by JJ Knight
He kisses my forehead. “I know what we should do today,” he says.
“More of this?” I ask, gesturing to our bodies.
“Well, yeah,” he says. “But I want you more independent. Let’s get you driving.”
“A car?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says. “A car.”
I let out a rush of air. “Okay, but I’m not sure San Antonio is ready for me to be behind a wheel.”
Blitz laughs. “If the city can handle me, it can handle you.”
And that’s how, a few hours later, we end up at the huge empty parking lot of the Alamodome.
Blitz sits beside me in the passenger seat in the rented Mazda. I look over all the dials and controls. It’s overwhelming.
“It’s easy,” Blitz says. “Cars today are nothing. They practically drive themselves.”
My hands grip the leather circle in front of me. Despite having tons of space all around me, row after empty row, I can’t quite bring myself to move. I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of Blitz. It’s been a really long time since I even thought about trying this.
“So let’s go over some basics,” Blitz says. “This is the gear shift. D is for drive. R is for reverse. You don’t have to worry about all these other ones right now.”
“What is N?”
Blitz laughs. “N is for never use that.”
My face heats up. “Why shouldn’t I use it?”
“It self-destructs.”
“Blitz!” I try to move the lever to D but it won’t go. “Why doesn’t it work?”
“You have to use the Force.”
“Blitz!”
“Okay, okay. First put your foot on the brake. It’s the wide pedal in the middle.”
I try to look down there, but my legs are in the way. When I lift my foot and spread my knees to try to see, Blitz says, “Now that’s a position I like to see in a car.”
“Blitz, I’m going to hire some handsome instructor if you don’t help me.”
He tries to control his laughter and holds up his hands. “Okay. I’ll do better. I promise.”
I spot the wide pedal and put my foot down on it. It pushes in an eerily cushioned way, like I’m squishing something with it. “That’s gross,” I say.
“The brake pedal?”
“Never mind. The other one is the gas, right?”
“Yes. It makes you move.”
“Okay. Wide one brake, skinny one gas. Should I push them both at once?”
“No, no, always use your right foot for everything. You don’t ever want to push them both.”
“Or I’ll self-destruct?” I toss him a saucy expression.
“Let’s go with that,” Blitz says. “So put your right foot on the brake, then use your right hand to push in the little button on the side of the gear and move it into drive.”
I follow his instructions. But I’m so nervous my foot slips off the brake and I hit the other pedal. We shoot forward.
I jerk my foot back. Now my foot isn’t on any pedal, but we’re still moving forward.
“I’m not hitting the gas!” I say. “Why are we going?”
Blitz tries to look relaxed but he’s clutching his seat belt. “You need to hit the brake now. Gently, though, don’t slam it.”
I lean down to look for the pedal again.
“Eyes on the road!” Blitz says.
“It’s too much to do!” I say. We’re still inching across the pavement, aiming for a pole with a parking lot marker at the top.
“You can do it,” Blitz says. “Use your foot to feel for it.”
I move my foot again and manage to hit the gas, shooting us forward.
“Forget the pedals for a minute,” Blitz says. His voice is calmer now. “Just turn the wheel to the right.”
I turn it. It is tighter than I thought it would be and moves slowly. I expected it to spin like a bicycle tire. We shift to the side of the pole.
Blitz lets out a sigh. “Let’s just do this a moment. Feet off the pedals and turn the wheel so you can get a feel for how the car moves.”
We putter around for a while, me moving the wheel one direction or the other. Blitz settles back in his seat.
“Okay, now feel for the pedals but don’t push one or the other down. Just find them with your right foot.”
I move my foot around. “I have the brake,” I say.
“Gently push it down.”
I press my foot on it and we glide to a stop.
“I did it!” I say. I lean over to give Blitz a hug, but my foot slips off and we start moving forward again.
This freaks me out so I stomp on the brake. This time we slam to a stop.
“That works too,” Blitz says.
“I need a break,” I say. “How do I make this thing stop moving?”
“Put the gear in park,” he says.
I shift the lever. This time when I take my foot off the brake, we stay still. I let out a sigh. “This is stressful,” I say.
“Wait until you get into rush hour traffic,” he says.
“Never,” I say. “I’ll take taxis.”
We look out over the empty concrete. The sun is bright and Blitz’s face is a frown.
“I know my driving is not what is making you so tense. What’s wrong?” I ask.
Blitz stares out his side window, his face turned away. “I’m going to have to go back and forth between LA a few times in the next week or two. I have a meeting about the show, and a court date Jeff thinks I should attend in person.”
“Should I go?”
“You can, absolutely,” he says. “But you’ll miss a lot of wheelchair classes and Gabriella’s private lessons.”
I frown. I don’t want to do that. Plus, I’m trying to get in shape for more pointe work in ballet.
“I can’t let her down,” I say. “We’re just getting started.”
“I also want you to be more independent,” Blitz says. “We should go to the DMV and get your driving permit soon. But I’ll leave a car and driver for you to get to dance. I’ll make sure he seconds as a bodyguard since your ex is stalking the academy.”
“How long will you be gone?” I ask.
“Just one night this time. I’m minimizing everything. But if you go with me, you will miss both a private lesson and your own dance class.”
“It’s just one night, I guess,” I say.
“Our first night apart since you barged on to my show,” he says. “I don’t like it. Particularly with lover boy around.”
“He won’t even know I’m there,” I say. “We snuck in easily enough yesterday.”
“We did. I’d feel better if Danika knew.” He takes my hand off the steering wheel and brings my fingers to his lips.
“It’s hard for me to tell her.”
“I know.”
He holds my hand in both of his. We sit for a while in the sun-warmed car. What would Danika think of me if she knew about Gabriella? She has a lot of power as director of the academy. She could take me out of the class, end the private lesson, insist we tell Gwen that I’m the birth mother. Anything.
I can’t do that. Can’t risk it.
I pull my hand from Blitz and put the car back into drive. I have to be strong. Brave. Independent. Driving is a good first step. I’ll get my license. Be able to get myself around. Maybe I’ll confront Denham on my own, without the threat of Blitz making him act crazy.
My foot eases off the brake. This time, instead of just puttering slowly, I carefully press the gas. We don’t shoot forward, but gradually accelerate. I circle around one of the poles and head across the lot again, this time trying to follow the lines rather than shooting aimlessly across them.
I haven’t told Blitz this, and I don’t plan to, but I did have a driving lesson once before. In Texas, you can get your driving permit at age fifteen to prepare you for a license at sixteen. So as my fifteenth birthday approached, Denham took it upon himself to teach me how to drive.
It was several w
eeks after his arrival, past the sunbathing, the fence work, and the blade of grass up my thigh. We hadn’t gotten much time alone. On this night, Mom and Dad were watching television, and Andy was already in bed. School would start in a week.
While we were all sitting in the living room, a commercial came on for some driving school and Dad scoffed at the price.
“When it’s time for Livia to learn, I’ll teach her myself,” he said.
Denham’s head popped up. “I already have my license,” he said. “I can show her some basics.”
“You have to be eighteen, I believe,” Mom said from her rocking chair.
“Let the boy show her a few things,” Dad said. “Take her over to the high school parking lot.” He tossed Denham the keys to his Jeep, the car he had before the Pontiac he drives now.
Denham’s eyebrows hit the ceiling. “Really? You’ll let me drive it?”
“I don’t see why not,” Dad said. “You’ve had your license a while and the school is only a mile away. It can’t hurt, right, Dorothy?”
Mom’s lips were pressed tight, but she nodded.
“The boy can be useful!” Dad added. He was clearly chuffed that his decision to take in Denham could benefit the family.
So Denham and I headed out the door. The days were still long, so it wasn’t even dark. We jumped into the Jeep and Denham cranked it up.
He talked me through the mechanics of driving as we rumbled down the road to the high school. My body fairly bounced with excitement. I was alone with Denham, about to drive for the first time, and at the high school too!
We pulled into the large lot, and Denham dropped the car into park and got out so we could switch places. As we passed each other at the back, he grabbed my arm. “You nervous?” he asked.
“A little,” I said.
His eyes caught mine and I felt that tickle again, like the sliver of grass on my skin. The rush he talked about when stealing. He was my wave to ride.
I got behind the wheel, scooting forward so I could reach the pedals. Before Denham could even buckle, I’d moved the gear and pressed the gas.
“Whoa!” Denham said as he was knocked against the back of the seat. “Now that’s what I call driving!”
We circled the lot, me alternately stomping the gas or slamming the brakes, until I felt I had whiplash. Denham encouraged the craziest moves, whooping and shouting for me to aim for the front doors and floor it.
When I finally put the car back in park, my throat was hoarse from laughing. I got out of the car so we could switch places again.
This time when we crossed paths, Denham clasped my waist, lifting me up and spinning me in a circle. The rush passed over me, no longer a tickle, but a wave, just like he said.
He lowered me slowly, my body sliding down his. When my face reached his, he leaned forward, and it happened. His lips met mine.
The kiss was lingering, careful, and quiet, the opposite of how we’d been in the car. I felt aglow.
When he let me go, I was warm with his attention, calm and happy.
“I shouldn’t do that,” he said, taking a step back.
“Why?” I asked. There was a promise in that kiss, a feeling that there was so much more. I wanted it all.
“I just shouldn’t,” he said. He ducked away and headed back to the driver’s seat.
I climbed into my side, refusing to look at him. I understood what he meant. We lived together. It wasn’t right.
But that didn’t stop me from wanting it.
Back in the rental car at the Alamodome with Blitz, I press my foot on the brake, gliding us to a stop. I’m not driving anything like I did that night with Denham. But I can’t compare the two experiences, and I will never speak of it.
There are some things that a woman keeps to herself, I realize. And my first lesson and my first kiss are things that need to be left in the past.
Chapter 12
Blitz leaves early the next morning for his flight to LA. I wander the hotel suite, wringing my hands with anxiety, until I pack for the private lesson with Gabriella.
It’s actually the first time I’ll have ever been alone with my own daughter. And Denham will be outside the building.
Maybe I should have canceled.
But it’s too late now, and I don’t have Gwen’s number anyway.
So a half hour ahead of time, I call the concierge like Blitz instructed and tell them I’m ready to go to the academy.
Downstairs, a driver in a plain slate blue SUV waits with my name in the window. The doorman opens the back door, but I shake my head. It’s too obvious when someone sits in the backseat that it isn’t a normal situation.
“Front, please,” I say.
The doorman obeys and opens the passenger door.
“Hello,” the driver says. His tone is abrupt. He looks like a football player, broad shouldered and wide necked. His blond hair is smashed beneath a jaunty hat.
“Can I take the sign out of the window?” I ask. “We’re trying to avoid being spotted.”
“Sure.” His nod is curt. “You’ll know the car from now on.”
“And can you lose the hat? I don’t want to be obvious.”
The man laughs and tugs off the hat, tossing it in the back. “I hate that thing anyway.”
“Good,” I say. “Thank you.” I pull down the paper from the window as we head toward Dreamcatcher. My heart hammers. I definitely want to avoid Denham seeing me when I go in. But I have every intention of deliberately talking to him when I come out.
When we reach the academy, we pass the green truck with Denham inside, and I instruct the driver to take me around to the back. I have my phone in my hand in case the backstage door is locked this time, but just like earlier this week, it opens easily.
I pass through the storage area and into the hallway. It almost feels strange to do this without Blitz. He’s been such a constant by my side since December.
Gwen and Gabriella haven’t arrived yet. I head into Studio 3 to wait.
I run through some warm-ups, thinking about Denham sitting in his truck just outside. I try to decide exactly what to say to him to convince him to leave.
He was a complicated boy, even at sixteen. He has to know his criminal background isn’t going to look good for trying to get Gabriella. He must think of her as a baby still. What would he do with a four-year-old girl in a wheelchair anyway? Surely I can convince him to move on.
The door opens and Gabriella rolls in.
“Where’s Benjamin?” she asks. She’s in a new emerald green dance leotard with a bright fluffy tutu. She looks like a little queen.
“He had to go away for a couple days,” I say. “He’ll be back next week.”
She looks disappointed, and I try to stuff down any feelings about that. I’m just the plain old regular dance helper. Blitz is a superstar.
“Why don’t we just have fun today?” I suggest. “And make up a little dance we can surprise him with?”
“Yes!” she says, her eyes sparkly now. “We can call it Benjamin’s Dance.”
“Perfect,” I say, waving to Gwen as she heads back out to the hall. “What sort of music should we use?”
We spend our hour listening to songs and coming up with silly dance moves to make Blitz laugh. We practice them over and over until Gwen comes in to remind us it’s time to go.
“See you next week!” Gabriella says, lifting her arms for a hug.
I lean down to her, swamped with emotion as I always am when I have to let her go. It’s been a good hour. I couldn’t bear to lose this time with her. I won’t let Denham take it from me.
As they head out and I change to street shoes, I try to muster my courage. I’m going to let them get out of the building, into their car, and out of the parking lot before I go out front to confront Denham.
I take my time in the halls, pausing to watch Aurora with her toddler class, then to chat a moment with Suze at the front desk. She asks about Blitz and I explain he’s in LA. When
I’m sure Gwen is long gone, I take a deep breath and push out the front door of the academy.
The bodyguard in the SUV should still be parked at the back. There’s nobody to get in my way. The wind lifts my dance skirt as I head across the lot. I should have brought something substantial to put over my outfit for this meeting. It’s still warm, so I’ll be heading to Denham in just a leotard and a sheer skirt.
But it’s too late to do anything about it now.
I know when he sees me. He’s tapping on the steering wheel, obviously listening to something on his headphones, when he goes still.
His face locks on mine. As I approach the truck, I see the windows are down and his eyes take in every detail of my body in the tight, thin spandex. I stop a couple feet away from the door.
“About time you came to talk to me,” he says.
“You going to spend your whole life sitting on this curb?” I ask.
“Don’t got much else to do.” He leans over and opens the passenger door, pushing it wide with a shove. “Come on in.”
I hesitate. I can’t have him roaring off with me locked inside.
“I’ll stay out here.”
“I’m not going to bite,” he says. “Although I’ll admit you look damn delicious. But I don’t have enough gas to get me very far, so you’re pretty safe.”
I glance around. If I stay out here, I’ll be spotted by someone eventually. Suze might ask questions. Or Danika. I wouldn’t know how to explain this. And God help me if anyone took a picture and uploaded it somewhere. Blitz would go ballistic.
So I step up and sit on the torn-up cushion and close the door. But I keep my fingers wrapped around the handle.
“You look good, Livia,” Denham says. His voice is more casual now, without the drawl and the leer in it.
“Thank you,” I say. “So how did you figure out where I was?”
“Googled the hell out of your man,” he says. “Wasn’t easy to link it all up.”
That’s good, I think. I wouldn’t want a million crazed fans here if they knew Blitz was back after the promo video he did with the wheelchair ballerinas a couple months ago.
“We were careful to leave this academy out of the interviews,” I say. “How did you find it?”
“When I saw y’all onscreen, I figured you hadn’t been together long. Saw he’d been in San Antonio and followed his trail on Twitter and those sleazy celebrity sites. When you got up on those ballet toes, I figured he met you here.”