Infini

by Krista Ritchie

  Never threw a punch.

  They’re civil for Timo.

  Baylee and Kat are still working on the handcuff. When Timo and I separate, John reaches his boyfriend and cups his cheeks, wiping his tears with his thumb. They whisper, John consoling Timo more, and I walk beyond them.

  I pass Sergei, his nose flaring like he’s trying to suppress emotion, and his gaze lands on mine, full of apologies.

  I nod at him, accepting.

  He takes a breath and glances at Timo whose head is buried in John’s shoulder. As soon as I near Bay and Kat, they unlock her handcuff—and some random person immediately bumps into Baylee.

  She stumbles backwards, her feet sliding out from beneath her, and my reflexes are quick, I reach out and clasp her hips. Holding her body like we were dancing and I just dipped her.

  Baylee clutches my biceps, her collarbone jutting out as she catches her breath. “What…?”

  I smile. “You’re in my arms. That’s what.”

  Her lips rise, and all the emotion we’d been suppressing starts overpowering me. It takes…everything in my body not to kiss Bay. Slowly, tensely, I lift her upright, and I can’t stop. My lungs and heart thrash in my ribcage, screaming at me to do something more.

  On instinct, my arms slide around her shoulders, drawing her so close.

  She hugs my waist and presses her cheek to my chest.

  Warmth bathes me, and I kiss the top of her head. I kiss her temple. I look down. She looks up, and I’m so fucking close to kissing her lips.

  “You two.”

  We freeze.

  That voice…I have to be dreaming, but I turn my head and a foot from my face is Geoffrey Lesage. In the red light, he appears more menacing, his judgmental, harsh glare set on me and Bay.

  I’m about to ask what he’s doing here, but Sergei must read my wide-eyed expression.

  He quickly explains, “I invited Geoffrey. I thought it’d be a good idea to make amends outside of work since it’s been tense inside.” Sergei is rigid, actually noticing that this was a horrible idea.

  Baylee and I haven’t separated. Her fingers dig into my back, afraid that we were just caught breaking the contracts. But what are the chances that he’s one of only two Corporate spies?

  “I need to talk to you two,” Geoffrey says sternly, “about this.” He motions at the way we hold one another.

  And before I can even comprehend the enormity of what’s happened, Nikolai starts screaming, “Thora! THORA!”

  We look behind us, and Nikolai has Thora in his arms, tapping her cheek repeatedly. His distress shrouded by his grim, take-charge demeanor.

  She’s passed out. Dimitri is on the phone, and I hear him say ambulance.

  Act Thirty-Six

  Baylee Wright

  Here’s something funny: Brenden calls me the pessimist, but I’m the one who sees the good in hospitals. Sure, sadness exists here, but people help other people here too. Brenden is the one who grows quiet and somber every time he steps into a waiting room.

  I guess that’s not really funny, but I’ve never been great at jokes anyway.

  I try to think about this as I sit at the foot of Thora’s hospital bed with Katya and Camila. She asked if the three of us could take a seat. We slipped in after Nikolai left, and there aren’t any chairs in this enclave of the ER, mint-green curtains drawn shut for privacy.

  So we chose the end of the stiff bed.

  Thora looks less sickly than earlier, but tear tracks stain her splotchy cheeks. I notice that she keeps glancing at the hospital bracelet and her flimsy paper gown. Like she has trouble believing she’s here.

  We know what happened. Someone overheard an ER doctor. I think Robby, and he spread the news to every Kotova in the waiting room, which eventually reached us.

  Camila stretches forward and holds her hand.

  Thora’s chin trembles, but she nods and says tearfully, “Thank you all…for being here.” Her voice breaks.

  We all scoot forward and hug Thora at the same time. There’s not a dry eye right now. Everyone is dealt weird hands of life, and in another timeline, we could’ve been Thora. Maybe we still could be, and if I were in her place, I’d want Thora at the foot of my bed. And I’d want to know she cares about me.

  That’s all.

  Just a little compassion.

  When we retract a little, Katya curses under her breath. Our eyes veer to her. Mascara runs down her chin and drips onto the white hospital sheets.

  I don’t know why, but I laugh. Thora starts laughing, and not long after, so do Katya and Camila. I rub my face, makeup everywhere.

  Camila’s bold shadow is smeared across her eyes.

  Thora laughs harder at Camila. “You need to take a picture. For once your makeup looks worse than mine.” Then her face contorts and she shakes her head—we all go quiet again.

  I have to ask. It’s been plaguing me since we first heard the news. “Do you think you can sue Aerial Ethereal?”

  Thora takes such a deep breath, it’s not only audible but it inflates her whole chest. She sits up straighter like the weight lifted a fraction. “No…I know I can’t.”

  “But…” I try to figure out how to mention that I knew she was pregnant. God, was pregnant. As in past tense. If it sits strangely with me, I can’t imagine how odd it is for her.

  She had eight weeks to become used to the idea of carrying a baby. Maybe she even started envisioning names or what he or she would look like.

  Thora stares at me intently, and she nods like she understands what I mean to say. “The doctors said that the miscarriage didn’t happen because I was doing aerial silk eight-weeks in. I was careful at my job, and I didn’t ever sustain an injury.”

  I nod in reply.

  “They said it was most likely mismatched chromosomes.” She nods to herself more, fiddling with her fingers. “They said it’s the cause of sixty-percent of miscarriages, and that I’ll probably have no problem getting pregnant…next time.”

  Thora sighs out the tension in her bones, and she stares off at the wall. “I told Nik that…no matter how much the doctors tell me it’s not my fault, I keep thinking I did something wrong to cause this. Like…I could’ve done something differently and I’d still be…” Her face twists in hurt.

  “No,” I say strongly. “Bad things—they happen for no reason, all the time.” I think of my parents.

  “It’s not your fault,” Katya chimes in.

  “They’re right,” Camila says, squeezing Thora’s hand.

  Thora blows out a measured breath and then wipes her watery eyes. “I thought I’d be relieved. I thought Nik would too.” She looks up at the ceiling. “I mean, AE is probably jumping for joy. I can now stay in Amour for the rest of the year and longer, if they renew my contract. I don’t know, maybe they won’t want to after all this…and I’m rambling. Nonsense. It’s all nonsense, right?”

  I nudge her lightly. “It’s not nonsense. It’s your life.”

  Thora blows out another breath. “I can do this,” she mutters. “I can do this.” I once asked Thora how she’s able to be so positive.

  She said that if she gave up on herself, then her biggest cheerleader would be gone, and she needs Thora James rooting her on in the stands.

  It was inspiring.

  And I slowly start to smile watching Thora motivate herself forward.

  I wish I could find that inner-cheerleader.

  I’m going to need Baylee Wright to buckle up soon. Geoffrey Lesage is waiting somewhere in the hospital, and when he confronts me and Luka, my whole world may change.

  But right now, I think about Thora.

  I listen as she tries to gather more words, more strength and courage in the face of heartbreak and pain. We’re here. Girls bonded not by last name but random happenstance and choice.

  And we’re here for as long as she needs us.

  Act Thirty-Seven

  Luka Kotova

  No one’s seen Nikolai since he left T
hora so the girls could talk and comfort her, but after a three-minute search in the hospital, I find my brother. I just don’t tell anyone else.

  I enter a two-stall bathroom, empty except for Nikolai. He grips the sink basin, slightly hunched over. A rare sight for a guy who stands so erect you’d truly think someone shoved a stick up his ass from birth.

  He barely acknowledges me. Barely moves.

  I lock the door behind me, and Nik slowly turns on the faucet.

  I’m not the best with words. I’m not the best at much, but family is all we have. And I have to be enough for him. Like he has to be enough for me.

  His nose runs, and he wipes it with the back of his hand before splashing water at his face.

  I take a step closer and stuff my hands in my pockets. “Dimitri texted. Said he heard the girls laughing. Like good laughter.”

  Nikolai tightens his eyes closed, his chest caving. And he clutches the sink’s edges again.

  I’ve never seen Nik cry.

  I wouldn’t be surprised if he never has.

  He’s used to being everyone’s rock. He was next to Thora in the ambulance. At the hospital. By her bed. I saw a glimpse through the ER curtains, and he was holding her after the doctors explained the news. She cried into his shoulder, and even from my obscured view, he looked so torn up. Maybe Thora even saw him cry for the first time right then.

  I can imagine him being vulnerable with her, easily.

  Nikolai staggers slowly back from the sink and he drifts to the mirrored wall. His knees nearly give out, and he sits on the tiles, head hung. Arms draped on his bent legs.

  I approach like a ghost and quietly sit next to him. And I say what I think he needs to hear. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  His nose flares, and he shields his face with a shaking hand.

  I wrap my arm around his broad shoulders. “There’s nothing more you could’ve done. Nothing to prevent it or save her from this. You did everything you could.” I feel him shudder, and I edge closer. He reaches out, his hand on my knee.

  His grip is strong like he doesn’t want me to leave. And I watch my selfless, stoic brother pinch his eyes and fight gut-wrenching tears. His face reddens, scrunched up.

  His pain balls in my throat, and I rub his back. “She’s going to be okay, Nik.”

  And then he drops his hand, and tears slip out of the corners of his bloodshot eyes. Mine burn and cloud.

  After a few minutes of unleashing his emotion, he finds the strength to lift his head up, and he leans more against the mirror. I stare at the locked door with him.

  Outside of that door, my life is about to become undone, and I can’t tell him that I fucked up again. Irresponsible Luka Kotova. Letting down the people I love most. Repeating all of my mistakes, and still, I wouldn’t change anything but being caught.

  (I’m so sorry, Nik. You deserved a better brother than the one you got.)

  Act Thirty-Eight

  Luka Kotova

  “Baylee?” I say.

  She looks numb, staring off as we stand in a tiny vending area within the hospital. One of the only secluded places Geoffrey could find after he corralled us in the hallway.

  I didn’t even have time to hug Bay before he said, “Don’t touch.”

  I rake my fingers through my dark hair and then fit my baseball cap on backwards. I reach out to her, but she shakes her head once. “We can’t.”

  Geoffrey will be back soon. He said to, “Wait here.”

  I have no idea what he’s doing.

  I rest my forearm against a Fizzle machine, and I’m turned towards her. “What can I do?” I want to fix this. I want to take her pain away. I’ll feel better knowing she’s alright. “Bay?”

  “I don’t know.” She looks up, eyes welling.

  My heart is being ripped to shreds.

  She crosses her arms like she’s trying to hug herself.

  I reach out. “Let me, please. He’s not back yet.”

  Baylee takes a breath, looks over her shoulder, and then she walks into my arms. I hug her so tight, and I feel her exhale just as I do.

  Softly, she whispers, “I don’t want this to be our last hug.”

  I shake my head, weight piling on my chest. Eyes burning. “It’s not.”

  She doesn’t believe me. I don’t even believe me. “This hurts,” she says. “God, this hurts.”

  I pull back some, and Baylee has her hand on her chest like it’s her heart.

  My hands slide up to her cheeks, and she feverishly traces all of my features. I try to engrain all of hers, just as urgently. Our eyes dancing.

  And then we hear footsteps. The sound of metal scraping the floor. My hands fall, and we separate two feet which feels like ten thousand leagues.

  Baylee presses the buttons to a snack machine, sadness blanketing her brown eyes. I feel like I’ve been kicked repeatedly. My whole body aches, and I keep rubbing my face, wishing I’d stop wincing soon.

  When Geoffrey returns with two chairs, Bay actually sighs in relief at something to sit on and sink into.

  “Sit,” he orders.

  She’s already sitting, one leg tucked beneath her ass.

  I take a seat and lean back some, my hands on my knees. “What is this about?” I speak first, knowing Baylee is quieter in these situations.

  Geoffrey crosses his arms, his goatee a little fuzzier than yesterday, and his ash-blond hair is askew like he’s been anxiously grabbing at it. I’m surprised he’s not pacing in front of us, but he is trying to tower. Which is probably why he only brought two chairs.

  It’s working more than I want to admit.

  “You know what it’s about,” Geoffrey snaps. “When I first signed onto Infini, I thought I’d be the reason this show succeeds for a decade longer. I thought I’d be the hero.” He laughs like it was foolish. “Then I have a private meeting with Marc Duval. He tells me that through the transfer of a colleague, he needs someone new to be his eyes and ears towards two artists. I hesitate.” Geoffrey holds up his hands. “It sounds like babysitting to me. I’m here to reinvigorate a dying show, that’s all. Marc tells me that if I don’t do this, I lose out on the Infini job and the biggest sum of money in my career.”

  I ball my baseball cap in my hands, listening and now knowing our far-fetched thought about Geoffrey is real. That he was told by Corporate to spy on us.

  The no minors policy is coming.

  Baylee stares so far off, wide-eyed; I worry. And I turn more towards her than to Geoffrey.

  Our choreographer continues, “So I agree to make sure Luka and Baylee don’t even sneeze on each other outside the gym unless it’s about work. But let’s be honest here, you’re both far from professional at this point. Vince thought he spotted you on the strip during a lunch break. Did you know that?” He steps closer.

  It forces me to crane my neck to look at him.

  “Did you know that I also talked him out of entering the Urban Outfitters he was sure you were hiding in?”

  Baylee snaps out of her stupor, and my brows furrow in confusion. We’re both shaking our heads. Why would he help us?

  “I also cancelled lunches. I thought you two would take the hint. Surely you both know what’s at stake if I or Vince relay news about your sex buddy to Marc.”

  My jaw muscle tics, but I’m not back-talking right now. Not to prove a point that he couldn’t give two shits about.

  “Why didn’t you tell on us?” Baylee asks with a shrug, face pained. “Why even pair me with Luka on the trampoline?”

  “I’m here for one purpose.” Geoffrey points at the ground. “For Infini. Not to babysit two stupid kids.”

  (Fuck you.)

  Geoffrey looks to me. Like he’s waiting for me to attack. Show some raw emotion.

  When I give him none, he sneers at me, “Unbelievable.” He crosses his arms again and scrutinizes Baylee. “I actually think you two have promise together on stage. You have real chemistry, and I took advantage of that for the betterment
of the show. You know what I’m not willing to lose? My underage girl who will be kicked off Infini the second I go tattle to Marc. I need Milla. The show needs Milla, and the no minors policy is threatening the creative value and potential of Infini.”

  He’s going to help us?

  It’s what I’m hearing.

  He’s not planning on running to Marc Duval.

  I straighten up. “What do you want then?”

  “I want a guarantee that you two won’t ever be caught by Vince or Marc himself.”

  “Done,” I say, but Baylee is holding her breath, more realistic while I try to dream about a happy ending in all of this.

  Geoffrey chuckles at me. “That’s funny that you think I trust you. You know you’re in AE’s artist database with everyone else? You want to know what a former choreographer wrote in your file? He typed: will lie to protect other artists. Here’s what I’m going to write in yours.” He mimes writing on the air. “Nuisance, not worth the time or effort, soulless—”

  “Stop,” Baylee interjects, setting a glare on him.

  Geoffrey’s brows spike, and he appraises us. “I asked around about you two…to your…aunt, was it?”

  Baylee recoils. “You talked to my aunt?”

  “About two weeks ago. I wanted to know if I could trust you two to stay separated. I didn’t let her in on your current ‘relationship’ status, but I casually asked about your history together. She didn’t give me much at first, just said you were best friends. Then I asked if she’s ever seen Luka yell, and she said yes.” Geoffrey tilts his head at me like he caught me in a lie.

  (He didn’t. Not really.)

  I blink a long blink.

  “She said that Baylee was upset one day, overslept, and you were defending her tardiness at practice to a staff member. You were suspended for two days. Your aunt warned me that you both used to try to fight each other’s battles. One would fall, the other would scream. That sort of thing.”

  We’re both eerily silent.

  Baylee is scared. I can feel her stiffen beside me. Maybe she’s afraid he’s going to use this against us. I shake my head a couple times, and Geoffrey backs up, leaning against a Ziff machine full of sports drinks.