanting to disappoint her mother. It was practicing a new move, a Fouette a few months later that made it obvious that it was not getting better. Her weight shifted onto her left leg as she began to spin when disaster struck. Mid-spin, the crack sounded loudly in the auditorium. At first, she thought it was something falling, then the pain set in and she went down hard. She had remembered screaming and vaguely remembered being astonished that it was her own voice echoing hoarsely through the auditorium.
The doctors in the hospital told them first that it was a radial break across the knee joint, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary until the MRI. The look on the doctors’ faces told them better than words ever could that it was bad. Her mother was crying, tears streaking down her normally perfectly composed face. Her normally perfect bun had pulled loose and for once in her life, Ellie saw her mother look visually frazzled. Her father, Joe, grasped her hand hard, tears in the blue eyes which were a mirror of her own. The word they’d never thought to hear rolled around in the stillness of the testing room, a dark tornado of horror slowly sucking them in. Osteosarcoma, bone cancer, the words obliterating everything before it in an instant.
The surgery happened faster than she could have ever imagined. The lights in the well-lit corridor seemed to fly by as they wheeled her down the hallway. The smell of antiseptic and a saltier smell that could only be associated with hospitals and dying clouded her senses as she tried not to get sick as the lights zipped by. Two weeks had seemed like a moment in time filled with doctor’s appointments and testing. They had gone from initial diagnosis to the immediate need for surgery almost in an instant. Ellie’s hands gripped her father’s tightly until they forced her to let go as the doors swung open to take her in. Tears streamed down her face as they wheeled her behind the operating room doors, shutting both her parents out. Ellie tried not to cry but found herself nearly chocking on the sobs as the mask went over her face. Her terrified heart thundered in her ears, feeling as if it would burst out of her chest. She whimpered as the world
went dark and she found herself wondering if she would ever wake up.
Ellie shook her head as the pinch of the sleeve on her leg brought her back to the present. She slid the prosthetic around, trying to get it comfortable. The phantom aches were coming more often now, and she wondered if something was wrong. Nerve damage was always a possibility when a limb was amputated and Ellie was worried. She hadn’t told Logan yet, wasn’t sure she would. She didn’t want him to pity her any more than he already did.
“Hey, crazy, where were you just now?” Logan asked with a worried smile as he knelt at her feet and slid the prosthetic into place correctly with practiced ease. “What’s up?”
“I’m good,” Ellie lied smoothly as she flexed her leg waiting for the pain to ease.
Logan looked up at her as he reached out to help her up. His green eyes were troubled and she could have sworn that his eyebrows couldn’t get any closer without being a unibrow. He was so damn good at reading her that sometimes she was sure he had psychic powers. Sometimes it was spooky how well he knew her. She had to get better at hiding her feelings, or at least better at faking it. All she needed was him to tell her mother.
“You are a liar,” he said softly into her ear as he held out his solid arms to support her.
“Shut up,” she said grumpily as she tried to stand on her own. “Your bitching at me doesn’t help with my balance.”
“Is it worse?” Logan asked as his eyebrows dove together further. His strong hands gripped her arms, and she wanted to push him away but knew it wouldn’t help if she fell.
“No, I’m still learning.”
“It should be better by now. I’m worried about you.”
Ellie stuck her tongue out at him and ignored the remark. She focused on balancing but couldn’t help smiling at the solid strength of his arms under her cold hands. His large hands seemed to eclipse her whole arm. Ellie couldn’t help noticing his hands, how strong and big they were. She’d always been a sucker for a man with large hands. Ellie found herself distracted and began to fall, despite her best efforts to do it herself.
Logan was there before she fell, wrapping her in his arms. He pulled her against his chest and Ellie forgot how to speak. He was way too old for her but she just couldn’t help it, he drove her crazy. Not that she would ever give him the satisfaction of letting him know that. He walked her slowly to the table and helped her sit. Ellie wanted to die of embarrassment because she knew he was just doing his job. Ellie wondered if her emotions would ever get back to normal. Ever since she’d lost her leg, she’d been bouncing around like a ball and she hated it. She just wanted to feel like herself again.
“Forget it. Don’t you have anything better to do than worry about me?” Ellie blew her long dark curls out of her eyes and tried to look as if it didn’t matter.
“No,” he said softly as he kneeled in front of her and ran his hand up to where the prosthetic joined the knee. “There’s nothing I’d rather be doing.”
Logan
“There’s nothing I’d rather be doing.” The words rammed their way through his brain and Logan wanted nothing more than to smack his head against any solid surface. He really needed to get a grip on whatever this was that he felt for her. He had told himself over and over again that feeling anything but professional attachment meant disaster. He was twenty-five, for God’s sake. He couldn’t be attracted to an eighteen-year-old girl. A snide inner voice whispered that her birthday was next week and she would in fact be nineteen. Logan ignored it and checked the connection of her leg and found it solidly connected. He gently pushed the leg of her pajama’s up and felt around the sleeve to check for problems and nerve issues. He knew Ellie was having trouble with phantom limb syndrome and he was worried about nerve damage. The pain she was feeling should have subsided by now, but he saw the pain etched across her beautiful features every day and knew he had to do something to help—he just wasn’t sure what. He tried to ignore the soft feel of her skin as he checked her leg, forcing himself back into professional mode.
“Besides,” he said with a grin as he did his best to cover how he was affected by being so close to her, “you are so entertaining.”
Ellie growled at him and pushed him over. He laughed up at her but didn’t miss the sadness at his remark or the way her eyes watered slightly before she turned away.
“Hey, I was only kidding,” he said quickly, trying to get her to look at him. Ellie had become increasingly prone to mood swings lately, and he was worried about that too.
“Fuck off,” she said, turning to the breakfast laid out on the table. “I don’t need you here.”
“Shit,” Logan thought to himself as he pushed himself up and sat across from her, “I’m screwed.”
“Ellie…” Logan began, reaching for her hand. Ellie snatched her hand back and attacked her cinnamon roll.
“Leave,” she said without looking at him. “Your check is in the envelope on the table.”
“El—”
“I said get out. I don’t feel like being entertaining today.”
Logan tried to capture her hand again, but she pulled it back, giving him a glare. Logan saw the defeat and sadness behind her eyes and wanted desperately to make it vanish. He saw the stern set of her jaw and knew from experience that she needed time to cool off. He sighed but got up and left quietly. As he pulled his jacket on, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed her father’s number. These mood swings and the phantom pain were terrifying and more common than they ever had been. He was worried sick.
Logan hung up the phone and blew a relieved breath. Her father was going over to do damage control. He felt nervous energy rolling through him as he recalled again and again the look in her eyes as she told him to get out. Logan had only been trying to get her to smile, but his teasing hit one of the landmines hiding inside her mind. Logan had been walking on pins and needles around her the last month, not sure of what had caused the change in attitude. He knew she’d had a rough time since the diagnosis, the surgery, and her parents divorcing. Her parents had been estranged but hiding it for a long time and the diagnosis was the last nail in the coffin of their marriage. Less than seven months after her surgery, they had split for good. She was still dealing with the blowback from it.
He sat heavily on a bench outside the coffee shop just down the street from her house and cupped his head in his hands. He raked his hands through his short black hair and wondered what the hell he could do to help. Ellie was spiraling, and he knew he had to do something to help her. He rubbed his eyes as he watched the people go in and out, living normal lives and not even thinking that something tragic could happen to them. He knew Ellie sure hadn’t. In the time he’d known her, he had pried bits and pieces of her life before out of her. He knew that she had loved ballet once, but by the time they’d found the cancer her love had been choked to death by her mother’s ambition. She still told him she had loved it though. Maybe lying to herself and everyone else was easier than facing the guilt she felt for letting her mother down. He had a feeling that deep inside somewhere, she had breathed a sigh of relief when she’d been forced to stop dancing. She’d never admit it though.
The bench creaked under his weight as he pulled his coat closer around him and studied the blue sky above him. He had been in love with her pretty much since the moment he’d looked into her eyes in the hospital right after her surgery. He wasn’t sure when he’d admitted it to himself, but one day it had snuck up on him and he’d been floored by it. He wished he could talk to his own mom, but she and his father had died in a car accident when he was 15, leaving him and his older brother orphans. His mom had always known what to say and do. Logan wished he had the answers, but Ellie was shutting him out more and more every day. He’d tried to ignore it but he felt like he was losing the battle; thus the call to her dad. He’d tried to hold off, hoping he would be able to help her get through it. He knew now that he’d needed help.
Ellie
Ellie groaned as
the door slammed. She hated being such a bitch. It was almost as if there was another person living inside her who came out at the drop of a hat now. She almost didn’t recognize the woman looking back at her anymore. She had days when she wanted it all to end. Those dark days kept her up on the good ones, making her wonder what she was going to do. She stabbed her fork into her pile of eggs and chewed slowly. She wanted to lose herself in something, to not think about her life for a few minutes. That’s why she loved movies so much, she didn’t have to think about it.
The eggs, which had been made by their housekeeper, were usually excellent, but today they tasted like ash in her mouth. She threw her fork down and held her head in her hands. She let her long curly hair fall over her face as she felt tears come. She had tried to be positive; she had actually gotten pretty good at pretending she was, but in these moments, she felt the despair. She felt as if it were pulling her under and she was going to drown in it. Very few things actually made her smile anymore, and she had just thrown one of them out as if he were trash. She was tired, though. The act she put on, the hopefulness, was cracking fast and she didn’t know what was going to happen when it did.
The door opened and she looked up quickly, hoping it was Logan but also kind of dreading it. She knew she looked a mess, but she couldn’t risk leaving things like this with him. He was the only one who had supported her in her darkest moments—her rock. She pushed her hair back and sighed when she saw her father leaning against the door. She dropped her head back against the table with a thump, sure she’d have a bruise there later; she just wished she could give a damn.
“Banphrionsa,” her father said softly in his Irish lilt. “What have you done?”