Collide

by Melanie Stanford

  He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “Sure, why not? I’ll run it by Old Man McCrary, but as long as you don’t get in anyone’s way or blast your music or something, it probably won’t matter.”

  “I can stick to practicing after hours, as long as I’m not working.” I put some dirty dishes in Nico’s sink. “Who’s Old Man McCrary?”

  “The owner. He’s not around a lot.” His voice lowered. “Don’t tell anyone, but he’s old.”

  I rolled my eyes. Nico was still lying down so I took a peek inside his fridge. Bottles of Heineken, mustard, ketchup, and a huge jar of pickles. Nothing else. I made a note to tell Bronwyn.

  “He’s got health issues,” Nico continued. “Don’t know what exactly. Jay knows. He’s been visiting him in the hospital lately.”

  I shut the fridge and turned around. “Are they related?”

  “Naw, he just likes the guy.”

  I tried to picture Jay Thornton visiting an old man in the hospital, taking him flowers or a giant balloon that said, “Get Well Soon.” The image wouldn’t stick.

  It was like a parallel universe, this place I was in now. One where Nico was kind of friends with the guy who beat him up. Or, if not friends, then at least friendly enough to know things about him. To work in the same place. Seriously, what kind of people thought this was a normal way to live?

  Nico sat up, bracing his fists on either side of his legs. “Is Bronwyn mad?”

  “No idea.” I wasn’t about to get in the middle of their relationship. “I better go. I’ve got to work. I’ll be back tomorrow night to use the space, so text me before if I can’t.”

  Nico got up and I thought he was seeing me out but he went to the fridge and grabbed a beer instead. “Right-o.”

  I headed down the stairs and into the gym. Sunlight streamed through the glass wall but the whole place looked lonely. It was still morning, classes probably didn’t start until later. Someone moved near the front, at the desk, turning toward me as I picked my way around the mats.

  “I’m starting to think you’re stalking me,” Jay said.

  I hadn’t noticed before how deep his voice was, or how it reverberated through my entire body. “I was thinking the same about you.”

  “I work here, remember?” He pointed to the Eastside Boxing shirt he had on. The shirt was sleeveless, highlighting his tanned and perfectly ripped biceps. I tried not to look.

  “I have a friend who lives here, remember?”

  “Friend?” Jay made it to the door before I did. He leaned against it, ever-so-casually blocking my way.

  “I have to work,” I said, ignoring his question. Nico was a friend, sort of. I felt sorry for him. And I liked Bronwyn—she was a friend. But maybe getting sucked into Nico’s world hadn’t been such a good idea.

  Too late now. And nothing I wanted to discuss with Jay Thornton.

  Jay crossed his arms, his biceps flexing. I really tried not to look. “I wouldn’t think that diner paid you enough.”

  I tugged on my uniform’s miniskirt, which only drew Jay’s attention to my legs.

  “To get Officer Ting’s money, you mean?”

  Jay didn’t move. Maybe he liked having this bit of power over me.

  After a few seconds, I decided to just push around him. He didn’t let me. Instead, he grabbed onto my elbow. His fingers trailed the back of my arm, leaving me breathless. His eyes softened. His whole face did, hard lines melting away as if he were becoming someone else.

  “You don’t get it. Simon Ting isn’t someone to mess with.” He paused, the silence punctuating my beating heart. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “Then don’t hurt me.”

  “I don’t want to.” It was practically a whisper.

  I’d gotten closer without realizing. My hips flush with his. He smelled like soap and sweat. My eyes were on his lips.

  Annoyed, I stepped back. Jay was doing his job. Making sure I paid. Instead of his usual beatdown, he was playing nice. Drawing me in. Anything to get the money I owed his boss. And I was falling for it.

  “I’m not stupid,” I said.

  His lip curled. “Prove me wrong.”

  I moved his hand from the knob. “I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

  Sitting on the couch in the apartment, my feet up on the coffee table, a blanket covered my legs despite the lingering heat of the night. Behind me, Bronwyn was tinkering around in the kitchen.

  “A bank loan,” I said, staring at a black and white photograph hanging on the wall. It was of a couple kissing on the street. “That’s all I can think of.”

  Bronwyn said nothing. A cupboard door slammed.

  If the bank approved me, I could pay off the lump sum to Simon Ting and then Nico could pay me back in installments, which I could then pay back to the bank. Provided Nico paid me on time and didn’t flake out. I wasn’t confident in that.

  “They might make me get a co-signer though,” I said.

  Bronwyn circled the table and sat beside me, a cup of noodles in one hand and a spoon in the other.

  “Have you ever tried to get a loan?” I asked her. If anyone was doing this for Nico, then why not Bronwyn? Maybe it hadn’t occurred to them. Maybe she couldn’t get approved.

  She buried her nose in her cup, steam rising around her face. “Nico won’t let me.” She met my eyes and her face was shiny. “He won’t take a dime from me.”

  I tossed the blanket off my lap.

  “I’m his girlfriend,” she continued. “If he takes my money, he’s worried people, or I, will think that’s the only reason he’s with me.”

  That was sweet, but stupid. Maybe Nico wouldn’t be in this mess if he’d let Bronwyn get the money for him. But maybe their relationship wouldn’t last with that kind of stress between them, either. Maybe Bronwyn didn’t trust Nico to pay her back.

  “I doubt my dad will co-sign,” I said. Bronwyn took a big slurp, a noodle hung down her chin before she sucked it through her lips. “Not if he knows what it’s for. And I don’t have a good enough lie.”

  “I wish you hadn’t done this.”

  “A simple ‘thank you’ will be fine.”

  She smacked me lightly. “Thank you. But I wish you hadn’t done it. We never should have let you get involved in this mess.” She went back to her soup, drinking straight from the cup, her spoon ignored. “If you need a lie, we’ll come up with something.”

  “Do you think it’s a good idea? The bank, I mean.”

  “I think it’ll get that loan shark off our backs.” She paused. “And if Nico doesn’t pay you back, I will.”

  That hardly made me feel better.

  “That was the first time I met Ting,” she said. “Did you know—”

  A knock sounded on the door. “I’ll get it,” I said, rising from the couch. I squinted through the peephole but all I could see was the back of a dark head. Nico maybe, but the skin below the dark hair was too light.

  I cracked open the door. I was getting used to Vegas, but you couldn’t be too careful.

  The man turned around.

  “Frasier?”

  My brother grinned at me. I threw my arms around him and he lifted me with a grunt.

  “Have you gotten taller?” he asked when he set me down.

  “Not lately.” I looked him over. His hair was longer but he’d shaved the goatee he’d been sporting the last time I saw him. He looked thinner than I remembered and dark circles shadowed his eyes, but his smile was just as bright.

  “Are you going to let me in, or what?”

  “Right!” I grabbed his arm and hauled him inside, shutting the door behind us. “Bron, I’ve got a surprise!”

  Her mouth dropped open when she spotted Frasier. “You dirty rat,” she said, putting her cup of soup on the coffee table and giving him a hug. She pulled away. “If you think you can mooch off me, think again. I’ve already got one Hale under my roof, I’m not taking another.”

  He laughed. “Come
on. Just a few nights? You wouldn’t keep me from my baby sister, would you? Especially since we haven’t seen each other in years.”

  She groaned but slung an arm around his shoulder. It was weird to see them like this. I barely remembered Bronwyn from high school. Fraze had never invited her over. Despite him contacting her for me, and the whole make-out story, I never imagined they were that close.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, retaking my spot on the couch. Frasier dropped a duffle bag on the floor and then plopped down beside me.

  “Passing through. But I’ll stay a few days.” He craned his neck over the couch and raised his voice unnaturally high. “Making sure my friend is treating my sister right.”

  Bronwyn snorted from the kitchen. “Maggie wouldn’t have lasted three days without me.”

  “And Bronwyn wouldn’t have lasted yesterday without me.”

  Fraze raised his eyebrows at me.

  “You gonna crash on the couch then?” Bronwyn said before Frasier could ask what I’d meant.

  “If that’s okay,” he said.

  “Does it matter if it’s not?” she asked.

  “Nope.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “I haven’t heard from you in forever,” I said, pulling his attention away from Bronwyn. “How did you get here from Seattle?”

  He shrugged. “Bus, train, car, feet, you name it. I met this girl in Boise who has a thing for road trips and the tall, dark, and handsome type.” He waggled his eyebrows. “She drove me most of the way.”

  I rested my head on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here.” It wouldn’t last. He wouldn’t stay, he never did, so I would take what I could get.

  “Me too, Mags.” He patted my head while Bronwyn looked on, an unreadable expression on her face. “Me too.”

  Chapter 19

  MAGGIE

  “So you’re telling me, actually telling me, you owe some loan shark thirteen thousand dollars?” Frasier stood over me, looming like he was trying to be the scary big brother. “For one of Bron’s deadbeat boyfriends?”

  “Watch it,” Bronwyn snapped.

  “They were going to beat her up. Maybe worse.” I curled into the couch, my shoulders near my ears. Out of everyone I knew, Fraze was the last person I thought would berate me for this.

  “How are you going to come up with that kind of cash?”

  “Bank loan.”

  He scoffed. Loudly.

  “Look, don’t worry about it. I can handle it.”

  “So she keeps saying,” Bronwyn said.

  Fraze started to pace in front of me. Bronwyn yawned. It was late, and I had an early shift in the morning.

  I stood up. “Seriously.” I put my hand on Fraze’s shoulder and he stopped moving. For now. “It’ll be fine.”

  He gave me a half-smile but he was looking through me. “Sure.” His brain was working on something. Fraze didn’t have that kind of money either, he’d never held onto a job longer than a couple of months. But if I was in trouble, he would do anything for me. That’s what worried me.

  When I woke up the next morning, he was gone. Not for good, his big duffel bag was still on the couch, his toothbrush upside down on the bathroom counter. But he’d left the apartment—my brother, who usually couldn’t muster enough energy to get up before noon.

  I left him a note in case he came back before I did, telling him I had a shift at the diner and that I’d be going to Eastside Boxing to dance after. I wanted to see my brother, but I had to get back to practicing. My body was already getting stiff, weak. Frasier would meet me somewhere.

  Sure enough, he stopped by the diner for lunch, ordering everything on the menu just so he could say the ridiculous names aloud before finally settling on a burger and fries. I begged my boss Craig to let me take my break early and we ate lunch together, laughing and talking about our parents, about Hillstone, my time in Vegas and his trip from Seattle. When he left, he didn’t pay, but that was Frasier for you.

  That night at the gym, I tucked my phone into my leggings, the chord of my earbuds snaking up my chest to my ears. Nico had replaced the light over the empty space so that I could see. He’d also slipped me a key to the place so I could get in. Other than me, Eastside Boxing was empty.

  I warmed up in the middle of the room, my phone blasting a techno beat in my ears. Three times I knocked my earbuds out. I’d have to invest in some cheap speakers. Maybe Bronwyn or Nico had some I could borrow, because dancing like this was super awkward.

  Once I warmed up, I sat on the floor and stretched. My muscles burned. One week off from dance and already my body was losing it. But I kept going, pushing through the pain but taking it slow so I didn’t injure myself.

  When I was done warming up, I pulled my phone from my leggings and scrolled through the playlist. I needed a new audition piece, and a new song to go with it. “Adagio” by Giazotto? Too slow. A piece from Swan Lake by Tchaikovsky? Too ballet. Something from the Harry Potter soundtrack? Too Harry Potter. I needed something that spoke to me. Was me.

  I considered “Amazing Grace.” I’d always loved the song. Definitely me, the preacher’s daughter. I played and replayed it, but it didn’t feel right. I didn’t feel found. I’d always had God in my life, that had never changed and never would. But I still felt lost. Didn’t quite feel like myself, or even know who I was. Dancer? Trying to be. Diner girl? Definitely. Friend, sister, daughter. I was all of those things. But still not me. “Amazing Grace” was a finale, a closing act, and I was still just beginning.

  I continued to scroll through and then stopped when a name caught my eye. I pressed play, closed my eyes and listened. This was it. “Song of the Caged Bird” by Lindsey Stirling. It started with a slow violin, mournful, but accompanied by a fierce beat. Perfect for mixing sharp hits with fluid motion. Then the violin grew into a frenzy, evoking the image of a caged bird trying to get free. My body was already moving to the beat, choreography swirled in my head.

  Rising to my feet, I started the song over, and then just let myself go. I wanted to get the feel of it before I started choreographing myself. I stopped a few times, once to reposition my earbuds, but mostly I moved through the violin notes, dance steps going from my brain to my body in milliseconds. It wasn’t good, what I was dancing. It wasn’t something, not yet. I’d need to choreograph every beat, every ba-da-da-dum, to perfection. I’d need to make it my own.

  And yet it was a beginning. My body moving, creating art on the spot. It was freeing and wonderful. It was forgetting everything else except this moment.

  The song ended, one final note lingering until it died and my phone slipped into a jazzy musical number. I pulled out my earbuds. Sweat beaded around my hairline and the back of my neck. I turned my head to wipe it away and stopped.

  Jay Thornton was standing near the top of the stairs in the dark, one hand on the railing.

  Chapter 20

  JAY

  McCrary was still in the hospital, but Nurse Nevin had told me he’d get out tomorrow. His fever had been high, and he’d been seriously dehydrated. So much so that he’d almost passed out, and ended up dialing 911. I wish I’d been there. I could have helped. Yet another reason I could never leave Vegas. Not when I was the only family McCrary had here.

  My phone buzzed as I pushed open the door to Eastside Boxing. I glanced at the screen, dreading to see Simon’s name. He’d called three times already today to ask about the Nico/Maggie situation. He wouldn’t get off my back about it.

  It wasn’t Simon, it was Annie. I pressed ignore. I hadn’t seen her since the night we’d barely spoken at The Wall, before Lieutenant what’s-his-nuts tried to get me to rat Simon out, but she’d called me a few times since. Not so many that it felt needy, but too many. I’d hoped my silence would be hint enough. I had no clue how to break up with someone I wasn’t even dating.

  A few lights were on in the gym, including upstairs. I headed to the front desk when I heard noises. Footsteps, or scuffling, I
couldn’t tell. In case it was a break-in, I followed the sound to the back of the gym and up the stairs. If Bronwyn and Nico were going at it outside his apartment, I’d lose it.

  I paused near the top of the stairs.

  Maggie was dancing—spinning and leaping around the room McCrary had set up for aerobics classes that nobody had wanted to take at a boxing gym. Her body moved in a way I’d never seen before. It was beautiful and strange. Compelling and sexy. There was no music, but earbuds snaked from her ears and into the waist of her skin-tight leggings.

  Her movements slowed, she hesitated for a moment, breathing deep without looking my way. Aside from her leggings, she only had on a sports bra, showing off vast amounts of bare skin shining with sweat. Every curve and muscle of her body was visible, and I wanted it all under my hands.

  She resumed dancing, swaying to a beat I couldn’t hear, her arms making long lines, one leg reaching for the ceiling. Then she was on the floor, her body almost caressing it as she moved. I’d been to clubs, watching girls dance in far less than Maggie had on, writhing and swaying for money. The way Maggie danced was different, special.

  Tension and desire moved through my body. I clenched the railing.

  She stopped, freezing her last step for a moment before she pulled the buds from her ears. Wiping sweat from the back of her neck, she turned and finally saw me.

  My lips parted.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. She was panting from the exertion, her chest rising and falling. Her face flamed under my stare. “So late, I mean?”

  Blood pounded through my veins. I wanted nothing more than to close the distance between us and wrap my hands around her waist, caress her sweat-soaked skin with my fingertips. Taste her with my mouth.

  I swallowed. “I had to grab the accounting books for McCrary.”

  She slipped her phone from her leggings, avoiding my gaze. “McCrary?”