Then she yelled at the top of her voice for everyone to move out of the way, grabbed the handles of my wheelchair and shoved her way back through the crowd.
Ash followed grinning.
“Everyone, this is the gorgeous bird who’s married to Ash. You can call her Laney; I’m going to call her lucky bitch.”
So much for being low key. I gave a limp wave while Ash squeezed a chair into the space next to me.
“How come you’re all dressed up and looking swanky?” the curious and loud Sarah asked, as everyone turned to stare at us.
Ash held my hand and smiled at me.
“It was a special occasion.”
“Oh God, he’s disgustingly romantic, too,” Sarah moaned. “I need another bottle of lager.”
I couldn’t help laughing. She reminded me of Vanessa, not giving a damn what people thought of her, taking my wheelchair in her stride.
“So, what do you do, Laney? I doubt you’re a dancer?”
I blinked, taken off guard, and Ash frowned at her, throwing his arm across my shoulders.
“Oh,” Sarah said, contrite. “That sounded rude. Sorry, Mum’s always saying that I’m too blunt. But, whatever, it saves time.”
“No, I’m definitely not a dancer—I’m a writer.”
“Yeah? Cool! So how did you two meet?”
We hadn’t had time to concoct a cover story, but Ash just smiled at her.
“We were in a club and I asked her to dance.”
“What?”
“I didn’t notice the wheelchair.”
“Aw, you were blinded by her beauty. Sigh. You can stop talking now, Ash. You’re too good to be true. No, wait! Laney, tell me something totally gross about him so I can sleep tonight.”
I laughed at her serious expression.
“Um, I don’t think . . . well, it’s not gross but it is annoying . . . he calls my boyf—my best friend Collin a prick,” I finished lamely.
“Is he a prick?” Sarah asked, stuffing an enormous forkful of pasta in her mouth.
“Yes,” said Ash as I said, “No.”
Sarah laughed, and pieces of pasta sprayed over the table, causing the other women to jerk back and throw disgusted looks.
“He probably doesn’t like competition,” Sarah said knowingly, giving Ash a sharp look. “Even from pricks. But yeah, that’s not gross.”
“The way you eat pasta is,” one of the women muttered.
Sarah ignored her, and the server arrived, smiling brightly at Ash.
“Does she want a menu?” she asked, not even glancing at me.
“Why don’t you ask her?” he said coldly.
The waitress looked flustered, so I quietly asked for a menu while she hurried away.
Everyone stared. They always did.
Ash’s new colleagues were friendly, talking excitedly about rehearsals. But I can’t pretend it wasn’t painful to be surrounded by women who were all tens. And able-bodied.
Ash
What a seriously weird day.
I was so certain I was going to get arrested and kicked out of the country that I nearly puked. Added to the fact I was getting fucking married.
To a woman who liked me but didn’t love me, so I could stay in a country that had sent me to Hell and back, to dance in a show that I was beginning to have serious doubts about. And now, my secret wife wasn’t a secret to the other dancers in the show.
That was enough to make anyone’s head spin. I had another drink, feeling the warm fingers of alcohol trickle through my bloodstream.
Laney’s face was flushed from the heat in the crowded restaurant and from the glass of champagne that she’d drunk.
She was laughing at something Sarah had said. Her head was thrown back and her eyes sparkling. She looked happy. Then she caught my eye and her smile softened as she leaned toward me.
“It’ll be okay,” she whispered.
I wanted to kiss her again. Well, I wanted to do a lot more than kiss her, but I couldn’t. She wouldn’t want that. I’d taken a risk during the ceremony, but it had felt like the right thing to do. And then, when she’d responded, I wanted her. Badly.
She was my friend. The best friend I’d ever had.
Maybe I was reading it wrong, but it felt like there was something more between us.
It was confusing.
But then the memories slammed back, reminding me that she was too good for a man who would never feel clean again.
Laney
I’d nearly had a heart attack when Sarah saw my wedding ring. But it hadn’t turned out as badly as I’d expected.
Ash’s co-workers were really friendly and accepting. They admitted openly that they thought he was gorgeous, but none of them gave me a vibe that they wanted more than friendship.
Ash seemed to enjoy himself, but then his expression had darkened and I wondered what he was thinking. He’d made an effort to be light hearted again, but I could tell the difference between his real smile and the one he put on for a performance.
We stayed long enough to enjoy gorging on pannacotta, then Ash told the others we were leaving.
He’d wheeled me home, made some chamomile tea for me, and brought my meds.
And then he’d taken me into my room and left me there.
My wedding night was spent alone in my bed, wondering if Ash would open the door and walk inside, hoping he would.
I knew one thing for certain—I had to break things off with Collin. I wasn’t being fair to either of us.
Unfortunately, Collin had left for a two week business trip. I wasn’t going to end a ten year relationship over the phone. But it was frustrating.
So for the next two weeks, we continued on as roommates, our marriage certificate hidden in my bedroom drawer while various photocopies were sent off to facilitate Ash’s green card, my wedding ring unworn.
Ash didn’t try to kiss me again, but I saw him watching me sometimes. I knew that I wanted him to, but he had to want it as well, and right now, his expression was quizzical, uncertain. When our eyes met, he’d smile quickly and look away.
I heard him at night, almost every night. It would start with short, muttered sentences, always in Slovenian, the couch creaking as he moved restlessly. The whispers would get louder and suddenly he’d shout out. That woke him, and then I’d hear him padding into the kitchen to get a drink. Sometimes that would follow by music playing softly and I knew that he was dancing.
I wanted to go to him, to stop those nightmares, or at least let him know that he wasn’t alone, but uncertainty stopped me every time. And this dancing, this nighttime dancing, that was private.
He spent every day of the following two weeks at the theater, coming home too tired to do more than slump in front of the TV. Twice, he asked me to come out with the other dancers after work again, but I always said no.
And then the unthinkable happened.
Collin asked me to marry him.
The day he came back to Chicago, he surprised me by showing up at the apartment with a bunch of flowers.
And he made his proposal while I was laying on the couch watching TV and Ash was pretending to wrestle with the coffee machine in the kitchen.
My nerves were shredded and I wished Ash would take the hint and go out. But he ignored all my signals, staying stubbornly put.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him slamming drawers and doors in the kitchen, thinking that Collin would sense something was up, but he was so used to pretending Ash didn’t exist, that I don’t think he even noticed.
I kept wondering if I was doing the right thing, and whether my infatuation with Ash was pushing me to make a big mistake. I didn’t think so, but ten years is a lot to throw away.
When I say Collin asked me to marry him, it wasn’t a big romantic proposal—that wasn’t his style. First of all he asked me to move in with him.
“Collin, I need to talk to you about . . .”
“I know—me, too. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking while
I was away. We could save money if we live together,” he encouraged me. “And this apartment has never been practical for you, but you’re just too stubborn to admit it.”
I gave him a sour look as he blundered on.
“My place is far more suitable, and it means we’ll be able to save to buy sooner rather than later.”
“Collin, I don’t think . . .”
“Then we’ll get married, Laney,” Collin said enthusiastically. “Well, we’ll get a specially adapted apartment, everything you’ll need. I know, I know, you don’t need one now, but you will. One of us needs to plan ahead. When we have kids we can . . .”
His words jolted me out of my shocked stupor.
“No.”
He looked irritated by the interruption.
“No? What do you mean no? No what?”
“I don’t want kids,” I said.
“I know you don’t now, but . . .”
“Not ever.”
Collin looked confused. “But you love kids?”
I swallowed and looked down. “I’m not ruling out adopting a child one day . . .”
Collin’s face turned red.
“Why the hell would we adopt?”
I met his angry gaze stoically. “Because of me.”
His expression smoothed out.
“Honey, if you get sick or you can’t manage, we’ll hire help. Get a nanny or a nurse—whatever you need.”
I closed my eyes. He could be so kind. So darned oblivious and so kind. But his kindness bulldozed through my own wants and needs. It always had and I’d always let him. Until now.
“No, Collin. I don’t want children of my own, because I don’t want to pass on my genes. I couldn’t bear to see a child of mine suffer, knowing that I’d caused it. There are plenty of children out there who need to be loved, who need a family. I can adopt.”
Collin’s face went very still.
“And what about what I want? Suppose I don’t want some other man’s child. I want our child. That’s the whole fucking point!”
Collin never swore. He said it showed a lack of vocabulary, so hearing him now, I realized how upset he was.
“This shouldn’t be a surprise to you,” I said gently. “You’ve known all along that I don’t want children.”
“I didn’t know you meant not ever!” he shouted.
“Then you should have listened better!” I yelled back, my own anger and frustration igniting. “I told you I didn’t want kids on our third date!”
“Every woman says that!” he roared. “Nobody ever thinks they mean it!”
I lowered my voice. “I meant it then and I still do.”
Collin rubbed his hands over his face.
“Laney, honey, they’re making great medical strides all the time. Your illness is kept in check.”
“Yes!” I interrupted angrily. “Because of the drugs I take—the toxic drugs that I’d have to give up before getting pregnant. I could lose the mobility that I have now. Permanently.”
He backtracked immediately.
“That’s not what I meant. You’re twisting everything. You always do that.”
I tried to swallow my anger, knowing that everything I said was hurting him.
“Then I’ll be really clear, so there’s no misunderstanding. I don’t want to get pregnant. Ever. I don’t want to have my own children. Ever. I can’t risk it.”
Collin leaned back in his seat.
“And I don’t get any say in this?”
I shook my head, knowing this was final. Even if I’d chosen Collin, he wouldn’t have chosen me—not in the long run. The threat of tears made my throat close up.
“No, you don’t.”
“Wow.” Collin massaged his temples. “Wow,” he said again. “That’s it? No discussion? No compromise? Laney has spoken, so that’s it?”
“I can’t compromise on this,” I whispered. “And I can’t marry you.”
He stood slowly, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“I could have had anyone,” he said, his voice tight. “But I wanted you. And even when you told me that you were . . . what you are . . . I didn’t care. I would have gotten you the best doctors, the best therapists . . .”
“I don’t need a nurse,” I said softly.
“You might! One day you might!” he shouted, his voice rising again.
“Collin,” I sighed, my voice cracking. “All you see when you look at me is someone you want to make well. I’ll never be well: this is as good as it gets.”
“You don’t know that!”
“I do. I do know that. I can’t be with someone who wants to change me.”
“I don’t want to change you! I just want you to be . . .”
“Better.”
I finished the sentence for him.
He closed his eyes, his head hanging, and my heart jolted at the pain and defeat I saw when he opened his eyes again.
He walked around the table and hovered, as if he was going to lean down and kiss me on the cheek. He caught himself at the last moment and stood upright.
“Bye, Laney. Look after yourself.”
“I’m sorry,” I said softly, my voice hoarse.
He nodded and a moment later, he was gone.
I leaned back in my seat and let hot tears spill from my eyes.
Collin was a good man and I hated hurting him.
“Laney, are you okay?”
Ash’s soft voice broke into my unhappy thoughts.
“No.”
He sat down opposite me in the seat Collin had just left, then reached across and held my hand, not speaking.
I felt the warmth from his fingers press against the palm of my hand until our fingers were twined together and his thumb stroked across my skin.
“Did you hear?” I asked, a sickening numb feeling creeping through me.
“Yes,” he said simply, his dark eyes giving nothing away.
“Did I do the right thing?”
The pressure on my fingers increased.
“A bird in a cage is safe from the eagle, but she cannot fly very far.”
I gave an unattractive snort. “Is that a Slovenian saying?”
Ash smiled at me. “No, it’s an Aljaž saying.”
“I don’t think it will catch on.”
“No? I liked it.”
“Me, too,” I sighed, my sadness taking over again.
Then I started to cry in earnest: for me, for Collin, for ten years of friendship lost. Ash moved closer, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me against his firm chest, rocking us gently.
We stayed like that for a long time.
When I thought about it later, Collin never once said that he loved me. And really, that said it all.
Ash
LIES ON LIES on top of more lies, and it was hard keeping track of them all. Laney and I pretended that we were friends and then had to act married the one time that she met the other dancers.
At the theater, I had to answer questions about her, about us, when there was no ‘us’. We were friends and I respected her: the way she dealt with her illness was humbling to see. But it wasn’t just that: she worked hard at her job and was unfailingly loyal to the people she loved.
I pretended that my green card would arrive any day, when the truth was I didn’t know for sure if it would happen.
The prick was out of the picture, but Laney didn’t seem any happier, and I wondered if she regretted breaking up with him and the fake marriage to me.
The police had no news about the Bratva, and all their promises about justice seemed hollow. Nobody would tell me if they’d identified the girl they’d found. I saw her dead eyes in my nightmares each night, and the numbness spread through me.
There was still no news about Yveta or Gary, and I’d been told that the Las Vegas police hadn’t been able to find the place that Marta described. Another dead end, a fog of defeat.
Rosa, the choreographer was frustrated, pulling me aside and saying that my work lac
ked passion. I was losing the one thing that I’d thought would always anchor me. Rehearsals were going to shit, and not just because of me, but I couldn’t talk to Laney about it, not after everything she’d given up already. So when she asked me, I was always okay.
Dancing and the time I spent in the theater shouldn’t feel fucked up. But then Rosa quit after several loud arguments with the producer. Dalano’s ideas were stale and old-fashioned, and I don’t think he’d had a new idea since 42nd Street. Mark, the director, was Dalano’s boyfriend, so he did whatever he was told. After Rosa left, every bit of originality and creativity was stripped out of the show. I didn’t need passion now: all Mark wanted was cardboard cutouts of the dancer he’d been thirty years ago.
The show was due to open the first week of December and we were getting called into costume fittings. I stared at the gold lamé pants, tail-coat and matching top hat and groaned.
It was going to be a fucking disaster.
Laney knew that something was wrong, but she’d married me so I could have this chance. How the hell could I tell her the truth?
Like storm clouds on the horizon, pressure dropping like a stone, something was going to break.
We were opening the first weekend of December, and I guessed that the show would close by New Year. After that, I didn’t know what I was going to do.
“What’s wrong?” Laney asked for the hundredth time.
“Noth—”
“Nothing, right? You’re fine. You’re okay. There’s no problem. That’s what you always say these days. I don’t know why I bother asking.”
She scoffed loudly and walked into the kitchen. Almost immediately, I heard the sound of the coffee machine.
I slumped back on the couch and closed my eyes. The constant small arguments were wearing. Sometimes I really felt married. Except my wife didn’t sleep with me. Well, from what other guys said, that wasn’t unusual either.
I was 23 and hadn’t been laid since . . . not since Yveta.
My mood darkened even more. The police hadn’t been able to find her. I don’t know how hard they’d tried, or even whether they’d tried at all. Not knowing was like a constant dull ache. I could ignore it most of the time, but every now and then . . .
Slave to the Rhythm (The Rhythm #1) Page 21