ANOTHER SKY

by Jayne Frost

Dazed, I tried to form a question, but she was already gone.

  As far as I knew, my schedule, fan mail, and all the other mundane shit I didn’t want to deal with was handled by some junior nobody.

  Snatching my phone from the cup holder, I scrolled to my contacts and found the main number for Twin Souls.

  I cleared my throat when the receptionist answered. “Yeah, this is Todd with the…uh…Houston Review Daily Gazette.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking my head

  Really, dude?

  “How may I help you?” she replied sweetly, like I hadn’t just totally combined at least three newspapers from different cities.

  “I’d like to schedule an interview with Miles Cooper for our publication.” When she didn’t say anything, I added weakly, “From Damaged.”

  “Yes, of course.” Her tone turned decidedly brusque. “All inquiries for Mr. Cooper are handled directly by his manager.”

  “And who would that be?”

  “Taryn Ayers. She’s unavailable, but I can patch you through to her assistant.”

  My stomach sank “No…Uh…Thanks anyway.”

  Ending the call, I felt the air leeching from my lungs, and I tipped forward, resting my forehead against the steering wheel.

  How did I not know this?

  A minute or an hour later, traffic from the busy street filtered into the cab of the truck, and I remembered why I was here. My leg throbbed, keeping time with my heart as I eased to my feet. Daryl pushed off the bumper of his black Jeep, and I threw him a glare when he fell into step behind me. “Keep your distance, bro,” I warned. “I ain’t in the mood.”

  Gelsey

  Standing at the front desk at Austin Orthopedic Center, I gave Cassidy a tight smile as she swiped my bank card through the reader.

  Please.

  Holding my breath, I silently prayed there was enough money in my account to cover the co-pay. I didn’t want to take advantage of Dr. Reber’s generous nature any more than I already had. Half the time, he didn’t charge me for the cortisone shots he administered to treat my bad back. Or the electric stimulation he used when my tendonitis flared up. He’d even given me a portable TENs unit I could use at home.

  While Cassidy fumbled with the numbers on the keypad, I looked around for my best friend. Shannon was one of the kinesiologists on staff, and I was hoping she’d be the one to check me out. But she was stuck in a consult with one of the orthopedists.

  I jerked when the machine spit out my receipt.

  Thank you, God.

  Cassidy tore off the slip and slid it across the counter with a smile. “Just need your John Hancock.”

  I picked up the pen with the flower attached to the top and quickly signed my name. My stomach had just started to unwind when Cassidy hummed. “It looks like Dr. Reber has requested an MRI. Where do you want to have that done?”

  I blinked at her. An MRI? I couldn’t afford an MRI. My attention slid to the medical release that Dr. Reber had signed, sitting next to Cassidy’s can of Dr. Pepper. Without it, Ivan wouldn’t let me dance. Nobody in our company was allowed on the floor without a yearly certificate of fitness.

  Swallowing my nerves, I licked my dry lips. “Um…Did he say why? I mean, he signed my release.”

  Cursing the tremble in my voice, I clenched my fingers into fists at my sides and tried to look nonchalant while Cassidy opened my file to investigate. “Looks like it’s just a precaution. He wants to have the bump on your knee scanned.” She offered an apologetic smile. “Better safe than sorry.”

  The bump on my knee was tendonitis. I’d stake my life on it. But apparently, Dr. Reber wasn’t willing to take that bet. And I got it. Eleven years ago, I’d stood right in his office with my mother when she’d come in to have a lump on her shin examined.

  “I’m sure it’s just an old injury from my performance days flaring up. It goes down a little when I ice it. But it always comes back.”

  Because cancer was funny that way.

  Insidious.

  Stealthy.

  Dr. Reber had ordered an MRI then too. Or maybe it was a CAT scan. Not that it had mattered. The bone cancer had already spread. And Mama died eleven months later.

  Of course, Cassidy knew that. Everyone did. Living in the shadow of Katya Orlov was hard enough. But living in the shadow of her death was even worse.

  Shannon slipped through a side door, and when our gazes collided, her steps faltered. But she quickly recovered, pinning on a smile for her coworker.

  “Hey, Cass. Mr. Mendoza is in exam room four. He needs some samples of that new medication the Pfizer rep dropped off. It’s all in his chart. Why don’t you take care of that and I’ll finish with Gelsey. We have lunch plans anyway.”

  I nodded a little too enthusiastically, grateful I’d have my best friend to help me find a solution to this dilemma.

  Cassidy popped out of her chair, pulling a ten spot from the pocket of her scrubs. “If y’all are going downstairs, can you get me a chef’s salad with ranch dressing?”

  Shannon rolled her eyes as she took the cash. “That’s not a real salad. You know that, right? You might as well eat a cheeseburger.”

  “Life’s too short to not sample all the things,” Cassidy said as she waltzed off, calling over her shoulder, “Pick up a Snickers bar while you’re at it.”

  Shaking her head, Shannon sank into the chair. “You look a little green. What’s going on?”

  Before I could open my mouth, she flipped open my chart and started reading Dr. Reber’s notes.

  “Why are you doing that?” I hissed. “You didn’t even let me answer.”

  She arched a brow, and I mimicked the gesture. Maybe I’d been evasive in the past. But that was when we were kids. Shannon was three years older, but given my advanced skill as a dancer, we were always in the same classes at the academy. Competing for the same roles. Which hadn’t inspired me to open up about my injuries. Even at eight or nine, I was practiced in the art of keeping quiet. But I was twenty-two now.

  Shannon relented with a sigh, easing back in her seat and folding her hands in her lap. “Proceed.”

  So dramatic.

  Rolling my eyes, I tipped forward and lowered my voice. “Dr. Reber wants me to have an MRI on my knee.” Shannon’s brow lined with worry and I shook my head. “Just as a precaution. He already told me it’s tendonitis. But I need my certificate of fitness for Ivan.”

  “So do the MRI.” I cringed, and she nodded her understanding. “You can’t afford it, right?”

  I offered a weak shrug. “Not right now.”

  Shannon thought about it for a moment, thumbing the corner of my certificate. Even if she offered it to me, I wouldn’t accept. It wasn’t worth risking her job.

  “I got it,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “My buddy Trina works over at Central Texas Imaging. She’s the office manager. You can get it done there.”

  “But—”

  She waved a hand. “I’ll get her to eat the co-pay or let you make payments.”

  As if the matter were settled, Shannon slid the release in front of me.

  My hands flew up, and I took a step back as if the paper had teeth. “No. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

  “Reber didn’t say you had to have the MRI to get the release. He wouldn’t have signed it if he didn’t think you were fit. He’s just being cautious. Because…well, you know…”

  In all the years since my mom’s death, Shannon had never once mentioned the illness that took her life. It was almost like she was afraid that if she spoke that truth then maybe I’d suffer the same fate. But she didn’t have to worry. According to the doctors, my chances of inheriting the disease were slim to none.

  “Thank you,” I said as I tucked the release in my bag.

  She winked and picked up the phone. “Don’t mention it. Give me a minute and I’ll work my magic.”

  Since I didn’t want to eavesdrop, I popped in my earbuds and proceeded to scroll through my pl
aylist. The fist around my heart loosened when “Here Comes the Sun” bled through the tiny speakers. I thought of my mother, and all the times she’d danced around the converted studio in our house without a care for anything but the beat. No pirouettes or leaps. No complicated positions. Just her natural grace. And the Beatles.

  Jerking when I felt a tap on my shoulder, I looked up and met cold brown eyes, a chin carved from granite, and the most incredible full lips I’d ever seen. I fumbled to take out one of my earbuds. “Yes?” I croaked.

  “Do you mind, darlin’? You’re kind of in my way.” When I didn’t immediately jump to do as he asked, his nostrils flared in irritation. “If you’re done gawking, I’d really appreciate it if you’d move your ass.”

  Stunned, I blinked at him. Move my ass? Gorgeous or not, the guy was way out of line.

  Lifting my chin, I gave him a bland stare. “I’ll move when I’m finished. Wait your turn.”

  Shaking my head at his nerve, I shifted my focus back to my best friend, ready for her to excoriate the douchebag for his lack of manners. But she wasn’t paying attention to me. Her eyes were locked on the giant breathing down my neck. And her mouth. I’d never seen it hang open in that particular way.

  The hulk followed my gaze to Shannon who still hadn’t found her voice.

  “Catatonic,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair as he looked around. “That’s just perfect.”

  His jaw set when he spotted Dr. Reber outside an exam room.

  “Wait!” Shannon wheezed, jumping up when he spun in that direction. “You can’t just…”

  Apparently, he could, because he didn’t spare Shannon a glance as he stalked away.

  It was then I noticed the slight limp. And the stiff set of his shoulders. The taut muscles in his back, evident through his form-fitting T-shirt.

  Pain.

  I could read it a mile away.

  Dr. Reber stopped what he was doing and welcomed the guy with a smile before ushering him farther down the hall to his private office.

  “I guess rude works for some people,” I mused, my attention back on Shannon.

  Her mouth was closed now, but her eyes had yet to return to their normal size. “You don’t know who that was?” she asked, incredulous.

  “Not a clue.” My stomach let out a rumble. “Ready to go to lunch?”

  Snorting, she plucked a compact mirror from Cassidy’s top drawer. “That was Miles Cooper. Drummer for Damaged. And I’m not leaving until I see whether they need a kinesiologist to confer on his case.”

  Shrugging, I picked through the jar full of lollipops on the counter, snagging two yellow ones from the bottom. “Well, he’s an asshole. But it seems like he’s hurt. His leg, I think. Or his back. So maybe that’s the reason for the attitude.”

  My hand froze on the cellophane wrapper when I noted Shannon’s look of shock.

  “You really don’t know who Damaged is…er, was?” My flaming cheeks must’ve given me away because she shook her head. “Sheltered little ballerina. You should look them up. Their music was everything.”

  She went back to gazing at her reflection while I fiddled with the wrapper on my lollipop. At times like this, I was painfully aware of how different I was from most women my age. I’d never had a serious boyfriend. Or stepped foot inside a classroom. I knew nothing about pop culture. And the only band I listened to had broken up thirty years before I was born.

  “I think I’m going to head home,” I said, hoisting my bag a little higher on my shoulder.

  Shannon stopped primping. “I probably won’t be but a minute. We can grab something to eat when I’m finished.”

  “Nah.” I shifted my feet. “I’m a little nervous about tomorrow. I want to make a good impression.”

  Silence swelled between us, and I could almost read her thoughts. Don’t get your hopes up. Instead of voicing her concern, she smiled. “You’ll do great, Gels.”

  “Thanks.”

  As I turned to leave, she said, “I’m adding a new Burdenko class to the schedule starting on Wednesday. I could really use your help. Twenty bucks a session.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. Charity. That’s what I’d been reduced to. Shannon didn’t really need an assistant. She was an expert in aquatic rehabilitation. But I was in no position to turn down twenty bucks, so I flashed her a smile over my shoulder. “Sure. Sounds great. I’ll see you then.”

  Miles

  Digging my fingers into my thigh, I watched the clock on the wall in Reber’s office. And I waited. At least I had some privacy. Away from the gawkers. And Daryl. I’d barely managed to slip into the private reception area without him following. And that’s only because he had been a good ten paces behind, and I’d ducked in behind a nurse.

  So now he was stuck in the waiting room. Served him right. Maybe they’d call the cops on his creepy ass when they realized he wasn’t a patient.

  The door swung open, solid wood dragging over thick carpet. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Miles.” Reber scooted behind his desk and took a seat in the ergonomic chair, steaming mug in his hand. “What’s got you so worked up today?”

  He posed the question like we were shooting the breeze. A couple of old pals sharing a cup of coffee. Only, we weren’t friends. And I was anything but relaxed.

  I tossed two prescription bottles on his desk blotter. Pain relievers and antidepressants. “There’s something wrong with my meds. They’re not working.”

  He watched me over the rim of his cup for a long moment before tipping forward to inspect a plate of cookies. “Why would you say that?”

  Because I want to rip your arm off and beat you with it.

  Only the reminder that there were dozens of people on the other side of the closed door kept me from doing it.

  “I don’t know. I’m just…off. I can feel it. And my leg hurts like a bitch.”

  Another pause as he took a large bite. “So you’re in pain. What else do you feel?”

  He seemed more interested in wiping the crumbs from his tie than my answer.

  “Unsettled.”

  He tore himself away from his snack long enough to grab a pen. Relieved, my stomach uncoiled. The peace was short-lived, though. Because instead of reaching for the prescription pad he kept in the silver holder, he opted for a leather-bound notebook. “Unsettled, you say?” He met my gaze. “Tell me about that.”

  If Reber had suddenly taken an interest in psychology, I wasn’t going to be his guinea pig. I had a shrink. He knew that. The two of them had worked together since the beginning.

  Clinging to the last piece of whatever was keeping me from crawling across the desk and choking him out, I forced a smile. The kind that said, “Nothing to see here. I’m right as rain. Ignore the bulging vein on my forehead.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. I just need you to switch up the pain meds and up the dosage on my anti-depressants.”

  Contemplating, he tapped the pen against his lips. “So you’re depressed?”

  “No,” I bit out. “I’m fucking pissed and I’m in pain.”

  The declaration flew out of my mouth with zero thought. But it was true. I was pissed. Mad as hell and I didn’t know why.

  Switching gears, he folded his hands in front of him. “Tell me about the concert. How did the leg hold up?”

  “Fine. Not a twinge. It didn’t start hurting until after the concert. But it’s not just that. I feel like I’m crawling out of my fucking skin. I’ve been trying to do everything right. And now—”

  He held up a finger, and I paused. Was I talking too fast? Racing mind. Jumbled thoughts. I remembered that from before the overdose.

  “Miles?”

  From the look on Reber’s face, I’d missed something. A question, maybe. I dug my fingers into my thigh again, the shooting pain forcing me to focus. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

  “What’s everything?”

  For a minute, I wished he’d go back to the cookie and stop trying to analyze me.


  I blew out a breath. “All the pre-show interviews. The press. I wanted to make sure the show was a success. And it was. But now my leg is fucked. And my head is fucked. So if you can just switch my pills, or up my dosage or whatever, so I can…”

  My tongue tied into a knot as I tried to finish the thought. But I really didn’t know what came next.

  “Miles…” Reber shook his head. “There are no magic pills. You’re angry. I get that. You have a good support system at Millwood, and I encourage you to keep pushing forward with Dr. Sheppard. We’ve conferred on your case a great deal throughout the years. But I can tell you with a relative degree of certainty that depression isn’t the issue.”

  Instead of storming out, which I really wanted to do, I sat back. “Explain.”

  His lip twitched into a half-smile like I’d made his fucking day. “After the accident you were depressed. And because of the depression, you withdrew. From your family. Your friends. From life. You didn’t participate in any form of rehabilitation. Almost as if you didn’t care about getting better. That was a choice.” He shrugged. “This is also a choice.”

  “Yeah, right.” I scoffed. “You think I’d choose to be angry?”

  “Anger is a part of life. The life you decided you didn’t want five years ago.” I bristled at his not so veiled reference to my overdose, but he pushed on, despite my warning glare. “You weren’t ready to join the fight back then. You didn’t care about your leg. Or the pain. You were content to live with it. But now you’re not. The problem is, you just can’t decide you want your life back and expect everything to fall into place.” He chuckled good-naturedly. “Did you really think you could bang on your drums for two hours, with zero preparation, and not suffer any consequences?”

  The weight of his stare forced me to look away.

  “I think that’s really why you’re angry,” he continued. “You made this effort to move on, finally, and your body won’t cooperate. But now that you’re ready, there are things we can do about that.”

  We. There was no “we.” There was only me. Because Reber was right about one thing: I’d pushed everyone else away. Tori. Taryn. All my other friends. Even my mama. Not that she’d minded.