by Celeste, B.
The way her words rushed past her lips made me think she hadn’t really wanted to ask but needed an answer. It was endearing in a possessive kind of way and I shouldn’t have liked her needing to know but did. “What’s it to you, Della? I’m a grown man. I need specific company I doubt you’d get.”
She scoffed this time, her legs uncrossing as she shifted her body towards me. Ramsay was startled and jumped off the couch, curling up on the floor under the aged wood coffee table. “You said the other day that I was a grown woman, so how would I not know what kind of company adults like to keep?”
Eye twitching, I ground out, “You better not know.”
Amusement flickering across her face made me realize my mistake instantly. She’d gotten to me and she knew it. There were days I bet she even planned as much, just like when she was little and demanded my attention, and my attention alone.
I swiped a palm across my stubbled jaw, knowing I needed to shave again soon. I’d been too busy to care, staying home more than not until the running rodent was better trained and could be trusted alone while I was out. “You are an adult. Doesn’t mean I have to like it or what the implications are.”
Her laugh was soft, cut short as she scooted over to me. My body tensed as she put a palm on my knee, not moving or gripping or kneading which would have driven my cock to harden even more than it already was. Della was innocent in the way she touched me right now, but when I met her eyes…
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” She batted her lashes.
I moved her hand away. “Sometimes I think there’s evil under that good girl smile of yours.”
Her eyes dulled as she pulled back. “Why do people keep calling me that? Just because I follow the rules doesn’t mean I’m some goody-two-shoes.”
“Whoa.” I studied her. “What was that about? Who’s been calling you that?”
She grumbled out something I couldn’t understand before scooting back to her side.
“Della.”
“Theo.”
I dropped my head on the back of couch and closed my eyes for a second. “We both know that whatever was happening couldn’t. That’s all. I’m sorry if I offended you.”
“You didn’t,” she snapped.
I eyed her knowingly.
“I’m just sick of people telling me what I am all the time.” Her admission made me tense, because I knew it meant she’d been going through shit that she hadn’t said a word about. When had she stopped coming to me about things that upset her? “You know how I mentioned I’d seen Sam for the first time in years? Well, it was when I went to see Katrina. Sam and Gina were there making comments. It just…I’m not that innocent and they act like who I am is some boring, too good saint.”
I hated they made her feel like being good, being pure in her truest form, was a bad thing. “Those girls have always been bad for you. It shouldn’t matter what they think. We’ve been over this.”
“And we’ll keep going over it. You’ll tell me that, my therapist will tell me that, Lawrence will tell me—” She took a deep breath and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter how many times I hear it, Theo. My brain is wired to care, just like it’s wired to follow the rules like I was always taught. How hypocritical is that? It wasn’t like my father could do the same. Who knows what Mom knew about? Probably everything.”
Brows drawing up over the sudden change in conversation, I’d watched her unload years of pent up frustration that she’d never once talked about. It didn’t matter how many times I asked her if she was okay, if she wanted to talk about her parents, she refused. I only hoped she was at least talking to her therapist about it, but I never asked because the sessions were between them. “You’re not your parents, but that doesn’t mean you can’t look up to them and their values.”
She snorted.
I corrected myself. “The values they taught you, that is. We both know they weren’t bad people. Your father just got in too deep with the wrong people, but he wanted to make it right. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”
Nothing.
“They loved you.”
Silence.
I did what I told myself not to. I grabbed her arm gently and slid her body over to me, ignoring the surprised gasp when I positioned her on her side so her head was on my thigh using it as a pillow. Brushing loose strands of hair out of her face, I looked down at the rest that billowed over my lap and couch. “I don’t expect you to forgive him, and neither does the world.”
It was a moment before she said, “I’m angry, Theo. So angry. I feel like I don’t have a right to because…”
Because they were her parents.
I kept combing my fingers through her hair until her body eased. She always loved this when her mother did it.
Telling her she had every right to be angry wouldn’t have made a difference. She’d feel bad about feeling any negative way no matter what I, or anybody else, told her. She’d bottle it up until she burst—until she broke down and shattered for the world to see. And the cruel world we lived in was waiting for it to happen. I knew it, she knew it, and that was why she tried to fight it. But fighting didn’t do a lick of good when she didn’t find a reason to.
So, my hands faltered behind her ear where I brushed more strands. “Do it for me, Della. If nobody else, remember that I was always here rooting for you. All I want is for you to fight. Can you do that?”
The quiet I was given in return sliced through me thick and deep and I wasn’t sure I’d get a response as the minutes passed. It was the deep sigh, the relenting exhale, that gave me hope that she’d do as I asked. It wasn’t because she felt she owed me for the years I’d helped raise her, dedicated to her when she needed me most. It was the unspeakable understanding we had. The one we’d always had that eased her parents knowing I was there for her.
I just needed her to be there for herself, never letting the world beat her down like it so often wanted.
“Sometimes I wish that night between us never happened, because it wouldn’t hurt so bad knowing that there are limits to this,” she whispered, catching me off guard. My hand stopped moving over her scalp completely, stilling as she added, “But maybe it’s better that way. How it ended. We ended.”
How it ended.
She didn’t know the truth about that night though. I’d been too drunk, barely remembering half of what I’d done. Waking up in bed next to her and being pissed off over the prior night’s transgressions hadn’t been the reason I’d stormed out after telling her it was a mistake.
It was knowing that, if something happened between us, I wanted to absorb every single moment. How she panted. If she yelled. The way her nails dug into my flesh as she begged for more. I wanted to know every freckle on her body, memorize her taste, and ink the sounds she made when she said my name into my skin.
I wanted it all
But I didn’t want it like that, with me fucking drunk and only remembering bits and pieces. Neither of us deserved that, especially not her.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Della.” The words were heavy between us when I paused, her body tensing where it laid beside me. “It didn’t end. That’s the fucking problem.”
“I don’t see the problem in that at all.”
I chuckled. “I’m sure you wouldn’t.”
A long moment passed between us before, “Theo?”
I hummed out a reply.
When she didn’t say anything, I looked down to see her eyes had closed. The soft snores came shortly after, and I wondered what she was planning to say.
Maybe it was better not to know.
Chapter Eight
Della
Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Bending as I stretched into downward dog, I listened to the instructor call out another vinyasa that would normally be easy for me if I’d kept up on my regular routines. I’d slacked off on just about everything having to do with exercise because I hated how people looked at me, waiting for
me to relapse as if running a mile or two would suddenly lead to me sticking a finger down my throat as soon as I got home.
Forcing the thought away, I wobbled into the next position and watched the bare feet of the older woman who taught the class come closer, stopping just in front of my purple mat. “Mind if I help a little?”
I heard snickering coming from a few familiar people surrounding me as I nodded, feeling her gentle hands get me in the proper form so I didn’t hurt myself. Once upon a time I’d been complimented in every class for my fluid movements and flexibility. I still had some of both, but it was harder after years. People commented on the way I walked with grace like any dancer did no matter how long it’d been since they last practiced, but my abdominal muscles weren’t as strong, and neither were my arms. I’d lost obvious definition that used to help me which was why I’d convinced myself that yoga was a safe bet if no other workouts appealed to me.
The problem was, I knew people were right to worry about what exercises I did. It was more than just Ripley asking me what I did to stay physically active or asking if I counted calories again. Other people were waiting for me to fail, watching me carefully, too carefully, and they had no reason to. It pissed me off. A lot.
After another twenty minutes, we ended with the typical namaste before rolling our mats up and preparing to leave. The center I went to for these classes shared rooms with other instructors, so we could never stay longer than a few minutes before the next course started.
“Bye, Adele,” one of my other classmates said, giving me a wave before walking out with her mat tucked under her arm. Her name was Brielle and if I had to guess I’d say she was mid-thirties. Quiet, but sweet. She greeted everybody even if they never offered her so much as a wave in return, but I always smiled and spoke to her if I had the time. She was one of the few people who didn’t pester me about personal things when everybody else liked talking behind my back.
Speaking of. “I was wondering if you’d come back,” Tiffany Anderson commented, stopping beside me. Her silvery blonde hair took a lot of money to keep up because she always hated the dark brown it was naturally. She kept it in a tight bun during yoga, just like she did during dance. “The girls and I were talking about reaching out to you to see if you wanted to join us again.”
I doubted that, but I smiled anyway. “It was time to try rejoining. I need some work, obviously.”
Her smile wasn’t as tight as I would have expected. “You’ll get there, especially if you expect to compete again. I noticed that your arms barely held you up and your legs shook when we did the balance series.”
My eye twitched despite trying to hold it back. I wasn’t sure why everybody thought I was coming back. Aunt Sophie had to be the reason speculation stirred. It didn’t matter how hard I tried squashing it, rumors spread like wildfire, especially when it came to dance. Spots were always limited, and it was only the best of the best who were offered a chance to prove themselves worthy of the title.
“I don’t plan on competing again, Tiffany. Whatever people are saying is just because my aunt is trying to get me to change my mind, but I won’t.”
Tiffany, who’d always been one of my biggest competitors next to Lauren, looked disappointed. Normally people were happy to know they didn’t have to worry about peers taking their spot. Not her based on the pinch of her lips. “You don’t have to compete. It’s just… Can I be honest with you? I don’t understand why you’re set on quitting. I mean, I get things were…hard for you. I’m not that much of a bitch to brush off what you’ve gone through the past couple of years. You’re talented though and it would suck to win at something because there isn’t enough worthy competition. We both know Lauren thinks she’s got every lead spot in the bag since you walked away, but everybody else knows that there are a lot of other people vying for the same roles. And that still isn’t good enough. Not when people know there’s a possibility you’re coming back.”
I stared at her blankly.
She sighed. “I get it, okay? You probably don’t care because we’re not friends. We barely got along when we danced together. But that doesn’t mean I want to get handed things without proving that I worked my ass off for them. The only way I can feel that way is if you were back.”
Again. I blinked.
“And because I hate Lauren,” she added, grinning. There was no stopping the matching grin on my face, causing us both to laugh. She had a point and I wasn’t going to ignore that. But I knew whatever her understanding of my condition was, it was not on the same level of mine.
People knew all about me. But they didn’t really know me at all. Things got bad fast and it only got worse when the media began picking me apart like they had the right to. It stopped being about the talent everybody said I had and about how I’d gotten there, as if my father had paid off people to let me participate in recitals, awards, and gain the recognition I deserved. Nobody saw the way I worked every single day, multiple times a day, or how much sleep I lost trying to perfect one single move at a time. They couldn’t see how little I put on my plate because I knew I couldn’t afford to gain weight or else I’d hear about how bloated I was, or how full I’d gotten, or how I wasn’t doing something right because I’d lost control.
So, no, she didn’t understand what it was like even if she tried to. I didn’t think she was pretending because Tiffany was a lot of things, but fake wasn’t one of them. She said how it was, even if it hurt. She’d been blunt her whole life, some would say a fault of hers, but I admired it even if I was on the receiving end. And I was. Often.
While most of that had been to my face, I knew what she said behind my back to the small group of friends she had. Some dancers, most not. It was hard to keep friends who you competed against because no matter how strong you thought your friendship was, you were going to go head to head with them at some point. Some people, like Lauren, were sore losers. Others like Tiffany said a few harsh words and moved on. Trained harder. Ate better. Worked at it until there was no reason to be beaten.
I could picture us being friends if we didn’t have dance between us. But even now, without me competing, I knew it wouldn’t happen. I’d be the threat that always taunted her, the person she’d made comments about when she thought I wasn’t listening.
Sighing, I managed a nod. “I get what you’re saying, but I can’t picture myself ever going back. Competing or not. Plus, I hear Lauren has gotten better. Maybe she’s competition after all.” I hated to think that some girls were so unworthy of not being deemed competition, but there were always people who were better or worse. That was life. Did I flaunt it? Comment on it? No. That wasn’t my place.
Tiffany hefted a sigh before looking toward the door where more people exited. “For the record, I think you’re making a huge mistake. But I’m not shocked to hear your choice. I knew Sophie was full of it when she told the ladies at the club.”
I closed my eyes for a split second. Of course, she was still running her mouth about it like gossip could change my mind. “When did she do that?”
“A week ago? A week and a half?”
I wet my bottom lip and looked at her again, tipping my head. “Thanks for letting me know. And I’m…sorry if you’re disappointed. I just can’t do that to myself.”
“Ladies,” the instructor said from where she was putting her bag over her shoulder. “We need to clear out now. You can continue your conversation outside.”
Tiffany and I walked side by side toward the door, her shoulder bumping into mine as we entered the hallway. “What if I helped you? You don’t want to come back, fine. But that doesn’t mean you should stop dancing. Not unless you never liked it, and let’s be real, there’s no way you would have stuck it out if you hated it. We all saw the way you moved, Adele. It was flawless. We were all sure nobody would ever be able to compare.”
That was the thing nobody got. Being so high on the pedestal meant the fall would hurt that much more. “I didn’t hate it,” I confirmed, adjust
ing my mat perched in the crook of my armpit. “It was something I started because of my mom and what I found passion in for a long time. But that turned into critique and then into something darker. I don’t know how you could help with something like that, Tiffany.”
She stopped by the front doors leading into the sunny day outside. People milled about, walking around us, and talking about whatever. Classes. The weather. Exercise. But Tiffany and I stared at each other like it was a competition in itself. Except, I was trying to figure out her motive. Why would she help me at all? It didn’t make sense. We weren’t friends, like she’d pointed out, which was why it seemed strange she was willing to help me get over whatever I feared. Which was a lot.
“I’ve got a private studio I work out in,” she told me casually. “It’s not as nice as the one we used to practice at, but it works. Why don’t you give me your number and I’ll text you the address? You can choose to show up or not. No pressure.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Why not?”
Unable to fathom an answer, I found myself typing my number into her phone. She didn’t look cocky about it when she slipped it into the mesh pocket of her yoga pants.
“Think about it,” was all she said before waving me off. I stayed standing where I was, watching her walk away in awe.
“Stop! You can’t do that, Ramsay!” I tried running but got tripped up in the red leash he’d managed to wrap around my shins. I caught myself before faceplanting into the grass while he ran after some invisible animal. Flopping onto my back, I let the sun absorb into my already overheated skin and listened to the loud yaps that came from the corner of the yard.
“Why are you laying on the ground?” A shadow eclipsed over me, allowing me to open my eyes without wincing at the sunlight.
“Our dog tripped me.”
One of his brows went up.
“My dog,” I corrected. I knew better, though. Theo totally loved Ramsay, he was just pretending not to. I saw them cuddling on more than one occasion, and Theo always talked to him like he was another person. He did enjoy having a dog around, and it was mutual. Ramsay completely ignored me when Theo was in the same room. I might have rescued him, but he wasn’t mine anymore.