My Forever (Our Forever Book 3)

by Elena Matthews

  “Tell someone who doesn’t already know.”

  She laughs, rolling her eyes. She grabs her stuff and then opens the door. “Catch you on the flip side, homey.”

  I shake my head with a grin and then give her a salute wave. She exits the car, closing the door behind her. I watch her walk inside before I drive off. I don’t make it two blocks before I get stuck in non-moving traffic. While I sit idly, my eyes roam the side street, and I catch sight of a dance clothing store.

  I remember the ballet shoes that Kaelyn lost in the fire and how broken she was, that it was the last remembrance of her eighteen years of ballet. She says that ballet doesn’t matter to her anymore, that it’s in the past, but I see it in her eyes whenever ballet is brought up that she’s lying to herself. She loves ballet; it’s ingrained in her soul, a part of who she is, and it’s about time she embraced that part of herself again. To find the piece of her that was lost all those years ago. As soon as the traffic lets up, the thought of those shoes alone is what has me turning down the next street, parking, and making my way to that store.

  Five minutes later, I exit with a pair of Ava pointe shoes.

  A Pure Angel

  Chase

  I pull up outside the studio later that evening with ten minutes to spare. Curious to see her at work, I exit the car and enter the studio. I peer through the first two studio doors, and when I see they’re both pitch-black, I try the last door.

  What I see almost has me swallowing my tongue. The lighting is dark with disco lights floating around the studio in time with the seductive sound of “Wicked Games” by The Weeknd. Dressed in a pair of boy shorts that leave very little to the imagination and the sexiest goddamn sports bra I’ve ever seen, she grips a pole, and she spins around it before hauling herself up and performs a mind-blowing cartwheel, her feet perfectly pointed, the move sensual and hot as hell. Seven other girls watch her with the same rapt attention as she works that pole in the most unique way. It’s sexy but not in the traditional sense. It’s sexy because it’s beautiful. It’s like poetry in motion, gentle yet fierce, strong yet light. Her moves are acrobatic, and I see the ballet dancer in her; though I don’t know much about ballet, there’s no denying with how fluid her moves are that she was a tremendous dancer.

  For the next ten minutes, I find it impossible to tear my eyes away from her. I’m definitely a little breathless by the time the class ends, and it takes everything within me not to applaud her when the door opens, and everyone exits the studio. I feel the stares of a few women who walk through, no doubt recognizing the NHL star, but my eyes are reserved for Kaelyn as she follows everyone out. She startles a little when she spots me and then flushes as she sees the heat of my stare.

  She averts her gaze to the girls around her. “Thanks for an awesome class, ladies. I’ll see you next time.” Once she says good night to the last girl, she turns to me. “Hi,” she greets a little shyly.

  “Hey,” I respond, smiling, my eyes flicking down to her attire with hungry eyes. I can’t help it. She looks good enough to eat.

  She begins to make her way back into the studio, and I follow behind her, my eyes zeroing in on her tight ass in the most incredible shorts-slash-panties.

  Hot damn.

  “I just need to tidy up, then I’ll be ready to go.”

  “Do you need any help?” I offer.

  She just shakes her head. “It’s okay. I’ll just be five minutes.”

  It doesn’t take her long to clear up, and once she’s covered that fine body with actual clothes and slipped her sneakers on, she walks over to me by the studio door, her bag over her shoulder. “I’m ready.”

  We head outside, and she sets the security alarm before locking up. We talk a little as we make our way to the car, but I’m only half-listening to what she’s saying because I can’t stop thinking about her on that pole. I always assumed pole dancing was something that belonged in sleazy strip joints, in dark and forbidden places. I never knew it could be such an elegant sport. She was flawless, and she came alive in a way I’d never seen before.

  She was sexy, so fucking sexy.

  Now, if only I can persuade her to put those ballet shoes I purchased for her on and show me what she was destined to do. Pole dancing is great, but I know it’s only a disguise to what she truly loves. Ballet.

  After picking up some dinner, we head back to my place. Even though I have a dining table and kitchen island, we head to our usual spot in the upstairs living area, and we kick back with an episode of The Big Bang Theory.

  “Oh,” Kaelyn begins with a mouthful of food before swallowing. “Did roadside recovery have a look at my car?”

  “Yes. It was just the battery. They were able to jump-start it. The guy said, if it happens again, take it to the shop, as there might be an underlying problem.”

  She lets out a breath of relief. “Thank God it wasn’t anything serious. Having car trouble on top of everything with my house was a nightmare. But, once everything is settled, I’ll get it in for a full maintenance. I’ve had the car for a few years, so it’s definitely due.”

  “I can get it booked in at the garage if you’d like?” I offer before taking a bite of my chicken.

  She shakes her head. “It’s okay. I’d prefer to deal with one thing at a time. I don’t like relying on you to take me to work, especially when you could do without the hassle.”

  “It’s not a hassle. I love driving, so taking you to work is like my version of going to Disney World.”

  Kaelyn snorts. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Hell no. I’m the happiest when I’m in my Ferrari.”

  “What, even when you’re stuck in traffic?”

  “Even then. Hell, I’d live in the thing if I could.”

  She eyes me with contempt. “You have issues.”

  I just shrug before shoveling more food into my mouth. We sit in silence for a few minutes, chuckling along with the TV while we finish our food.

  “I forgot to tell you,” Kaelyn begins. “The insurance check cleared, so the renovation can finally get started with the house. They estimate they’ll be done in a few weeks.” She playfully nudges her knee with my thigh, and I have to resist closing my eyes and reveling in the feel of the tingles that erupt through my nervous system. “So, you only have to tolerate me for a few more weeks.”

  She laughs, but the thought of living with her for only a couple more weeks makes it feel as if a rock has formed in my chest. I don’t want just two more weeks with her. I want forever with her. But knowing I can’t have that only adds the pressure to my chest some more.

  Once we’ve finished dinner, I take our plates downstairs and stack them in the dishwasher. Realizing now is the perfect time to give her the gift I picked up for her, I return upstairs with a glass of wine in one hand, a beer in the other, and the shoebox containing Kaelyn’s gift under my arm. I hand Kaelyn the glass of wine before holding out the shoebox.

  Taking the glass from my hand, she skeptically eyes the box.

  “So, I got a little something for you,” I tell her with a smile.

  “What is it?”

  “Open it and find out,” I urge.

  She takes a leisurely sip of her wine and then sets it on the coffee table in front of us. She looks a little giddy as she accepts the box and sets it on her lap while I sit beside her, watching as she removes the lid. The crinkle of tissue paper fills the air as she delicately pushes it to the side. She stares into the box, and her breath hitches, all traces of delight gone.

  Shit. She hates them.

  “Chase,” Kaelyn whispers, her voice shaking, eyes glued on the items in the box. Slowly, she reaches inside and lifts a single pointe shoe from the box. Unraveling the ribbon from around the shoe, her fingers caress over the light pink satin material, holding on to it as if it were pure gold. After what feels like an age, her eyes flicker up to mine, glistening with sadness.

  “Why? Why did you buy me these?” she stammers, her eyes retur
ning to the shoe in her hand, analyzing it as if it were a piece of a very confusing puzzle.

  “To replace the shoes you lost in the fire and because you love ballet,” I state confidently.

  Shaking her head, she pierces her eyes into me. “No, not anymore.”

  “A person who loves like you, deep and painfully, doesn’t just stop loving, especially something you spent your entire life up until the age of eighteen living and breathing. That kind of love doesn’t just disappear. I know deep down you miss it.”

  Her nostrils flare with anger, her face wound tight, looking as if she’s seconds away from bursting into tears.

  “It doesn’t matter if I still love it or if I miss it…that life was a long time ago. And it’s one I’d like to keep in the past. You shouldn’t have bought me these. I’m sorry. I can’t accept them.”

  She drops the shoe back into the box, pushing it aside before abruptly standing and stomping her sexy ass out of the living area and down the stairs. Taking hold of the box, I stand and follow her. When I reach the kitchen, she grabs an opened bottle of wine from the refrigerator, forgoing a glass and proceeding to drink from the bottle, chugging it like it’s 1999 and she thinks the world’s about to end as soon as the millennium strikes twelve.

  I watch, impressed by her stamina.

  “You know, drinking like a frat boy at a college party isn’t the answer,” I quip, and her eyes flash to mine.

  She slams the bottle down onto the countertop. “Well, sometimes, drinking like a raging alcoholic is the only thing that makes sense. Why would you buy me those shoes? Especially after knowing everything I went through. You know how much ballet wrecked me.”

  I approach her, setting the shoebox onto the countertop beside her. “That’s exactly why I bought them for you. You shouldn’t let what happened to you when you were just a kid get in the way of doing something you love. And I know you love it. You wouldn’t be chugging a full bottle of wine if you didn’t.”

  “It isn’t as simple as that, Chase,” she argues.

  “Then, explain it to me. Explain to me why loving ballet isn’t simple when, for the first eighteen years of your life, ballet was the only thing that made sense to you.”

  Dropping her gaze to the floor, she sighs heavily. She’s silent for a long minute before she quietly speaks, “I’m afraid to love it again. I’m afraid to love ballet because, the last time I did, it destroyed me in the worst possible way.” Her voice is shaky as her eyes return to mine. “Losing ballet was like losing a limb, and even though you can get prosthetics and learn to walk again without your leg, it just isn’t the same as having flesh and bone. But the phantom limb pain is the hardest thing to deal with because you can still feel your leg, feel the pain and agony of the limb, even when it isn’t there anymore. And getting over the phantom pain was much worse than the initial loss, and I still feel the pain of giving up my dream. Every day. I just…I can’t go back there. I can’t let ballet back into my life even though all I want to do is put those shoes on and dance again.”

  I step in front of her and tilt her chin up to look at me, forcing her eyes on mine. “Ballet didn’t destroy you; other people did. They took away your chance of becoming the best professional ballet dancer this world would have been graced with.”

  “How can you even know that? You never even saw me dance. For all you know, I could have been the worst ballet dancer in the history of ballet dancers.”

  I inch closer, caging her in against the countertop, and I don’t miss the way her pupils dilate at my proximity or the way her chest rises a little quicker, her breaths labored.

  “Well, dance for me. I want to see it at least once in my life. I want to see the magic that happens when you put on your pointe shoes. Show me your magic, the same magic I saw when you elegantly worked that pole earlier this evening. You say you don’t love ballet anymore, but when you took to that pole, every graceful move was that of a ballet dancer and not of a pole dancer.”

  Her eyes widen when she realizes that I saw her pole dancing earlier.

  She goes to speak, but I cut her off before she can, “You didn’t dance to seduce; you danced because it’s in your blood, because it’s in your heart. You danced to love. And you’ve even said yourself that you love pole dancing because it’s the closest thing you can find to ballet. You might not realize it, but you still live and breathe ballet as if it’s the air around you.”

  “You want me to dance for you?” she asks with a trembling whisper, looking at me with doe eyes.

  “Yes,” I answer, inching closer to her—so close that I can feel the pitter-patter of her heart racing against mine.

  “I don’t know. The last time I danced, it was in front of an audience who despised every move I made.”

  “Well, it seems you were dancing for the wrong audience, Kaelyn. Perhaps, if you dance for the right audience, you might remember why you love it so much, and you should love it again.”

  “What if I can’t dance? What if, when I put those shoes on, I forget how to dance? It’s been such a long time.”

  I reach over to the box and take both ballet shoes out, holding them out in front of me. “I have a feeling, as soon as you put these on, it will be like you never stopped.”

  Wordlessly, I lower down to my knees, setting one of the shoes to the hardwood floor while I make work of unraveling the satin ribbon of the other. I stare up at her, and I see she’s watching me with hooded eyes. Without looking away, I lift her left foot and slowly slip her bare foot inside the shoe, and like Cinderella’s glass slipper, it slides on perfectly.

  “What are you doing?” she questions, her words catching in her throat as I slowly wrap the ribbon around her ankle.

  I ignore her question while I continue to tie it securely as possible. I’m not sure if I’m doing it correctly, but I’m guessing they’re similar to hockey boots. They’ve got to be secure but not too tight. I do the same with the other foot, and when both pointe shoes are in place, I glance up at her.

  “How do they feel?” I ask, both my hands trailing up her calves.

  She rises on her toes, causing the pointe to stand diagonally. She does this a few times, from left to right, and then nods, smiling a little as she sets her feet together in a V-shape. I’m sure there’s a technical term for it, but I come from a background of hockey, so my knowledge of ballet starts and ends with Kaelyn.

  “They feel good.”

  I slowly ascend to my full height. My hands trail delicately higher up her calves and against the backs of her knees until they meet the curve of her thighs and then her ass. A hiss leaves her lips at my touch, and heat from her ass sears against my hand.

  Damn those wandering hands.

  These past few weeks, I’ve found it hard to keep my hands to myself, especially since Kaelyn has been living with me.

  A touch here, a touch there…but it never seems to be enough to quell the heat continuing to build up inside of me. It’s a dangerous game to play, considering I’m still technically married, but when it comes to Kaelyn, it’s hard to see the lines. It’s easy to forget the real reason we can’t be together, and it doesn’t stop me from touching her any moment I can. Deep in her eyes, I see a hunger for my touch as much as I crave to touch her.

  I slowly pull away, stepping back an inch, and she sighs with relief.

  “So, you’ll dance for me then?” I ask.

  She nods before uttering a quiet, “Yes.”

  I take her by the hand and lead her over to the dimly lit living room, the only large space that has a hardwood floor and enough room for her to move easily.

  “Do you have any preference of music?” I ask.

  “Yes, can you find Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata,’” she states straight off the bat.

  I smile as I head toward the state-of-the-art speakers I have set on the fireplace. For a girl who claims ballet is in the past, she sure has one hell of a specific song to dance to. It’s as if she’s just been waiting for
the right moment. Kaelyn walks elegantly over to the bi-fold doors that overlook the backyard and begins to stretch while I search for the song on my phone.

  Once I find it after searching through too many moonlight sonatas to count, I grab the armchair and pivot it around, so it’s facing the window, making myself comfortable.

  “Tell me when you’re ready.”

  Her eyes find me through the dim light as she relaxes from her stretch. “I’ll never be ready,” she tells me honestly, letting out a breathless exhale, genuinely looking terrified. “Give me thirty seconds and then just press play.”

  She continues stretching for a short while and then sets one foot forward while the other points behind her, keeping her arms at her sides. Her eyes flutter closed, and when I think she’s ready, I press play.

  The song starts with a deep piano melody, slow yet dominating, dark yet light. Kaelyn remains unmoving for a moment, and then slowly, she raises her chin while her right arm lifts before stepping into a single spin. A beat later, she extends her leg above her head while pivoting in a circle on her pointed toe, arms elegantly raised. Her extended leg lowers, but in a move that puts my doubled jointed fingers to shame, at a graceful tilt of her hip, she transitions her leg behind her before lowering her foot back to the floor.

  I’m immediately transfixed.

  I watch intently as she steps forward, back arched, arms to the sky, and lifts her leg behind her, her knee bent at a one-hundred-forty-five-degree angle, before moving on the spot in a circular motion, almost like a ballerina slowly spinning in a music box.

  So breathtaking.

  Her moves are slow and calculated, and her fluidity matches the music perfectly. Lowering her leg, she hops forward on one foot, spinning on her pointe five times, gaining up speed, only to slow it down as she lowers a single leg behind her at a bent angle, moving in slow motion, extending her arms and stretching to a finish. Her arms transition to twelve and three positions, and then she leaps forward. In a move that blows my mind, she takes to the floor with a spin, leap, spin, and leap before doing a last spin jump, landing on her back leg and finishing with her back arched, arms in the air and front leg pointed. She continues dancing in a way I’ve never had the liberty of witnessing before. She transitions from smooth and languid moves to fast spins and leaps, never losing her elegance. Her steps are light but fierce, wrists lifted, hands flowing softly, arms beautifully raised.