"If we don't turn things around, the business will fold in a matter of months. We'll lose the house, too." His dad looked down at the ground. "We've tried to come up with ideas to get more students in, but numbers are still falling. Luc's job is marketing. If anyone can perform a miracle, it's him."
Adam snorted. "You should have told me how bad things were sooner. I could have done something to help."
"Done what, exactly?" his dad asked. "You've already picked up extra classes."
Adam looped the towel over his shoulder and drank from his bottle again, as he gathered his thoughts. They'd let the other two dance teachers go a couple of months earlier and he and his parents had picked up the extra lessons. He hadn't asked for any more money, to cover the extra hours he was working. He'd known things were tough. He just hadn't realised how dire the situation was.
"Can't we get someone else to help?" he asked eventually. "Does it have to be Luc?"
His dad shrugged. "Can you think of anyone else who'll give us their time for free?"
Sighing, Adam shook his head. "He's not staying at the house, is he?"
His dad's desperate expression gave him the answer he hadn't wanted.
"Be nice," his dad warned. "I don't want any animosity between you two."
Adam held his arms out. "If there is, it's on him. He's the one who turned into a prize jerk for no reason."
He and Luc had been close once—best friends even—and then suddenly, around fourteen, Luc had changed. On good days, he'd given Adam the cold shoulder. On bad days, he'd been nothing short of a mean-spirited bully. By the time Luc had gone to university, they hadn't even been on speaking terms.
"Adam..." His dad sounded weary, like he was ready to give up.
"I'll be civil," Adam said through gritted teeth.
"That'll do, I guess. Come on, let's lock up and head home."
***
Adam had always wanted the dance school to be successful—his parents had put everything into it after retiring from professional dancing—so he'd trained to teach there. The trade-off for helping his parents, was not being able to afford to move into his own place, but he was fairly cool with the situation; it wasn't like they set a curfew or demanded to know what he was doing. He was free to come and go as he liked and didn't have to pay rent or bills, which made up for not getting a great wage for teaching for them. Although, after the conversation with his dad, he wondered if he should be chipping in somehow. Maybe he could offer to pay for the weekly shopping or take over one of the bills.
He headed straight up to his room, grabbing the A4 envelope that had arrived that morning on his way up the stairs. He'd recognised the handwriting, which is why he hadn't opened it earlier, when he’d been in front of his parents. His room hadn't changed much from when he'd been in high school, except he'd taken down the embarrassing posters of bands and replaced them with pictures of famous ballets. The faded carpet was worn and in need of replacement and the red walls could have done with brightening up, but neither thing bothered him enough to fork out the cash to get it done. All the furniture was pretty much the same, including the desk he'd done his homework at. About the only change was that he'd upgraded his bed to a double. Not that he needed the space, because he never brought guys home. There was something seriously uncomfortable about being with a guy when his parents were in the house, especially if they were in their bedroom, which was directly beneath his room; it didn't help set the mood at all.
He sat down at his desk and carefully tore open the envelope. Inside, he found a programme for a ballet of Beauty and the Beast, with a Post-it note stuck on the front:
—I'm moving up. Any chance you could come catch one of the shows? Mason.
Adam's chest quivered with excitement as he leafed through the programme until he found the cast list. He scanned the characters until he found Mason's name. He was dancing the Beast's manservant and he was also listed as the understudy for the Prince. He found himself grinning on Mason's behalf. It was about time his friend rose up from chorus parts.
They'd trained together and, when Luc had turned into a prize prick, Mason had become his closest friend. Then they'd become more. Much more. They'd shared the same dream of becoming professional dancers and had auditioned together for several companies. They'd even managed to get into the same touring company, Emotion In Motion, which Mason still danced for. But then Adam had realised his parents needed him to help with the dance school, so he'd kissed Mason goodbye and set both his dream and his lover aside.
Their break-up had been amicable and they kept in touch. Adam hoped they would always be friends, but they'd both known they couldn't make a long-distance relationship work. Especially not with Mason's gruelling schedule during the week and the weekend hours Adam had to put in at the dance studio.
Adam turned to the back page of the programme and scanned the tour dates. There were a couple that he might be able to make if his parents could let him off teaching for a night. He'd have to travel and stay overnight in a hotel, but neither of those points were problematic. He booted up his computer and then fired off an email to Mason, assuring him he'd make a show if he could. He really wanted to catch up with him and see his friend dance again.
Yet being pleased for Mason made his heart ache with regret. He looked around his room, at the pictures of famous male dancers and the ballets they'd been in. The hours he spent dancing alone in the studio couldn't make up for the thrill of being on stage, dancing for an audience. It was what he'd hungered for. Part of him still did.
Not that he didn't enjoy teaching. There was joy to be found in that, too. But it wasn't the same. Nothing could compete with being on stage. He'd never done it professionally, but he'd taken part in enough dance festivals to have experienced the adrenaline rush as he danced. He remembered the way his heart rate would spike when the audience applauded or cheered him and how nervous he'd been when waiting for the judge to announce the winners. He'd kept all his medals and trophies, though they hadn't been on show in a long time. His dad had never really liked the idea of any of his students doing festivals, let alone his son, so eventually Adam had stopped entering them.
With a sigh, he added the dates of the shows he might be able to make to his calendar, with a question mark beside each entry. Then he added the programme to the pile in the bottom drawer of his desk: all the shows Mason had been in since he'd joined his company, three years earlier. All the shows Adam could have been in, if he'd been selfish, like Luc, who hadn't given a shit about anyone but himself. Luc had left and barely been in contact with them since. He sent cards for each of their birthdays and called at Christmas, but that was about it. He'd broken their parents’ hearts, yet he was the one they'd turned to. They'd spoken to Luc about the state the dance school was in before they'd spoken to him and that stung.
Adam really wasn't looking forward to seeing Luc again. But if he could help their parents turn the school around, he'd grit his teeth and bear his presence. Hopefully, it wouldn't be for long and then Luc would fuck off back to his high-powered job and his glitzy lifestyle. Adam didn't need his stepbrother back in his life. Didn't want him back in his life. But for his parents' happiness? He'd put up with anything.
Chapter Three
Luc
Luc had gotten rid of his car when he moved into the city centre, so he had to take the train to get to his parents. Parking was too expensive and he was within walking distance of pretty much everything he needed. He hadn't been sure how long to pack for. A week? A month? He'd eventually packed a couple of weeks' worth of clothes in a large suitcase. If he stayed longer, he was pretty sure he'd be able to do laundry at his parents' house.
He'd explained the situation to Adrianna and she'd told him to telecommute on the days he could. The days he couldn't she'd chalk up as annual leave, reminding him yet again that he didn't take enough of it anyway. She'd been very cool about the whole thing, for which he'd been incredibly grateful.
His parents were waiti
ng for him on the other side of the ticket barrier as his train arrived. He hadn't been home since he'd moved out four years ago. His parents had visited him every few months and they'd talked on the phone sporadically. Communication had never been his strong point, but he'd made sure not to lose touch completely. He hadn't wanted to become distant from his family, but it had been easier than facing his feelings for Adam.
He was glad his stepbrother wasn't with them. He wasn't ready to come face to face with him yet; even the thought of it made him sweat.
"Good trip?" His mum asked, as she hugged him tightly.
"Long. I'm tired now. And hungry. I could murder some of your homemade lasagne," Luc grinned.
His dad took the suitcase from him. "Adam said he'd throw a cottage pie together for us."
"I could cook lasagne for tomorrow's lunch, though," his mum said quickly.
Christ. Did she think he'd be disappointed? He'd only be trying to cut through some of the palpable tension between them. He had forgotten that they ate big at lunchtime, rather than dinnertime, though. Probably because dancing—even if it was only teaching dancing—on a full stomach was a bad idea.
"Cottage pie sounds great. I guess Adam finally learned how to cook, huh?"
The last time he'd been home, just before his finals, Adam's idea of cooking had been heating up beans on the stove and burning toast.
"He pulls his weight." His dad gestured towards the exit. "The car's this way."
Luc's mum engaged him in small talk, whilst his dad drove them all home. He wasn't surprised that his dad was mostly silent. That had been one of his first impressions of Ken, even before he'd started seeing his mum, that he was the strong, silent type. Totally different than his biological father, who had yelled at his mum pretty much every night until she'd eventually had enough and walked out, taking five-year-old Luc with her.
"I've done some research," Luc told her. "I made a list of all the other dance schools in the area and checked out their websites to get a feel for what sort of ethos they're trying to put across. Then I grouped them into schools that focus purely on exam work, like yourselves; those that focus on festivals and shows; those that focus on technique but don't worry about exams and then ones that do a mix of exam, festivals, and shows."
"Wow," his mum said, her eyes growing wide. "That's a lot."
Luc shook his head. "It's just the start. I need to spend more time analysing it all. You might need to consider a change of direction, though."
He noticed Ken's knuckles becoming white as he gripped the steering wheel. He knew Ken had always had fixed goals for the dance school. They'd entered dancers into festivals at one point; Luc remembered Adam entering several. But in the end, Ken had decided that splitting the focus of the dancers was counterproductive and they'd stopped doing them.
"I know exam prep is important to you," Luc began.
"We're giving youngsters the skills they need to become professional dancers," his mum said. "Technique and discipline is more important than putting on glitzy shows. Only parents and relatives attend anyway."
"Not to mention thrusting kids on stage too young can do more harm than good," Ken growled.
"Some kids thrive on it," Luc pointed out; Adam had.
"And for others, the pressure to win is too intense," his mum said. "Those things become so competitive. Pushy parents are never a pretty sight, but festivals tend to bring out the worst in them."
Luc clamped his lips together. He understood their reservations, but they were also missing out on students who were interested in both festivals and exams. Not to mention the additional revenue from private lessons. To attract more students, all they'd have to do was choreograph winning routines for their existing students. But then, that would make it all about the competition, about winning. Luc had to agree that that had the potential to create a toxic environment, where only the best of the best thrived and young hopes were dashed. Then again, the reality was that no matter how good the teachers, only a fraction of the students would want to go professional and not all of them would be good enough, or resilient enough, to make it.
During the rest of the drive, he asked them about their current marketing strategies and when they'd last updated their website, which in his opinion was very tired. The longer they talked, the more he realised he'd taken on a mammoth task.
He recognised the street his parents lived on as soon as they turned into it. The only change was in the cars parked on each side of the road. All the houses were the same, with their small, neat front gardens. He guessed some of the people inside must have changed, but he’d never been that friendly with most of their neighbours anyway. They lived in a middle terrace, which was four storeys high, including a cellar, which had been converted into a dance studio, complete with a mirrored wall and dance barres. His room, like Adam's, had been on the top floor. He remembered the steep stairs being a pain in the ass, especially once he'd started going out drinking with his mates. Several times he'd not bothered and had passed out on the sofa in the living room instead.
His stomach rolled as he got out of the car and followed his parents inside. It hadn't changed either. The wallpaper was still the same, if a little more faded than Luc remembered. The hallway was decorated in cream, with tiny red and pink flowers. The carpet was red, the exact same shade as the flowers. The juicy scent of beef and gravy hit him almost instantly, causing him to inhale deeply. It was delicious, yet it made his stomach roll more, maybe because he knew that following the scent would lead him to Adam.
"I'll take my case up to my room," he said, reaching out to take it from his dad.
Ken held onto it. "It can wait." He gestured through to the kitchen. "Don't you want to say hi to Adam?"
No. "Sure." Luc forced a smile onto his lips.
Ken parked the suitcase at the foot of the stairs and then wandered through to the kitchen. "Smells good. Almost ready?"
Luc didn't hear Adam's response, even though Ken's voice had rung out loud and clear. He took a deep breath to give himself some courage and stepped forward, but stopped when his mum touched his arm. He turned to look at her, her forehead and the skin around her eyes crinkling as she frowned up at him.
"The feud between you and Adam..."
Luc shrugged. "What feud? As far as I'm concerned, it's history."
There had never been a feud. He'd acted like a dick towards Adam, destroying the steadfast friendship they'd enjoyed for over half their lives.
The way her eyebrows pinched together told him that Adam probably didn't feel the same way. Did Adam still hate him for all the stupid things he'd said and done? There was only one way to find out. The dose of courage from his first deep breath had vanished, thanks to his mum's interruption, so he took another and then strode into the kitchen.
He exhaled sharply as soon as he saw Adam, the fucked-up emotions immediately swirling within him, even though he'd hoped to God they wouldn't.
His younger stepbrother was in the process of setting the table. He was wearing skinny jeans and a tight-fitting T-shirt, which clung to his defined muscles and showed off his lithe body. Fuck. He was even hotter than he'd been at twenty, when Luc had last seen him. His dark hair was spiked with gel. His face was half angles, half soft lines, from his long, straight nose, to his sharp, high cheekbones and his round jaw and thick lips.
Shit. Luc jerked his gaze away and stared down at the floor. He couldn't let himself think that way about Adam. He shifted his jeans as surreptitiously as he could and then pulled out a chair and sat down, shuffling as far under the table as he could, to hide his wildly inappropriate desire.
"Hi," he said, hoping his voice didn't sound as high-pitched in reality as it had in his head. He forced himself to lift his head and look directly at his stepbrother.
Adam glared at him, his dark eyes smouldering with barely concealed anger. "Hi." He thumped a plate down on the placemat in front of Luc. "Dinner's almost ready." Then he turned away and started to make drinks.
Luc still remembered the exact second he'd realised he felt something stronger than brotherly love for Adam. Even at fourteen, he'd known no one—especially not Adam—would understand. Nor would anyone care about the four letters that made his attraction fractionally less wrong. They were stepbrothers. Their parents had married when he was six; Adam had been five. They'd grown up together. Called each other's parents Mum and Dad. Called each other brother. And, for the longest of times, they'd been closer than any biological siblings he knew. He'd hoped, prayed, that his feelings for Adam would have vanished in the four years they'd been apart, but his aching cock told him otherwise. If he was going to stay and help his parents, he was going to have to get his lust under control. Quickly.
Chapter Four
Adam
Being civil was going to be harder than Adam had anticipated. Just the sight of Luc made him feel like a kid again. It brought back memories of crying where no one could see him, because he didn't understand why his brother—his best friend—had humiliated him at school again. Those cruel words had cut so deeply and now they were all flooding back into Adam's mind, as he glared at Luc over the kitchen table. During dinner, everything about Luc irritated him: the way his dark hair was immaculately swept back, with not a strand out of place; the way he wouldn't lift his dark eyes to meet his stare; the designer clothes Luc wore that gave an impression of casual, even though the whole outfit had clearly been carefully chosen. Christ, even the way Luc's mouth moved as he chewed and swallowed the food that Adam had cooked annoyed him. It was a face he could easily punch, but wouldn't. Luc was here to help their parents and Adam had to put up with that.
A Dance For Two Page 2