by Jayne Frost
Lenny shook his head as he offered me a hand. “You’re too nice, Ms. Gelsey. If you don’t mind me saying so.”
I didn’t. But I couldn’t publicly disparage my fellow dancers—even if they deserved it—so I just smiled.
“See you tomorrow, Lenny.”
Shouldering my bag, I dodged cracks in the uneven sidewalk as I headed for the stairs.
Tammy, the house manager who handled the business for the two brownstones the Company owned, waved to me from next door. “Gelsey? Can you come here, please?”
I bit down a scowl when I thought about walking the extra thirty steps. My back was killing me. Another secret I had to keep.
Fastening on a tight-lipped smile, I trudged over. “What’s up, Tammy?”
“You are so cute with that accent. My parents used to take us to Myrtle Beach in the summer on vacation and you sound just like that.”
I didn’t. In fact, my Texas twang was barely there. And South Carolinians sounded much different. But I just shrugged demurely, having heard the same comment a dozen times since I’d moved here.
“All your stuff is in your new place,” Tammy said cheerily. “Do you have time to do a walk-through?”
I looked down at the key she’d pressed in my hand. “Walk-through?”
“Yeah.” She tilted her head. “You did know it was today, right?”
“I think you have me confused with someone else.” I tried to hand her back the key. “I’m sharing a room with Layla and April next door.”
“You were,” she said slowly in that way some New Yorkers did when encountering someone from another state. Like there was a language barrier. “But I got an order when you moved in to clean up a single unit with a private bathroom. A year’s lease paid in advance.”
My heart swelled as I blinked at her. Ivan. It had to be him.
“I didn’t know,” I said, unable to hide my excitement. “My coach must’ve set it up.”
I was already reaching for my phone to call Ivan when Tammy hooked her arm through mine. “Not your coach, silly. That rock star boyfriend of yours. Miles Cooper.” She pulled me toward the door. “You have to see the furniture. And the bed. Oh my God. I’ve never felt a mattress like that. He must be planning on visiting often.”
My stomach turned as she waggled her eyebrows and yanked me over the threshold.
“I don’t think so.”
The confession slipped out before I could reel it back in. But Tammy didn’t notice. And once we were inside, it didn’t matter anyway, since my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth.
The brownstones were identical. But not. This one was more elegant, with higher end furnishings in rich shades of cream and scarlet. And no clutter.
“That’s the living room,” Tammy said as she dragged me out of the foyer. “Mira doesn’t like to figure out what belongs to whom, so make sure you don’t leave your stuff in the common area.”
I grabbed the polished banister for balance as we ascended the stairs. “Who…who is Mira?”
“The maid. It’s included with your lease. The paperwork is in your room. You can eat next door if you want, but most of the dancers in this building use a service for meals. That’s an add-on too. But your boyfriend paid for the full package.”
I licked my dry lips. “F-Full package?”
“Maid service. Special meals and grocery delivery. I’ll take care of that for you if you give me a list. Laundry and dry cleaning…”
Tammy continued to tick off items as we made our way to the bedroom tucked in the corner on the second floor. She chuckled when I just stared at her.
“It’s locked,” she said as she pried the key from my hand. “Your man has good taste. I’ll give him that.”
She threw the door open, and my jaw came unhinged.
The room was bigger than the one I shared with April and Layla and painted a sunny shade of pale yellow. And the bed. Four posters with a massive headboard fashioned from dark wood. It was Miles’s taste. Expensive and on the masculine side. But the comforter was snow white—down—and incredibly fluffy. Just like his.
With a lump the size of a baseball lodged in my throat, I ran my fingers over the matching dresser. All my stuff was here. Including the pictures of my mother and Ivan in the pewter frames I’d kept on my small nightstand next door.
“How many dancers live here?” I asked, meeting Tammy’s gaze in the mirror.
“Four. Plus Kieran.” She pointed to the ceiling. “His room is right above yours.”
I nodded, still too shocked to piece together my thoughts.
Why would Miles do this? It went far beyond keeping up appearances.
A parting gift.
And one I wouldn’t be sending back. Even if I could. The hardest thing about the move so far was the living arrangements. Sasha and her minions had the run of the other brownstone, and even in my room, I felt unwelcome. I’d get some shit for this. But it would be worth it.
“Oh!” Tammy clapped her hands. “I almost forgot!”
She went to the closet—a walk-in that looked empty with my sparse wardrobe hanging from the dowels—and retrieved a box from the shelf.
“This came for you today. I had to sign for it.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “It was insured for forty thousand bucks. From Sotheby’s. In London.”
Taking a step back like she was offering me a live grenade, I shook my head. “I…uh….”
“Take it,” she urged and, when I did, she produced a small box cutter from the pocket of her hoodie. She smiled sheepishly when I raised a brow. “I’ve been waiting all day to find out what’s inside.”
From the look on her face, she wouldn’t leave until I opened it. Taking a seat in the wing-backed chair next to the window, I proceeded to slice open the tape securing the flaps.
After digging through layers of bubble wrap and tissue, I pulled out a polished cherry wood box. It looked old. Finely crafted. An antique. With a rose inlaid on the lid fashioned from lighter woods. Birch and ash, maybe.
Tears misted my eyes as I ran my hand over the flower.
“Oh my God,” Tammy breathed, ducking her head to get a better look. “It’s gorgeous. Aren’t you going to look inside?”
I wanted to save that for when I was alone. But Tammy didn’t get the hint. And I didn’t want to be rude, so I carefully lifted the lid.
There was a card on heavy stock. Some kind of authentication from Sotheby’s. I handed it to my nosy house manager and then plucked the little envelope taped to one of the sides. A tiny brass key fell out.
“It’s a music box,” Tammy said, reading the card. “Seventy notes. Crafted in 1890.” Her breath caught, and my gaze shot to hers. “For Pyotr Tchaikovsky. It was part of his private collection.”
She continued to babble while I searched for a place to fit the key. What was left of my heart squeezed painfully when Swan Lake filled the air. I had no words. But one. Why?
Tammy clasped my hand, smiling. “Miles must really love you.”
As if to protest the lie, the tear dancing on my lash broke free and spilled the truth onto my cheek. But I just nodded and swiped it away.
For a little while longer, I wanted to pretend.
Miles
Bringing the bottle of beer to my lips, I read the text from Gelsey for the millionth time.
One word: Why?
I’d received the email from the property manager with a receipt for the lease payment on Gelsey’s new apartment. It had taken all my resolve to respond “no” when she’d asked if I wanted to be listed as a tenant.
I did.
Hell, I’d live in Gelsey’s closet if it were an option.
But it wasn’t. So fuck me.
Dropping onto the bed in the pool house with the sheets that still smelled like lavender, I stared at the screen while I tried to think up a viable response to her question.
Because I love you.
Because I need you.
Because I can’t fucking thin
k without you.
All true. But none of them appropriate.
Shaking my head, I downed the rest of my Shiner Bock. No whiskey tonight. I had an appointment tomorrow at the studio on Sixth. Taryn wanted me to consult on something. And I couldn’t show up with liquor seeping from my pores. She’d have me back at Millwood before sunset.
Maybe that’s what you need.
“Fuck off,” I said to the voice in my head as I flopped onto my back, throwing an arm over my eyes.
God, I was tired. Surprising, since I’d slept all day. Weary. That was a better word.
Semantics.
“I said: fuck off!”
As if to punish me, the voice went eerily quiet. And that was worse. The only other time that had happened was right before the overdose. Hell, it was the reason for the overdose. When there was no one to talk you out of it, not even yourself, suicide didn’t sound that bad.
Is that what Blake had felt when I didn’t answer his calls?
Stop.
I rolled my eyes. “Easy for you to say, bro. You’re already dead.”
And I wondered then, if I was talking to Rhenn, or to the part of me that had downed the pills. Was he still lurking inside with dark thoughts and darker intentions?
I shuddered, then forced myself upright, my phone falling to the floor with a thud.
I still needed to respond to Gelsey. Or did I? If I just ignored her, she’d go away. Pride. The girl had it in spades. She wouldn’t message me again.
With a sigh, I reached down to grab my phone. I wasn’t ready to break our tenuous connection just yet.
Pathetic.
Ignoring the jab, I patted the hardwood, but came up with nothing. Maybe that was the universe’s way of saying I shouldn’t drunk text.
Fuck the universe.
Sliding to the floor, I ducked my head and peered around under the bed. I spotted my phone, but also a small black notebook. Tattered. Gelsey’s book of poems.
I don’t keep a diary. I’m not that interesting. Just this.
Recalling her smile and the look in her eyes when she’d shown me the little book, I ran my fingers over the handwritten G on the cover, right under the sketch of the ballerina. And I laughed. Gelsey had said she had no talent beyond dancing, but the drawing was beautiful. Simple but elegant. Like her.
After crawling back onto the bed, I rested against the lavender-scented pillow and opened the book. Thumbing to the first page, I glanced at the date in the corner. August, 2013.
Each day when I look in the mirror
I fight the ghost inside the glass
Dressed in pink
She wears my smile
And it isn’t her whispered lies I fear
But her veiled truth
“You’re not good enough, and you never will be”
Tossing the book aside, I scrubbed a hand over my face and tried to erase the mental picture of a sixteen-year-old Gelsey, alone in a shitty apartment.
At least I’d changed that much for her. Her room in the brownstone was everything. Top-end furnishings. A six-thousand-dollar mattress. And the music box.
But she’s still alone.
“For now.”
Flipping onto my stomach, I buried my nose in the pillow. And like the fucking masochist I was, I reached for the notebook again.
This time, I flipped to the end. The final entry, dated the last night Gelsey was here.
Lightning on my skin
Thunder in my soul
Heavy on my heart
You were my perfect storm
And she was mine.
Miles
I had it coming, so I tried not to wince as Taryn read me the riot act in her office at the studio. “Don’t even try to tell me you’re not hung over,” she accused as she paced in a tight circle behind me.
I spun my chair around and shrugged into my cup of coffee, which seemed to enrage her even more.
She tossed me a withering glare, and my balls shrank up, making a valiant attempt to crawl back inside my body.
“I had a few beers last night,” I finally said when it was apparent she wouldn’t let it go. “I’m dealing with some shit, okay? Not a big deal. I’m ready to work.”
Taryn eased onto the couch, stunned by my admission. And I got it. A few years ago, I was all about the denial. But not now.
“Is it Gelsey?” Tipping forward, she tried to catch my eyes, which were currently glued to the contents of my coffee cup. “Or Blake?”
I met her gaze with a heavy sigh. “Both,” I admitted in a solemn tone. “I’m trying to get a handle on things, T-Rex. But I don’t know if I ever will.”
Fear ravaged her features. Pure and unadulterated. She wanted an assurance. Something she could tuck away that proved I was all better. Like one of those chips her boyfriend carried from Narcotics Anonymous.
Thirty days clean. One year clean. A hundred years clean.
But I’d never be clean. Because what I had was in my mind. My broken, damaged, splintered soul. Passed down from my father.
“Have you talked to Dr. Sheppard?”
Did begging for more anti-depressants count? Probably not. “No.”
She was out of her seat in a flash, determination replacing the fear when she looked down at me. “You have to. You can’t just give up.”
Anger seeped from the hollow place in my chest, spreading to my limbs. “Does it look like I’m giving up? I’m here, aren’t I?”
Crouching so we were almost at eye level, she took my hands. “You’re here because I’m safe. I’ll never walk away from you. Tori will never walk away from you. Blake? He idolizes you. But Gelsey…you’re afraid of her. What she’s going to do if you tell her the truth.”
I shook my head, a chuckle bubbling from my lips. Bitter and ironic. “I’m not afraid of what she’s going to do, Taryn. I already know. She’ll stick.”
Confusion darkened her already stormy blue eyes. “Then why?”
“Do you remember what it was like to find me on the bathroom floor?” She flinched as if I’d slapped her, then nodded jerkily. “Would you ever wish that on anyone else?” Her lips parted, but I squeezed her fingers before she could speak. “Don’t. You can’t tell me it won’t happen again when even I don’t know that.”
“But…your meds.”
She looked so lost, blinking up at me for answers. I had them, but not the ones she wanted to hear.
“What if they stop working?”
“They won’t.” The determination in her voice was so convincing, I almost believed it myself.
“I’m sure Blake thought the same thing. And look at how that turned out.”
“You’re not him.”
Easing back, I kept our fingers twined. “No. I’m not. But I can’t risk it. I love her so much, Taryn. So fucking much. More than…”
I didn’t mean to say it. Or even think it. But it was true. I’d loved Paige with all my heart. But what I felt for Gelsey was different. More. She wasn’t just the sun. She was the whole sky.
Taryn blinked at me, her shoulders curving inward the way they always did when she thought of Paige. It was her tell. Like she had to protect herself from the memories. The loss and the pain.
She swallowed hard and took a shuddering breath. “Even more reason you should talk to Sheppard. Please. Just talk to him.”
Suddenly we were back in that room at Breckenridge Hospital. She’d saved me then by begging me to save myself. I’d done it. But she’d paid the freight when I’d pushed her away. So I owed her now. One final gesture and we’d be even.
I let my head fall back. “All right, Taryn. You win. I’ll talk to him.”
She rested her cheek on my knee, and my hand found her sable locks.
“When?” she asked softly.
Always pushing, this girl. I wish I had half her strength. And a fraction of her belief.
“Soon.”
Gelsey
I pulled my feet from the bucket of ice and patted them
dry with a soft towel. Calluses had begun to form in a couple of spots since I hadn’t had a pedicure in three weeks. A few of the dancers had a salon they went to in the city, but I’d put off making an appointment. I was still pondering the idea of getting a tech to come to the brownstone. It was one of the extras I was afforded, thanks to Miles. An add-on.
He’d given me everything on the list. And according to Tammy, he’d pre-paid, in case I got it in my head that I wanted to decline any of the services.
I hadn’t gotten up the courage to ask how much it cost. Thousands, I would imagine.
And after the appearance I’d made at the Plaza, I now had donors coming out of my ears, filling my bank account with more money than I could spend.
I’d set up a meeting with Tatiana to discuss spreading the wealth to some of the other apprentices. She wasn’t pleased.
“Reeks of communism,” was her observation when I’d brought up the plan.
I didn’t see it that way, though. The only reason my coffers were so full was because I was Katya’s daughter. A shiny new penny for the patrons to pin their hopes on.
For years, Ivan had shielded me. What I thought was indifference was really protection.
But now, there was so much riding on my first performance. I felt it—the heavy blanket of expectation—every time I set foot on the dance floor.
Jerking my head up when I heard a rap on the door, I quickly covered my feet with the towel.
“Come in!”
Expecting to find Mira with my dinner, I blinked in surprise when Kieran strolled in with my tray. His gaze coasted over the pumice stone, cuticle scissors, and other tools of the trade.
“Don’t you have someone who takes care of all that?” he said, sliding my dinner onto the table between the two chairs by the window. “A princess like you?”
I hobbled to my feet. “I’m not a princess,” I called over my shoulder on the way to the bathroom to wash my hands.