Dance with Me

by Alexis Daria

  Nothing. No texts from Dimitri. Not a single one the entire day. It shouldn’t have bothered her, or surprised her, but each time she’d checked, her stomach sank a little further. It was currently somewhere near her ankles.

  Sure, she would be back at his house tonight, and he wasn’t great about texting, but she’d thought after last night . . .

  She swapped out her sneakers for dance shoes, then strode to the center of the room. Seriously, would it have fucking killed him to send a text? He’d fucked her brains out twice last night, and he knew she had a busy day. Was “Hey, how’s your day going?” really that fucking difficult?

  Facing the mirror, she was met with her own grimace. Ay dios, she really had to get it together. She couldn’t let them know she was exhausted and hungover. Fixing a brilliant smile on her face, she clapped her hands, signaling that the class was about to begin.

  “Buenas tardes, ladies,” she said, as she always did. “I hope you all had a good day at work.”

  She was met with the usual grumbles.

  “I know, I know. Don’t worry, we’ll turn this day around, starting now. Ready for warm-up music?”

  A chorus of affirmatives. She sidled over to the speakers, turned on the playlist she’d queued up, and went back to the center of the room. A bumping rhythm poured out of the speakers. The mood in the room instantly lifted, and smiles beamed her way in the mirror’s reflection.

  She smiled back. “Ready? Let’s begin.”

  She stepped to the right—and kept going as her ankle rolled under her weight and she started to fall.

  She was a dancer. Her body was finely attuned to its own movements, honed through years of practice and hard work. It knew when shit was going wrong. And now it was screaming at her.

  Danger!

  Adrenaline flooded her system, and she stumbled to right herself, slower than she would have if she were firing on all cylinders.

  But she wasn’t. She was barely operating on half power.

  Gasps echoed through the room as she pitched forward and caught herself against the mirror, her palms making a smacking sound as she hit.

  Natasha blinked at her own reflection. What the hell had just happened?

  Someone turned off the music. Two ladies ran forward to support her arms.

  “Are you okay?” one of them asked.

  “That looked really bad,” said the other.

  “I’m fine.” Natasha pushed off from the mirror, her own voice sounding soft and far away, drowned out by the pounding of her heart in her ears. She put her right foot down to test her weight on it. “Just a stumble. I’m—Coño!”

  Pain spiraled up her leg, blocking out her vision. She gritted her teeth and shifted all her weight to her left leg.

  Motherfucker. Her ankle. Her fucking ankle.

  She couldn’t stand on it. If she couldn’t stand, she couldn’t teach the class, if she couldn’t teach the class, she wouldn’t get paid . . .

  Her thoughts swirled, jumping from couldn’t to couldn’t, all to avoid the one most important fact . . .

  She. Couldn’t. Dance.

  Concerned murmurs filled the room. The women sat her down. An ice pack was draped over her ankle, and she grimaced at the pain. Someone packed her things for her. Someone else called an ambulance.

  “It’s fine,” she tried to say, waving them all away. “I’m fine.”

  One of the women got in her face. “You are not fine. I’m a doctor, and you need to get this checked out.”

  “I’ll drive—”

  “You will not drive. Is there anyone we can call for you? Someone to meet you at the hospital?”

  Too dazed to argue, Natasha unlocked her phone and handed it over. “Dimitri Kovalenko.” Before she could think too much about why she’d named Dimitri and not Kevin or Lori, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes. God, she missed Gina. “No media. Please.”

  Someone patted her shoulder. “Cone of silence.”

  16

  Five minutes into the ambulance ride, Natasha’s ankle started to throb. By the time she was wheeled into the emergency room and put on a bed surrounded by curtains, it had swelled to three times its normal size and pain radiated up her leg.

  After a nurse packed it in ice and assured her a doctor would be by “momentarily,” Natasha settled in for a long wait. It hurt like hell, but as it wasn’t in danger of falling off, she would be low on the ER’s priority list.

  At least she had a bed. Exhaustion set in, overwhelming the anxiety. There was so much to worry about, but right then, sleep won and she drifted off.

  “Natasha!”

  She startled awake at the sound of her name. Lori’s worried face hovered inches above her own.

  “Oh my god, are you okay?” Lori’s brows drew together and she gripped Natasha’s hand.

  “I don’t know,” Natasha mumbled, shaking Lori off so she could sit up. How long had she been asleep? “I haven’t seen the doctor yet.”

  Kevin stood on the other side of the bed. “How do you feel?”

  Terrified probably wasn’t the answer he was looking for. “Um . . .” She glanced down at the ice pack on her ankle. “I don’t know. It hurts. Wait, what are you guys doing here?”

  Lori rested her hip against the side of the bed. “Gina called us.”

  Natasha blinked. Had she told Gina? Everything after the fall was a blur. “How did Gina know?”

  “Dimitri called her.” Kevin’s voice was dark, and he stood with his arms crossed. “Why’d you call Dimitri and not us?”

  Dios, she really wasn’t feeling well enough to lie to her friends right now, but the truth would require even more explanation of her failure, and she didn’t want to get into it. “Uh . . . I thought he’d be free.”

  Kevin’s face said he wasn’t buying it. “You’ve been acting strange lately. Putting us off, canceling plans. What’s going on?”

  She cut her gaze to Lori, who picked at the pilling on the hospital sheet. “We just care, Tash. That’s all.”

  In a sudden burst of motion, Kevin planted a hand on the bed and leaned in. His voice dropped. “Did he do this to you? Did Dimitri hurt you?”

  Wide-eyed, Natasha leaned away from his intensity. What the fuck? “No, Kev. I was teaching and I stepped wrong. That’s it. Happens to the best of us.”

  He eased back, but his scowl remained.

  “You’re going to be okay,” Lori said, patting Natasha’s hand. “You’re right. This stuff happens. And you still have a ton of time to recover before the next season starts.”

  Natasha bit her lip. She didn’t have time to recover. She had classes to teach the very next day. Lori’s words brought up the fears she’d shoved back after the accident, and her mind spiraled into panic.

  If she didn’t work, she wouldn’t get paid. If she didn’t get paid, she couldn’t move out of Dimitri’s house. If she didn’t move out, she’d lose her job on The Dance Off. If she lost her job, she’d have to move back to the Bronx to live with her mother . . .

  And underneath all of it, If she couldn’t dance, her career was over.

  This would be it for her. She hadn’t yet established herself enough to book big jobs as a choreographer. She might be able to supplement with acting and modeling jobs, but those were few and far between, and again, she wasn’t famous enough yet to command the big bucks.

  Her ankle throbbed under the ice, mocking her, making her stare down the possibility of a future in which she was not a dancer.

  If only she’d been paying more attention while she was teaching.

  If she hadn’t been so tired . . .

  If she hadn’t been hungover . . .

  If she hadn’t stayed up all night with Dimitri or opened that second bottle of wine . . .

  If she’d stuck to her rule . . .

  If she hadn’t depleted her savings . . .

  If she made better choices with money . . .

  If, if, if. No amount of ifs would change the fact that righ
t here, right now, her ankle was fucked up. And she still didn’t know how bad it was. A fine trembling rocked her chest, tightened her throat, as worry and fear fought to overtake her.

  Her friends were quiet. Before she could figure out what to say to them, the curtain behind Kevin was yanked back, and Dimitri’s larger frame crowded into the space around the tiny hospital bed.

  “Tasha!” Dimitri nearly knocked Kevin over in his rush to kneel by the bed and press a hand to Natasha’s cheek. His skin was warm, his dark hair in disarray. She leaned into his hand for just a second, as if she could absorb some of this strength.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.” He stroked her cheek. “Traffic is a nightmare.”

  In his other hand, he held a familiar bronze case.

  She pointed. “Is that . . . ?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He held it up. “I brought your glasses. And the stuff for your contacts. I didn’t know how long you’d be here, so I stopped at home on the way here to pick them up. I thought you might need them.”

  “I . . . thank you.” The sweetness of the gesture tore into her, giving the fear a sharper edge. She was really going to cry, right here in front of all of them. It was too much. Dimitri’s creased brow, Kevin’s glare, Lori gnawing at her fingernails . . . They cared about her. They were here because they cared. But all of it was too much.

  Piece by piece, she was falling apart inside. And despite how much they cared about her, she’d be damned if she let them see her destruction.

  Dimitri came to her rescue, his gaze darting to her ankle. “What happened, Kroshka? The woman who called me, she didn’t say much.” He skimmed his hand down her leg, stopping short of the ice pack.

  Natasha cleared her throat. “Dimitri, did you call Gina?”

  He nodded, eyes still on her leg. His hand shook, like he wanted to examine her ankle further, but didn’t dare. “I was up in Malibu, otherwise I’d have been here sooner. I didn’t want you to be alone.”

  She gritted her teeth against the tremble, hyper-aware of Lori and Kevin’s interested stares.

  “What did the doctor say?” Dimitri asked.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen one yet.”

  “What?” He practically roared the word, and she winced. They were in a hospital, for god’s sake.

  “Keep it down,” she whispered, catching Kevin’s darkening glare. She didn’t know what his problem was, but there were too many other things to worry about right now.

  “This is ridiculous. I’m getting you a doctor.” Dimitri stormed away, and Natasha was left with her friends and her glasses case.

  Exhaustion returned. Her eyes itched as tears receded. When she opened the glasses case, she found her contact lens container inside.

  Kevin sucked his teeth. “Home?”

  This was the last thing she wanted to talk about with them. She played dumb, even though it was useless, as she swapped out her contacts for glasses. “What?”

  “Dimitri said ‘home.’ He ran home—his home, I’m guessing—to get your glasses.”

  Lori straightened. “Kevin, where Natasha sleeps at night is her business—”

  “I know that, and I’m not slut-shaming her. I’m trying to—”

  “Then don’t ask a lady to kiss and tell!”

  “He said home like it was their home, not like it was his, so I just—”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to tell us—”

  “¡Cállate!” Natasha pressed her fingers to her temples. On top of the throbbing in her leg, her hangover headache worsened, taking up residence behind her eyes.

  Bless Dimitri for bringing her glasses.

  Lori perched on the edge of the bed and looked contrite. “Sorry. We’re just worried about you. And it seems like there’s something you’re not telling us.”

  She was in too much pain to deny it anymore. “You’re right. I’m not.” They both stayed quiet, waiting for her to continue, so she sighed and explained. “A few days ago, my apartment had an emergency. I had to move out immediately. So, I’m staying with Dimitri for the time being while the building makes the repairs.”

  There, that sounded simple enough.

  But from the stormy expression on Kevin’s face, it wasn’t. “Natasha, if he did this to you—”

  She threw her hands up. “Kevin, oh my god! Dimitri did not—”

  The curtain was ripped back again. Everyone shut up as Dimitri crowded in, along with a short man in a white doctor’s coat and a pin that read “Dr. Ross.”

  The doctor greeted her with a grin. “So, you’re on The Dance Off.”

  Natasha flinched. “Please don’t tell the media.”

  “Oh, I won’t.” Dr. Ross jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Dimitri. “This guy here promised me some photos and autographs for my wife and kids. They’re big fans.”

  Dimitri practically vibrated with nerves. “I’ll come to your house and teach them to dance myself, if you want. Just fix my woman.” He made wild gestures at Natasha’s ice-packed foot.

  His woman. That was new. She didn’t have time to think about it, though. Now that the doctor was here, she was subjected to a barrage of tests, expedited once the doctor and nurses found out she was a professional dancer and a celebrity.

  Having four cast members of The Dance Off was a red-letter day for the ER. While Natasha was getting x-rays done, a nurse took Kevin and Lori to the pediatric floor to say hi to some of the kids. Dimitri stayed by Natasha’s side, and growled at anyone who tried to separate them. They signed a lot of autographs to make up for his behavior.

  Finally, Natasha was back in her bed, surrounded by Kevin, Lori, Dimitri, and Dr. Ross.

  “The good news is nothing is broken,” Dr. Ross began, consulting a tablet. “The bad news is, you have a pretty severe sprain. It doesn’t look like you’ll need surgery on the ligaments, but you’ll have to stay off it.”

  Natasha blinked. She couldn’t be hearing him correctly. “But I have to work.”

  “Does work involve sitting down with your ankle iced and propped up?”

  The sarcasm was almost lost on her. “I’m a dancer—”

  “And if you want to stay a dancer, you’ll stay off the ankle.” Dr. Ross gave her a sympathetic smile, but his tone was firm. “If you don’t want the problem to worsen, give it a rest. If you push it and don’t give it time to heal, you’ll run into more problems later on. You know how it goes.”

  She did. She’d been injured before. But never when her livelihood was in such jeopardy.

  “Tell me everything we need to know about taking care of her,” Dimitri demanded.

  Dr. Ross gave him a measured look. “Are you her husband?”

  “What? No. We live together.”

  Dr. Ross held up his hands. “Ah, my mistake. No judgment implied.”

  “It’s temporary,” she mumbled as Dimitri and Dr. Ross stepped out to get materials about treatment and rehab.

  Kevin and Lori exchanged a look across the hospital bed. Kevin voiced the question written on both their faces. “Why didn’t you ask to stay with one of us?”

  Natasha pushed her glasses up and rubbed her eyes. “I didn’t want to inconvenience you. Dimitri called while I was figuring it out, and he offered his guest room. But now with this new rule from the show . . . it’ll look bad no matter who I’m staying with, so this falls under DTD territory.”

  “Don’t tell Donna,” Lori whispered.

  “Right. I’ve also got all these side jobs right now, and it was just easiest to pack a few things and stay with Dimitri.”

  “Do you need help covering the classes?” Lori asked. “I’m certified for a bunch of stuff.”

  “I can cover some, too,” Kevin added.

  Natasha opened her mouth to tell them no, it was too generous, then forced herself to shut it. They cared. They wanted to help. She searched their faces, looking for signs of obligation, but their offer seemed in earnest. “Really?”

  “Of course.” Kevin’s usual
grin was back.

  Natasha smiled at him. “The ladies in my Soulsa class will never want me to come back if you teach it.”

  He shrugged. “We’ll work it out. Text us your calendar and just tell us when and where we should go.”

  The trembling feeling was back. She bit her lip to stop the quiver and nodded. There were still some classes she’d have to find specialized teachers for, but if Kevin and Lori could truly cover the majority of them . . .

  She’d still lose out on the money, but at least she wouldn’t have to quit the jobs entirely. Maybe this would be a quick recovery time. She’d stay in bed tomorrow and—

  Dimitri returned, clutching a sheaf of printouts on green paper.

  “How many days?” she asked.

  “At least seventy-two hours. Then we’ll see how you’re doing.”

  Natasha gaped at him. “That’s three whole days!”

  Lori rubbed her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Tash. Kevin and I don’t have any gigs right now. We’ll cover for you.”

  Three days with no pay. At least. “Thanks, guys.” She should sound more grateful, but reality was setting in. The longer she was out of work, the longer she’d have to stay with Dimitri. And the more people who knew she was living there, the higher the chances of Donna finding out. Natasha had been careful not to let anyone photograph her in the hospital, but things got out.

  “I got them to prescribe you the strong stuff,” Dimitri said, helping her out of bed and into the wheelchair brought by a nurse.

  “Good.” She was going to need it.

  17

  First stop, pharmacy.

  “I switched out the Porsche for the X3 when I stopped to get your glasses,” Dimitri said over his shoulder to Natasha, propped up in the back seat of the SUV with her right leg stretched out on the bench to keep her ankle up.

  “Mmm. Thanks for that, by the way.” She’d taken the glasses off and was holding them in her lap, eyes closed.

  “The nurse called ahead, so your prescription should be waiting when we get there.”

  “I heard you the first time you said it.”

  His face cracked in a smile, the first since he’d received the call that she was injured.