by Shona Husk
They skipped the next lift all together.
They couldn’t end like this. What could he do? ‘How about a one-handed presage to end on.’
‘Did you damage your head as well?’
Ripley was so glad that the audience couldn’t hear the conversations going on. ‘I’ve done them before. Have you?’
‘How do you think I got dropped and broke my wrist?’ Cait hissed through her perfect smile.
‘I won’t drop you.’ He would not let himself fail.
They missed another lift. They had to end this on a high or people would know.
What if he never danced again, could never lift again? Worst-case scenarios played through his head, amplified by the pain radiating through his arm and back.
‘We can do this.’
‘We haven’t practised this.’ Mild panic was starting to show on her face.
‘Trust me.’ He widened his smile as though he was one hundred per cent sure he could pull it off. He could. He knew he could. No … he had to.
She glared at him. ‘Fine. Don’t make me regret it.’
‘Right back at you.’
I can do this. I can do this. Until she was up, he doubted that he could. But he did and he held it so it looked completely rehearsed and part of the show.
There were a few gasps behind him from the other dancers. The audience was thrilled.
He was not used to this lift and his body complained.
Cait’s feet touched the floor. She embraced him as per the choreography, the kiss on the cheek was an extra. ‘You are brilliant.’
‘Drop the fucking curtain already.’ The last measure of music couldn’t come soon enough.
‘I won’t let you land on your face. Take your bow.’ She held his good hand and lifted it so they could end together. If she hadn’t done that he might have sat down. She made sure he got off the stage.
‘How bad is it?’ Anton was there, waiting for him.
Ripley didn’t want to admit how bad he thought it was. He looked at Anton and couldn’t lie. ‘I heard it go.’
Everyone else was running about, sucking up the praise of the audience.
Cait came over. ‘Can you come out again?’
No. He couldn’t. He was in agony and barely keeping it together.
Anton nodded. ‘You finished in style that took commitment. Very good.’
The praise almost dulled the pain for a heartbeat. Then Ripley ran back on as though there was nothing wrong. He wished that were the truth. Everything was wrong. He didn’t raise his arm to take his bow, and he didn’t hear the clapping of the audience. All he could hear was the death toll on his career.
The pain was excruciating. Every movement hurt, and for the first time in his life he wanted to be anywhere but on stage and in the spotlight. A muscle had torn or a tendon had ripped free.
Please don’t let it be surgical.
Anything but that. That would take months. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it felt. The curtain finally dropped. Ripley collapsed on the stage. The sob he’d been holding back through gritted teeth and a fake smile escaped.
He swore, and tucked his arm in close.
‘I can’t believe you did that move!’
‘What have you done?’
‘Are you okay?’
The chatter surrounded him, but he was drowning in pain. His back hurt after doing that final lift. He’d probably fucked that too.
Anton had been impressed. The little bubble of pride was there. All he’d had to do was destroy his body and career. He could barely breathe.
Cait was still with him. She put the offered ice on his shoulder. ‘It’s going to be all right.’
She was such a bad liar.
‘I mean, you’ve still got one good arm and that’s obviously all you need.’ She hugged him again. ‘You didn’t drop me.’
He closed his eyes. He was crying but he didn’t care. He couldn’t pull it together. He should’ve stoped during the interval instead of pushing on. He’d known then it was getting worse. He’d fucked himself over by trying to prove there was nothing wrong.
Anton squatted down. ‘Physio has come into see you. No painkillers until the injury is assessed.’
‘Fucking hell.’ The ice was doing nothing.
‘You’ve got to get up.’ Anton gave Cait a pointed look and she released him. Then Anton was hauling him off the ground.
Ten minutes later, Ripley was on his way to hospital for an ultrasound on both shoulders, to be sure.
He wanted to be sick. Hospital. Then it would be surgery and then his dancing days would be over.
The idea filled him with panic, like he was in a dark room and scratching at the walls trying to find a way to the spotlight. What if he never got out?
If he had the same defective gene as his brother, there may be no point in getting out. He’d be better off living in the shadows.
Chapter 12
Ripley spent Monday in bed with the curtains drawn. There was no point in getting up. He’d been released from hospital and given the day off. Tomorrow he was supposed to be back at training, even though he couldn’t do much.
He was part of the company and was expected to be there. They could all go and fuck themselves. He went to roll over but the pain stopped him before he got halfway there. He couldn’t even lie on his favourite side.
A second-degree tear. That little niggle that he’d had for the past couple of weeks had probably been the start. If he’d stopped and given his shoulder a proper rest instead of pushing, he’d have got better faster.
While he didn’t need surgery, he needed time.
Time … he was twenty-six; he wanted to jump to classical ballet. This was going to take months to heal. Months of time off. He’d never had months off dancing. A week when his family had gone on holiday, but even then he’d got up early to do some practise. He’d been that kid.
Part of this was his brother’s fault. Ripley snarled. It took two to fight and he’d been more than ready to smack his brother down. He should’ve walked away. But then he’d have never learned what was eating Paul. His brother had cried. He looked at his hand even though he knew it would be fine. Before the tics started, there would be other subtle changes in his behaviour. No one knew how long it would take to progress to the point where eating became hard, where even simple things like doing the dishes were easy to muddle up. He’d seen the notes stuck to his parent’s cupboards to help his father remember how to make a cup of fucking tea. That was his brother’s future. He squeezed his eyes shut.
50/50
Heads or tails?
About the same for if he’d be able to get full use back and dance again. Dance as the lead again.
His other shoulder was fine despite the final lift—which he still had no idea how he’d managed to pull it off when they had never practised it together. Pure adrenaline, maybe.
His phone buzzed. He reached out to pick it up even though he didn’t want to speak to anyone. Pierce.
He should reply but he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to see anyone or do anything.
However, he scrolled through the messages they’d been sending each other. Pierce had replied last night to the picture of him in tights getting warmed up.
You’ve made me hot
But not even that made him smile. He put his phone on silent. Pierce would think he was busy.
Ripley lay there staring at the ceiling. His jaw was tight and his blood was hot with anger. He’d done this to himself. He’d chased his dream so hard it had turned around and bitten him.
Now he had no idea what to do. There was nothing else he could do. Nothing else he wanted to do.
No one wanted a broken-down dancer.
They put racehorses down when they weren’t any good.
***
By Monday night, Ripley still hadn’t replied to the two text messages Pierce had sent. Ripley had said he was meeting his pisshead rock star mate so Pierce had said he wouldn’t come up
. But it wasn’t like Ripley to not reply. For the last week everything had been going so smoothly, but yesterday at the beach had ended on an odd note. Maybe he should’ve gone up even though they’d agreed he wouldn’t. He wanted to call but didn’t know what to say. Maybe Ripley was really busy. He did have family and friends here and they had spent a whole lot of time together.
Pierce looked at the photo Ripley had sent him last night. He was wearing black tights that had several rips and a bright turquoise T-shirt that made his eyes bluer. He was grinning and his leg was at an angle that shouldn’t be possible. Even in the picture there was a spark that made Pierce’s breath catch and his blood burn.
He flicked through the photos from the beach. Had that been goodbye and he hadn’t realised? They’d both admitted to there being more than simple lust and they had both admitted it couldn’t be more. But then why send the picture of himself in tights?
He had no idea.
Relationships failed all the time. There was a reason the navy had a high divorce rate. They spent too much time away … Pierce couldn’t imagine Ripley waiting for anyone. He’d move on hungry for the next taste of desire, always moving. If he stopped, would he come to resent the boring life Pierce had?
There was no glamour in the uniforms or the work.
He wasn’t as social as Ripley. He went out because that was what you did, it was team bonding. The crew was close-knit, they had to be. Ripley had compared it to a dance company. Maybe it was only greyer and with less music and make-up. They both had their places. And it wasn’t together.
Pierce stared at the photo of Ripley in tights again and sighed. He should grab his keys, drive up there and surprise him. He wouldn’t be out all night with Dan. No, but maybe they both needed some sleep. It would be nice not to be driving every day.
He didn’t want to turn up only to have the door slammed in his face if it was over.
Ripley hadn’t asked for the key back.
They hadn’t spent every night together, just most. All the games from his high school dating days rushed back and he remembered why he had skipped dating and gone straight to sex when he needed it. No mixed signals and no drama.
And nothing as good as he’d had in Ripley’s bed.
Fuck it.
He got changed into civvie clothes and went out. His cabin was too small and he was thinking too much. But he didn’t leave the base—he didn’t want to pick up, but he needed to be out and distracted—so he went to the junior sailors’ bar to have a couple of drinks.
The bar had enough people in there that he didn’t feel pathetic for drinking alone. He ordered a beer and hoped to get a game of pool when the others finished.
He really needed to move off the base and into a rental … or could he buy a place himself? He would like to do it on his own, but then when he sailed the house would be empty—that was why single guys tended to house share. He didn’t want to share, though, in case he ever wanted to bring someone home. In case he ever felt brave enough to date again. He winced as he sipped his beer.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t completely disregard what everybody else might be thinking, the way Ripley did. He had to stop thinking about him. It was done. When someone stopped replying it was over.
It hadn’t even been a full day. He had to stop worrying about it. Ripley was probably having a good time with Dan. How much of a good time, that was how they’d met after all. He didn’t like where those thoughts led, even though they hadn’t agreed to anything, just that it was never going to work.
Pierce finished his beer and ordered another one.
He hadn’t come here to think about Ripley.
Nope.
Not thinking about him.
Not wanting him.
He didn’t need to be driving to and from Perth every day. He could wake up late in his own bed, walk out the door and be at work ten minutes later. And his local bar was full of off-duty sailors. Ripley had made him realise there were things he did want. Even if he planned on staying in after his six years was up, he didn’t want to live on the base forever. The beer turned bitter on his tongue.
And he didn’t want to be alone forever.
Ripley was back in his mind with that grin that could lead the devil astray.
‘Hey.’ A guy Pierce had seen around the sub school leaned on the bar next to him. What was his name?
Pierce nodded. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation. The idea of moving off the base had taken hold. Maybe not a house. Maybe one of those beachfront apartments. Nothing huge, one bedroom.
‘You waiting for a game or winding up?’ The man smiled.
‘I think I’m winding up.’ He wasn’t feeling social. Ripley would be. He’d be talking to people, making new friends and leaving a trail of lustful sighs after him. Samms, that was the guy’s name, he was a medic.
Samms smiled at Pierce. The room became a little sharper. Pierce immediately went on guard.
‘Did you want to do something?’
Pierce blinked and tried to find some words … any words. Was he getting picked up on board? He may have checked Samms out from a distance, and if they were anywhere else he may have been tempted. But he didn’t want rumours about him to start.
And he couldn’t think about anyone other than Ripley. He didn’t want anyone but Ripley. He looked at Samms and there was nothing there. Ripley had grabbed his heart and run away with it and Pierce had been too dazzled to notice.
‘Um? What?’
‘I thought we might have something in common.’ Samms was already pulling away. The smile was fading.
Pierce couldn’t admit it, but he couldn’t deny it either because then Samms would feel like shit. ‘I’m seeing someone.’
It was the truth. Even if Ripley wasn’t returning any of his messages. There would be a reason. They had such little time until he left. He’d give Ripley another day and one more message. He’d let him know he’d be up tomorrow.
That way Ripley either had to tell him not to bother or ask why he wasn’t coming up tonight.
Samms looked at him for a moment then nodded. ‘Which is why you’re drinking alone.’
‘Work commitments.’ Pierce put down his empty glass. He didn’t need to justify himself. Then he walked out.
The doubt followed—how had Samms known, or had he taken a chance? Was everybody braver than he was?
Apparently so.
Even if he wasn’t having a thing with Ripley, he’d have never been brave enough to accept Samms’ offer. He didn’t want his two lives colliding. He wanted it all kept separate in neat little boxes, even if he was cutting himself to achieve the separation.
Chapter 13
Ripley would’ve rather been wallowing in the hotel room, but he’d made plans to meet Dan and couldn’t blow him off again. Dan was sober and almost looking happy. While he hadn’t seen Dan since the nightclub incident—the same night he’d met Pierce—they had been in contact.
‘So how broken are you?’ Dan ordered pizza and soft drink.
‘Broken enough that I am no longer on the tour.’ That had been decided today. He’d known it was coming but it still smarted. The physio and the scans had confirmed the damage. No one was pushing him to surgery, which was good. It wasn’t bad enough that they thought that would be more effective than time.
‘So that’s it, back to the States?’
‘Dunno. I’m still part of the company and have six months left on my contract.’ Unless they ended it, given that it could take him that long to heal. It was all a game of wait and see. ‘At the moment I still have to get up and train.’
Dan frowned.
‘I can still work my legs.’ Basically Anton wasn’t going to cut him any slack for any reason short of death. That was probably not even a good enough excuse.
Cait had asked if the wobble had caused the damage. There was no easy answer to that. Maybe the damage was already happening, maybe she was responsible—but then he could’ve stopped at any time. It
was his body and he had to look after it.
Which is why he was eating salad and chicken and not pizza covered in cheese. Neither of them were drinking.
‘How’s it going?’
‘What?’ Dan narrowed his eyes.
‘All of it. The single, the girl, the no alcohol.’ Ripley pointed at the soft drink with his fork. ‘How are Ed’s parents?’
‘They are as bad as yours.’
Ripley smiled; it felt odd for a moment, as though he hadn’t smiled in days. While Dan had parents who’d never supported his music career, Ed and Ripley had been blessed with parents who only wanted to their kids grow up and be happy.
Dan was silent for a moment. ‘I’m better there than on my own.’
‘Yeah.’ Ripley preferred people to his own company. He’d be going back to an empty hotel room tonight. Pierce had said he wasn’t coming up. He should call Pierce. He knew that. But he didn’t know what to say, and part of him thought it might be for the best to walk away. Their jobs and lives would take them in different directions. That was no longer a good enough reason. They had both almost admitted that at the beach. They wanted more.
He needed more. He didn’t want to find someone else. Somehow he’d become trapped in a web of his own making and it wasn’t that he didn’t know how to get free, as much as he wasn’t sure he wanted to get free.
‘The rest is all good. Might actually make some money this time around.’
‘That’s good.’
‘What’s wrong with you … aside from your shoulder. You’ve been asking all about me and you aren’t half as bouncy as you usually are.’
‘I’m not bouncy.’
‘Yeah you are. You are a neon yellow rubber ball hurtling around a confined space. People watch you because it’s entertaining but they also want to avoid being hit in the face.’ Dan bit into his pizza.
If he’d still been performing he’d have been eating pizza, comfortable in the knowledge that he’d burn it off on stage. He shoved a piece of tomato around his plate.
‘A rubber ball is random.’ He was not a rubber ball. ‘I move with purpose.’