Infini

by Krista Ritchie

  “You know what I believe?” he says. “I believe that you’ll always go an extra mile if you keep seeing each other at work. I believe it was a mistake to put Luka in Infini, and I don’t know why Marc Duval would even tempt it.”

  He’s just as clueless as us about the reason then. And I can’t even disagree. Me being in Infini—it changed everything.

  “What else do I believe?” Geoffrey continues. “The only way to ensure you abide by the rules is for one of you to quit Aerial Ethereal.”

  “What?” we say together.

  “I reread your contracts. There’s a stipulation that says if you both leave the company, the no minors policy is enforced. But if only one of you quits, there’s no harm done. You won’t be able to ever talk to each other, you’ll live your lives separately like you agreed to do years ago, and Infini won’t be damaged.”

  I flinch back, numb to the bone.

  Baylee’s face is in her hands.

  My thoughts speed up, and it hits me. “You don’t want the no minors policy to happen, so you’ll never rat us out to Marc. We don’t have to comply.” I’m grasping for a glimmer of control.

  (It’s always fleeting. I’m not holding my breath.)

  “Wrong,” Geoffrey snaps. “There’s a timeline. Seven days to quit. If you don’t by then, I’ll say you physically attacked me today, in this vending area, and I’ll fire you.”

  My stomach clenches, and I look to the ceiling for answers. We could break our contracts and leave our jobs together, but it’d also enforce the no minors policy.

  I already know she won’t do it.

  Just like I won’t. Not if there’s another option, and he’s giving us one, our second handout from someone I deplore. Only I despise him way more than I ever hated Marc Duval.

  This seems worse than the first time.

  Because I’m older.

  I’m twenty, and what I feel for Bay isn’t a dream or fantasy. I have my head somewhat on my shoulders, and the naysaying voices in our ears aren’t even here. We don’t need our stand-in parents to tell us where to go. What to do.

  And I wonder what I would’ve decided if I had the two contracts at this time in my life. I wonder if I would’ve quit AE to be with Baylee right then and there.

  Maybe.

  But that’s not what’s on the table today. We can’t walk away without hurting the dreams of potentially thousands of children. We’re not going to do that.

  One of us is quitting for Geoffrey’s “offer” and it’s about to be me. I open my mouth to volunteer so she can stay in the circus, but I see the way he’s staring at me.

  And a realization sinks in.

  He directed his whole firing and quitting speech to me.

  “We don’t have a choice who quits, do we?” I ask, more calmly than he probably likes.

  Geoffrey almost smiles like he won a game I didn’t even realize we were playing.

  Tears slip out of Bay’s eyes, and she chokes, “No, let me—”

  “I need you,” Geoffrey cuts her off. “I don’t need him.” He steps off the vending machine, coming forward again. “They say you’re irreplaceable because you’re a Kotova? Because of chemistry with your siblings and cousins? You’re just a number to me. I can easily rewrite the choreography of every act you’re in. Like you weren’t ever there. Invisible—”

  “Wheel of Death,” Baylee combats, voice cracking.

  I whisper, “It’s okay, Bay.” She can’t quit. Infini…it’s her mother’s memory.

  She can’t quit.

  I can leave. I’ll…do something. I don’t know what. I blink a couple times, blocking out the names of my family members. Of never seeing Bay again. I crack my knuckles.

  I don’t want to confront all that I’m losing.

  (I’ll puke.)

  Geoffrey says, “I can move Erik Kotova onto Wheel of—”

  “You don’t have that authority,” Baylee interjects, and I frown. Does he?

  “Shut up, and don’t interrupt me again.”

  I instantly stand and step in front of Baylee.

  Geoffrey laughs like it’s too late.

  I don’t want to leave her in this dude’s presence. I’ll have to warn Brenden before I go. Who else? Dimitri? They’ll make sure Geoffrey doesn’t mess with her when I’m gone, right?

  (What am I saying? It’s like I’m preparing for my death.)

  I can already feel the uncertainty tormenting me. Not knowing if she’s happy or sad. Or just doing okay. All of it. All over again.

  Looking directly at me, Geoffrey says, “I’ve been given the authority to swiftly axe Brenden and Zhen’s aerial straps routine anytime I like, so yes, you better believe I have the authority to shift around artists and fire them.”

  Baylee caves into herself, and I turn to comfort her—

  “Don’t touch.”

  I freeze at his words.

  “You’re going to leave separately. Luka go first—”

  “No fucking way,” I actually say out loud. I think it stuns him, but I don’t drink in his expression. I crouch down to Bay, careful not to touch her like he said. I don’t toy with that risk. “Baylee. Hey, go outside. Call your brother to come get you? Can you do that?”

  Brenden doesn’t have a car, but he’ll probably take a cab. I don’t want her to be alone right now, and I’m not leaving first so she’ll be alone with Geoffrey.

  Baylee pinches her eyes, attempting to stop the waterworks. My gaze sears.

  She curses, and she tries to stand. I know she must feel like a million pounds of sorrow, but she has to get up.

  In a full minute, she rises on her own, her hand pressed to her collarbones.

  “Call Brenden,” I say.

  She nods once.

  “Please.”

  She nods again.

  “Okay.” I glance back at Geoffrey, who’s watching too keenly. I hate this dude so fucking much. I try to follow her out of the vending area, but he clamps a hand on my shoulder.

  He yanks me back, and I shove him off out of defense.

  I lost sight of her, but I remind myself that I’ve been given a choice. To quit or to be fired. I have seven days until I decide, and that’s seven days left with Baylee.

  He’s not taking that away from me.

  Act Thirty-Nine

  Baylee Wright

  12 Days to Infini’s Premiere

  Luka likes pretending that doom isn’t waiting in the horizon. For six days, I’ve done a decent job at pretending too. We sneak off together when we can. As though Geoffrey never caught us. And we try not to talk about his impending departure.

  Well, he’s quitting tomorrow, and I couldn’t stomach attending an Aerial Ethereal artists banquet in the Masquerade’s ballroom tonight. Most go for the free food and booze.

  But Luka gladly ditched with me.

  With his suitemates at the banquet, we hang out in his kitchen. I sit on a bar stool and watch him burn my grilled cheese on a frying pan.

  I’d cook, but he offered, knowing I typically smile when he always under-butters the bread and smoke billows in his face.

  I haven’t smiled at all today.

  Reality is too close to stealing him from me, and my heavy mood won’t rise. I slump forward, and I wonder if there’s anything more I can do to keep him here.

  To extend this moment for another day.

  Another lifetime.

  Anything.

  Luka flips the charred grilled cheese onto a paper plate, and he tosses the smoking pan into the sink. Then he slides the paper plate to me with a growing smile. “I think I could be a good cook,” he teases. “Maybe Steak ‘n Shake will hire me.”

  My lips downturn. “That’s not funny.” I’d normally take a bite of the grilled cheese. He always burns the outside, but the inside is usually really good.

  I can’t even bring myself to pick it up. The act feels like running five hundred miles across the globe. I groan and wipe my leaking eyes with the hem of my cott
on T-shirt. I’ve been involuntary crying all day. I’m sick of tears.

  I’m sick of sadness. I just want it to leave me.

  And I want him to stay.

  Luka skirts around the counter and comes up to me while I sit. He cups my cheeks, his palms warm against my skin, and I wrap my arms around his waist.

  “I could quit first,” I say, surfacing our fate that we’ve avoided. “He said only one of us needs to, and if I quit before he can fire you, Geoffrey can’t really do anything…” I trail off as Luka shakes his head.

  “No, Bay.” His brows rise. “I’m quitting tomorrow. Not you.” He kisses me lightly on the lips, as though imprinting his declaration as a promise.

  A tear slides down my cheek, onto his palm. “I’m sorry.” My voice fissures.

  Luka brushes his thumbs beneath my welling eyes. “I’m sorry too.” He nods a few times, restraining emotion. He edges closer, his arms falling to my shoulders.

  His body is pressed more up against my build. His warmth blankets me, and my legs instinctively curve around his waist, my ass on the end of the stool.

  More in his possession.

  I can’t rid the lump in my throat. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say. “I’m the one who showed you the list.”

  I tried not to imagine being caught before finishing the list. It was always a possibility, but I just hoped we’d end things on our terms this time.

  Luka almost laughs. “I’m glad.”

  I make a face at him like he can’t be serious.

  He actually smiles. “Everything we did wasn’t a mistake to me, and it’s definitely not all on you. The list was supposed to be about two exes talking through their past. Not redoing everything. I took it to another level, Bay.”

  “And I agreed to it,” I remind him. “Because…” I wanted you. The list was supposed to be about me emotionally moving on, but we ended up using it as an excuse to stay together. “Shit.” I’m really crying. I bury my face in my shirt, lifting the fabric and exposing my abdomen.

  I feel him kiss the top of my head, and I sink against his chest. Luka draws me off the stool, but he keeps my legs secured around his waist. I pull my shirt down to see my surroundings. He carries me to the living area.

  And he lies on the modern gray couch with me pressed up against his body.

  Our limbs tangle together, his strong arms holding me like it’s the first and last time. My ear rests over his heart, and I listen to the calming thump…thump…thump.

  Silent tears cascade down my cheeks, and every now and then, he caresses them away with his thumb.

  After a few minutes, I look up, and he smiles weakly at me. His gray eyes are glassed.

  I turn on my side to face him more.

  He turns with me, and his arm hooks over my waist, welding us together.

  In the quietest voice, I whisper, “Will I see you tomorrow?” I ask what’s been on my mind since he started cooking. He may leave in the early morning before practice starts, and there’s a chance we won’t find private time to meet.

  A tear rolls out the corner of his eye. “I don’t think so.”

  This is it then. I inhale a sharp breath, and he rubs my shoulder and arm before his hand travels to my cheek again.

  I place my palm onto his hand.

  His breath is uneven, staggered, and his lips touch mine so tenderly and lovingly. It fills me up.

  We break slowly, and I wish my tears weren’t all over his hand. My throat swells, but I find my voice to ask shakily, “Do you want to complete the list?”

  His brows cinch. “Right now?”

  I try to shrug, but I have no energy. “It’s now or never.” What we do here determines how we end our love story.

  Luka rolls on top of me and hoists his weight off my frame, his hands on either side of my shoulders. I clutch his biceps, fine with him bringing his entire body down onto me, but he stays suspended above.

  He combs pieces of my hair off my face. He smiles like I’m the most beautiful person he’s ever seen, even tear-streaked. Even crying and sad. “I’d rather just lie here with you, Bay.”

  I think he knows that we’re both not emotionally up for oral sex.

  “What about the list?” I whisper. “It just stays unfinished forever?”

  Luka thinks for a second, and then he says, “We’ve never had a close. Maybe we were never meant to.” He lowers some, his forehead near mine. “One day, you’ll find a man that you deserve, who’ll make you so fucking happy.” We’re both crying. “I’m sorry that couldn’t be me.”

  We tangle up again, hugging. Clinging.

  And I whisper into his neck, “It was you. It was always you.”

  We stay like this until time ticks by, and footsteps patter along the hotel hallway. Voices growing louder, and we know the banquet has ended.

  We gather the strength to stand, and we languidly head to the suite’s door. He hangs onto my wrist, and I rub the wet tracks off my cheeks. He’s still clasping onto me as I crack open the door.

  And I look back, his chiseled yet angelic features only an inch away. I press two fingers to my lips, and I do what he had done.

  I touch the imprinted kiss to his mouth. One beat passes, and he swiftly shifts my fingers before his lips urgently meet mine in a real, sweltering kiss. It pulls and curves my body into his. I grasp onto the back of his head, and his tongue parts my lips.

  Driving the kiss deeper. More sensual than pained.

  Tears slip down our faces, and I feel his pulse race against mine.

  This is our goodbye.

  At least it’s better than the first time. I hope I can live with that.

  Act Forty

  Luka Kotova

  11 Days to Infini’s Premiere

  I start packing around 4:00 a.m., my bedroom dark. Dimitri sleeps on the bottom bunk, rolled onto his stomach, and his muscular legs hang off the edge.

  I skulk to our dresser, trying not to wake him.

  I don’t need much, and it’s not like I have furniture or many possessions. I empty my drawers into one duffel bag. That’s it.

  Home has never been the clothes in my closet or the bed beneath my body. Home is my family, and for the first time, I’m leaving.

  Stress has been quietly crushing me.

  I zip up my bag and pause for a second, breathing through my nose. I abandon my duffel and exit my bedroom for the suite’s bathroom. I slip inside, kneel, and stick my middle finger down my throat.

  I dry heave, nothing left to puke.

  I hate that I can’t puke.

  I hate that I want to—that it’s been controlling me this badly. I can’t block out the guilt anymore. Regret assaults me, and I breathe heavily for a second.

  (Come on, Luk. Fight this.)

  My eyes tighten shut.

  I stopped fighting this monster about a year ago. It’s been with me since I was six, and I win sometimes. I lose just as often, but it’s there, you know.

  Lurking.

  I always think, I’ll do better tomorrow. When I’m this knee-deep in, I rarely do. But it eases me right now. The “I’ll do better tomorrow” thought. It helps me stand up.

  I close the bathroom door and return to my room—the lights are on. Cautiously, I slip inside, not surprised by what I find.

  Dimitri is squatting beside my duffel and inspecting the contents, plus the empty drawers.

  He catches my gaze. “Going somewhere?”

  Look, I knew I couldn’t tell my family I was quitting Aerial Ethereal. At least not until the last minute. They’d ask why a million times over, but I already emailed Marc Duval that I’m quitting, an informal written termination.

  It’s done.

  “To hell,” I say, pretty easygoing. My voice is never dry. “Want to come?” I pick up my duffel by the strap and zip it again. If I pretend like I’ll be back, I can leave easily.

  It won’t hurt.

  (Please.)

  “Hell is too hot for your lily-white
ass.” Dimitri straightens to a stance, and his gaze narrows for answers.

  I almost smile. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll pick up some sunblock on my way.” I nod to him. “See you on the other side, dude.” As I turn, he guards the door with his six-foot-five frame. He’s dropped some muscle mass this past week, per Geoffrey’s request.

  But he’s still huge.

  “If you won’t talk to me, go talk to Nik,” Dimitri says seriously.

  “I’m about to.”

  He processes this, trying to trust me. I’m really telling the truth. I plan to tell Nik I quit AE, and then I’ll hop in a cab. I already booked a plane ticket to New York.

  I figured I’d find an apartment in Brooklyn. Tap into my tiny savings, and then I’ll figure out where to go from there.

  Simple as that.

  (It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.)

  Dimitri cocks his head. “If you’re in trouble, you know you can come to me.”

  “I’m fine.” I try to pass, and he extends an arm across the door frame.

  “Fine isn’t waking up at two a.m. to go puke—”

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” Dimitri points at my chest. “You made a promise to Nik when you were thirteen. Did you forget that?”

  “No. I didn’t forget.” I promised that if I ever felt out of control, to the point where I couldn’t function, I would tell him. I wouldn’t lie. I wouldn’t go at this alone. I’d ask Nik for help.

  Dimitri stares at me like so what the fuck are you doing.

  I rub my face once, wincing. Because I just want to leave, not confront these issues too. One is hard enough. Heaping them all on me at once—I can’t.

  I can’t deal with it all right now. “Let me through, dude.” I can’t stay here.

  Dimitri hesitates. “Tell me I’m not going to regret this.”

  My throat bobs, but I try to smile, duffel strap on my shoulder. “Stay beefy. Or everyone will start calling you the Prius.” I pass him, patting his shoulder once, knowing he’ll let me go.

  He sidesteps, his features solidified in pained confusion.