His voice is almost a whisper. “Don’t you know that I would never hurt you, Heather?”
“Mmm . . . I know,” I manage to say.
His heart is beating rapidly, and his arms tighten around me almost painfully. “Stop letting her get in your head. I don’t fucking want her. Do you hear me?”
I stiffen and open my eyes to gaze up at his strong jaw. “You mean Alexis?”
“I don’t want her. Do you understand?”
I nod because I realize this must have been weighing on him. I know he loves me, and yes, I’m petrified that she’s going to steal him from me, but I also know that he won’t leave me. Yet I let her get to me daily. I think he’s noticed more than once now.
I maneuver my arm so I can lace my fingers with his. I feel his body relax ever so slightly when he tightens his fingers around mine. I tilt my head up to place soft kisses along his jawline, whispering, “Tell me you love me, Noah.”
His available hand moves to grip my ass and squeeze again when a low, assertive rumble emerges from his handsome lips. “I fucking love you, Heather, more than words could express.”
I can’t describe the feeling I get when he says that to me. I’ve never had a man draw these kinds of emotions out of me before, and I love him for it. Every single bit of him. I can’t believe I left this man, and more importantly, I can’t believe he wanted me back after I crushed his already-wounded heart.
“Get some sleep; you have your performance in the morning.”
He pulls me on top of his chest, holding me where I always want to be—the spot where I feel completely safe.
“Mmm, you’re right. Goodnight, Noah.”
He hums his approval of my response before he inhales deeply. His chest expands before he exhales slowly, contently.
“Goodnight, Heather.”
NOAH
I’m backstage in Heather’s dressing room while she gets ready to go on stage for the first time in London with the Royal Ballet. She’s sitting in front of her mirror, and I can tell she’s nervous as hell. Coen is out in the audience guarding our seats, so I can wish my ballerina good luck before the show begins.
“Noah?” She shakes her head and looks at me in the mirror as I sit behind her. Her eyes are wide and haunted with fear and doubt. “I can’t do this.”
“Of course you can, baby. You were born to do this. I can’t wait to see my girl show London what she’s made of.”
I spin her chair around and stand, before lifting her effortlessly into my arms, pulling her glittered up body against my black tux.
“I’m not ready. I know I’m not; it’s just too soon.” Her petite body trembles in my arms and for the first time, I’m not sure if my touch can calm her down.
“You are going to kill it. I’ll be backstage the second you get off, and we can go home, or get drunk, or do anything you want to do.” I lift her chin up and press my lips to hers in another attempt to help settle her frayed nerves.
She finally sags in my arms and holds onto me for dear life as our tongues graze each other’s passionately. There’s a hard knock on the door and a stagehand calls out, “Heather Lane? Five minutes.”
“Go kick some ballet ass, baby.”
Her smile is reassuring and jacks up my testosterone. I place my lips on hers once more before letting go of her and setting her down on her feet. Her pointe shoes make a slight thud when they hit the ground, and I know she’s ready now.
“Promise me that you’ll meet me back here after the show?” she asks as she backs toward the door, trying to keep me in her line of sight for as long as she can.
“You have my word. Now go and show em’ what you’ve got.”
I wink at her, and she blows me a kiss before stepping out of the room and following the stagehand out into the hallway.
I walk out after her and close the door. I watch the two of them walk down the hallway as she shakes out her hands as if she’s trying to get rid of every ounce of nervous energy. I turn and pace down the hall in the opposite direction, to head back to my seat next to Coen. I don’t want to miss a second of her glowing on stage. The hallway is dimly lit, and I’m surprised I haven’t run into a wall yet. I’m about to reach the end of the hall when I stop abruptly as I’m about to collide with a blonde-bunned dancer.
“Whoa, shit, I’m sorry about that.”
“Oh, it’s okay . . .” she turns around and gasps loudly, “Noah.”
Ah fuck me. Alexis.
“Excuse me,” I say politely and try to squeeze past her. She darts in front of me before I can avoid this encounter.
“What’s the rush, handsome?” She purses her lips in a suggestive manner as her eyes roam down the center of my body and stop right below my belt buckle.
For fuck’s sake.
“I’m going to my seat, Alexis. Now if you’ll excuse me . . .” I try again to shove my way past her, but she doesn’t budge, and I’m not interested in toppling over a female, regardless of our past. Her avaricious hands move to the lapels of my tux, and I raise my eyebrows in dissatisfaction.
“I want you to fuck me.”
“Excuse me?”
“I want to feel how deep and hard you can go. God, I cannot begin to tell you how often I dream about your tongue on my body. I don’t think I can take seeing you without touching you anymore; you turn me on more than anyone else has before. How do you want me, Noah?”
I laugh once in amusement and grab her wrists, removing her hands from my tux. “You couldn’t pay me enough to fuck that used-up body of yours. I have a hard enough time stomaching the sound of your voice to begin with. Now get out of my way, Alexis.”
I try using a stern voice on her, but she seems undeterred and practically exhilarated. She’s fucking delusional. She fists her hand on my lapel again while her other hand slides down to the waistband of my slacks. I glance down, and before I figure out what her intentions are, she grabs my cock through my slacks and tries to plaster her withered-up lips on mine.
I grab her shoulders and shove her away as quickly as I can. “Fucking hell, Alexis. Take a damn hint; I didn’t want you for long in college, and I sure as hell don’t want you now, and I never will.”
“You can’t resist me for too much longer, Noah. You loved playing with my rack, and Heather basically has nothing for you to play with. Quit fucking with that bulimic piece of trash and come back to me, where you belong . . . I have no idea what you see in her.”
I don’t even try to hide my scowl because now she’s pushed me too far. “You’re a real piece of work, Alexis. I don’t want you; my cock doesn’t want you. Get out of my way. Now.”
“You can’t be serious about her—she’s an atrocious dancer, and I’m sure she makes you do all of the work in bed. You’re too good for her, Noah. I’ll be right here when you need a new pussy to play with . . . one that plays back.”
I’m fed up with hearing her shit; this crazy-ass bitch doesn’t understand a fucking thing I’m saying. I’m still trying to register the first thing that came out of her mouth mere moments ago. I’ve never had a woman be so blunt with me before.
“You have legitimately lost all sense of morality, Alexis. There is no point in insulting you because, unlike most people, it does not appear to deter you in the least, nor would a battle of wits go over well since you seem to have lost yours. Your endless attempts of trying to capture my attention have continuously gone to waste. As I’ve demonstrated, I will not, and refuse to show you the slightest bit of affection or waste a second longer of my time on you. Your constant conniving and endless torment of my girlfriend stops right now, and if you refuse to cease all harassment of her . . . I sure as fuck will be dealing with you firsthand.
“Oh, and don’t get your head wrapped around that and try to exploit it in a pathetic attempt to win me over because I can tell you right now, without a single doubt in my mind, that there will never come a time when you will outwit, outsmart, or outlast my relationship with Heather. The faster you�
�re able to process and accept what I’ve said, the faster you’ll be able to overcome your psychopathic tendencies. As far as I’m concerned, you are a part of my distant past, a dark part that I will never revisit. Now move before I make it impossible for you to stand.”
As soon as those words leave my mouth, my head is forced to the right. I bring my hand up and rub my cheek, massaging the sting from where she just smacked me. “Nice one,” I respond calmly.
She stands there unmoving, unrelenting, and overly confident as I shove past her sluggish frame. I can tell I’ve struck a chord within her, and I know that will not be the last confrontation I have with her, but it will have to do for now. I stride through the set of double doors and into the emptying lobby, where I am finally free of crazy-feet, as Dillen so aptly named her.
I hear her whine in protest as the doors swing shut behind me, and if I remember correctly, she’s about to throw one of her idiosyncratic tantrums.
I make my way to my seat as the lights are going down on the audience, hiding us from the dancers’ view. My cheek stings, but I try not to pay attention as I finally reach Coen and take my seat. Our seats are only four rows from the orchestra pit, so I can watch Heather perform her impeccably choreographed solo meticulously.
I’m watching the dark, veiled wings on the side of the stage where I know she’ll be. I’m anxious as all hell to see her again, especially after my recent encounter with the bitch. Then the curtains are drawn open across the dim stage, and she stands in position as the spotlight hits her. When the music starts to play, her gorgeous, angelic body starts to move and rotate in faultless turns in front of everyone. The white spotlight holds tight on her glittered body, which holds her audience captive.
Her choreography is slow and precise, and she’s executing it flawlessly.
She has everyone enthralled.
I’m so proud of this woman that I can’t begin to explain it. She’s such a gifted performer; there’s no wonder why she’s incredibly sought after. Minutes go by when her solo scene comes to an end and she disappears behind the curtain, and a throng of ballerinas floods the stage. I’m trying my hardest to stay seated; I want to go back there and find her and tell her how magnificent she was. I look over to my right and see Coen searching the stage for Dillen. He seems confused as he leans over.
“Dude, they all fucking look alike. I can’t find her,” he murmurs.
The dipshit has never been so into a girl before that I’m almost proud of him. Dillen moves up front, and I nudge him. “She’s the one in the middle—focus, man.”
He leans forward, smiling like a drunken idiot when he spots her. “Damn . . .”
I chuckle silently, and I’m about to fuck with his head when Heather moves back onto the stage, and I’m sideswiped by her beauty. She stands in the center of the stage and starts to rotate, her gorgeous body in sync with the music. I’d lose my breakfast if I had to spin like that. I have no idea how she does it.
We all get addicted to something that relieves the pain, and she’s my opiate. She’s perpetually graceful: it’s engrained into who she is, and she does something to me every time I see her. I know I’m grinning from ear to ear as I watch her show London what she can do. There are so many ballerinas on stage that it’s almost hard to decipher who’s who; I understand Coen’s confusion. But I know where my baby is, front and center. Everyone is in formation, where they’re supposed to be, but something catches my eye. I’m not sure how I noticed it, but someone seems to step out of place. I sit up straight as Heather moves closer toward the crowd. Something in my gut is telling me this is wrong. The other ballerinas are dancing all around her in perfect chaos, and then it happens again: that same ballerina steps out of place, moving eerily close to Heather.
I watch intently as Heather slows her turns, and she’s about to come to a stop when life switches into a blurry slow-motion picture. The ballerina that kept moving out of place hip-checks Heather, and although anger floods me, I expect Heather to catch herself, but the amount of energy, momentum, and force in the impact must have been too much because she’s propelled forward at such a speed that she’s unable to find her balance.
Even though it looked like the other ballerina regained her balance, she falls backwards before crashing onto the solid black stage. I cannot move my eyes away from Heather as her body swings in the balance between life and death. Gravity takes control of her agile body and pulls her efficaciously over the edge of the stage. Her fate is no longer in her hands nor is it in mine as the incident happens too rapidly for me to wholly comprehend what has happened. In the intense silence I hear a distressed scream fill the theater, and it tears through me like a shard of glass. The scream that made my blood run cold comes to an abrupt stop when her body falls out of view and then there is a boisterous sound and her body crashes into instruments, which brings the music to an unexpected halt.
Holy shit.
My body goes rigid and sets itself into motion at the same time. That scream ignites something within me, making adrenaline surge through my veins at vicious speeds. My eyes look back to the stage as my body automatically gets me onto my feet. Coen curses in the silence of the theatre, saying the words that I am unable to form. My fists clench with blanched knuckles when I see that Alexis is the fallen ballerina, a vindictive leer plastered on her face. I feel Coen move next to me, but I’m faster than he is. I leap between the seats in front of me as people stand up and gasp at the dramatic scene unraveling in front of them. The room is noiseless except for the sounds of hysteria and disbelief coming from the audience members’ mouths.
I can’t get to her fast enough.
“Move!” I yell out to an asshole that won’t let me by. I shove him aside, not giving a damn who he is, or if I’ve hurt him in the process. I struggle desperately to maneuver through the people and jump over the next two rows, before I haul myself over the wall separating the orchestra pit from the gaping crowd.
As soon as I see her, my body stills; the air around me is unstirred and my own breathing seems to die as my heart slams against my ribs. My stomach lurches as I let the scene in front of me sink into my line of vision as a faint metallic scent fills the air. My beautiful girl is lying unconscious on the cold concrete floor. I find my feet again and rush to her side, where I drop down to my knees next to her broken frame as the musicians try desperately to pick up their instruments. My voice reverberates in my own ears as I yell out for someone to help . . . to do anything. I take in her features, trying to assess her limp body. Her face is soft, yet her complexion is off by the amount of makeup covering her face, making it impossible for me to truly see her. My eyes move over her again, noticing her arms, which are strewn aside carelessly, seemingly irreparable.
The grip of silent panic consumes me and my vision blurs as I looking around helplessly for someone—anyone—to help her. I can hear my heart pounding wildly in my ears as the tangible knot in the pit of my stomach grows.
Her color is unlike her own as she lies in a rapidly expanding pool of blood. I cannot tell where the blood is originating from, nor can I apply pressure to a wound that I cannot find. She has a few gashes along her arms, but not enough to make up for the vast amount spilling onto the concrete. I glance down her body and to her mangled legs where the deep red gore advances further.
“Baby?” My voice is hoarse, and I don’t recognize it. “Heather, can you hear me?”
She doesn’t respond in the slightest as I move closer to her. Her eyes that were dancing with joy moments ago are now closed, and her body lies in front of me as if it’s vacant of a soul.
A few men in dark designer suits rush over, one of them already on the phone with whom I can only assume are the medics. “Sir, I need you to step back from her please. We can’t move her before we fully understand how the fall has affected her.”
“Fuck off, man. I’m not leaving her.”
I hear Dillen yell out from the stage, “Mr. Norwich, he’s the only family she has here.”
He looks down at me and nods before looking back at Heather.
“Heather? You’re going to be okay,” I say, moving my hand to her throat, feeling a faint, but steady pulse under my fingers.
Please be okay.
There’s an obscene amount of blood; it’s pooling around her head and underneath her pallid body. I’m terrified to move her, but I’m about to scoop her into my arms and carry her to the hospital because the damn medics are taking too long. Rage, adrenaline, and panic join forces to flow through me as I shout at nobody in particular, “Where in the fuck are they?”
“They will be here shortly. I’m going to need you to stay calm for her sake,” Mr. Norwich says, before turning and speaking to someone behind us, “Clear the stage, and call for a cleanup crew for this mess. The show must go on once we’ve gotten her out of here safely. We dance when we’re broken, so somebody please inform the understudy to be waiting in the wings.”
Are you fucking kidding me?
I look upward toward the stage where Dillen stands, her hands cupping her mouth and black tears raining down from her wide eyes.
A few feet over, a distorted view of Alexis comes into my vision, and she doesn’t look remorseful in the slightest. She has a smug, triumphant grin on her face, and right then, I know that this stunt was intentional. She hurt my girl because of me, because I refused to give her what she wanted.
I want nothing more than to pull my body up onto the stage and confront her. I don’t even want Dillen that close to this selfish bitch.
“Dillen, go find Coen.”
She hesitates and stares down at her best friend, my girl. “Go!” I command her and this time she listens just as the medics run in with their equipment and stretcher.
I watch, horrified, as the medics assess her and gently move her from the solid concrete onto the board; thankfully they’re quick, because within a minute they have Heather strapped down securely before they attempt to move her onto the stretcher. The pool of blood that was underneath her is massive. The amount of blood loss she’s suffered seems to frighten the medics: I am able see it on their faces when they look at each other. They know something but aren’t telling me shit. They maneuver the stretcher carefully through the crowded orchestra pit when I get up and follow them as they move through the dark hallways backstage. One of the medics calls out over his shoulder, “I need a list of medications she is on, as well as any allergies she might have.”
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