ANOTHER SKY

by Jayne Frost

Glancing over the French milled soap and two-hundred-and-seventy-five-dollar bottle of Le Mer moisturizer on my sink, I scowled. The upscale toiletries had shown up in a gift basket a couple of days ago.

  Another gift from Miles, I assumed. But there was no card. And since he’d never responded to my first text, I didn’t bother to send another. The man had more money than God. But all I’d ever wanted was his heart.

  I took a seat across from Kieran, who was digging into his own prepared meal. He snickered when I peeled the foil off my plate.

  “You’re right. You’re not a princess.” He waved his fork over my pan seared ahi tuna, fingerling potatoes, and broccolini. “Because that’s a meal fit for a queen.”

  I looked at my food. “It was on the list,” I said quietly.

  “I’m sure it is. But you do know that your list is a different list than the rest of ours.” Chuckling, he reached across and snagged a fingerling potato. He groaned loudly as he chewed, his eyes rolling back in his head.

  Sipping from my bottle of mineral water, I waited for the last shudders of his foodgasm to subside. “What do you mean?”

  Incredulity painted his features. “You don’t know?” I shook my head. “The items on your ‘list,’” he used air quotes around the word, “are comprised from the best restaurants in town. Whatever you’re doing to make your boyfriend jump through those kind of hoops, you better keep it up.”

  He speared a piece of my broccolini while I did my best to melt into my chair.

  “I left,” I blurted, tossing my linen napkin over the plate.

  His brows drew together. “Come again?”

  Fighting the burn in my throat, I lifted my chin. “I left. That’s what I did. Miles and I aren’t together anymore.”

  Easing back, he studied me intently before looking around the room. “If all this is any indication, he really wants you back.”

  Pain lanced through me as I stared out the window. In the distance, the lights of the city cast a yellow halo over the skyline. “Not likely, since he was the one who broke up with me.”

  I jumped when Kieran’s foot nudged mine under the table. Expecting to find pity, I swallowed hard when I noticed the heat in his hazel eyes. His hand covered mine, full lips tilting into a seductive smile.

  “Does that mean you’re available? Because I’d really like to take you out sometime.”

  Later that night, I snuggled under my comforter with my phone, gazing at my last text to Miles.

  Why?

  Maybe he couldn’t bring himself to answer because he felt guilty for not loving me. And all the gifts were a way to make up for it. It’s not like money meant anything to him.

  But maybe friendship did.

  I’d lost enough people in my life. And so had he. If we started talking again, even sporadically, maybe then he’d see that he didn’t owe me anything. And we could be friends. My heart would heal, and I could move on. Maybe even with Kieran. Not anytime soon. But someday.

  Blowing out a breath, I opened my camera app and snapped a picture of the skyline in the distance. He couldn’t see Central Park. But it was there. Along with the memories of our perfect day.

  Before I could think better of it, I hit the send button.

  And then, as I’d done every other night since the music box had arrived, I opened the lid and let Tchaikovsky lull me to sleep.

  Miles

  I followed Sheppard to his office after group. He didn’t seem surprised when I said I wanted to talk.

  Maybe Taryn had called him. She couldn’t get any information, but she might tell him about her concerns.

  “Have a seat,” the doc said. But instead of motioning in front of his desk where I usually sat during my med check, he tipped his chin to the couch.

  “Really?” I muttered when he punctuated the request by dropping into the matching chair.

  “I just thought we’d be more comfortable over here.”

  He shot me a smile as he picked up his notebook.

  “Do people really fall for this cliché bullshit?” I grumbled, easing onto the cushion. “I’m warning you right now—you tell me to lie down and I’m outta here.”

  Chuckling, he shook his head. “You can do whatever you’d like Miles. It’s your session.”

  I dug my fingers into the muscle on my leg, which, coincidentally, had started to throb the moment I’d sat down. “Don’t you think we’re going backward? I haven’t had a fucking session since the day I got sprung from this place.”

  He held his hands out and looked around. “Yet, here you are. Returning to the fold.”

  “Are you making a joke?” The goofy smile told me he was, but I had to be sure. Because this shit wasn’t funny.

  He shrugged. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

  I searched his face. “Seriously, man. You’re freaking me out.”

  He jotted something down on his notepad. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why does my good mood ‘freak you out’?”

  “First off,” I tipped forward, “air quotes are for douches. Second, I think the reason you didn’t prescribe me any more pills is that you’re saving them all for yourself. Either that or you just smoked a joint.”

  Amused, he fished around in the bowl on the table for some M&M’s. “Do you realize that you’ve never come here without an agenda? Med checks or mandatory monthly sessions. That’s the only time you ever come around.”

  Irritated, I waved off the candy when he offered me the dish. “So what?”

  “Well,” he drawled. “You said you wanted to talk. I’ve never heard those words from you before. As your doctor of over five years, that pleases me.” He caught my gaze and held it. “Tell me. What do you want to talk about, Miles?”

  As I searched for an answer, my blood pumping so hard I could feel the rhythm in my toes, I absently typed the passcode into my phone resting on my knee. Glancing down at the screen saver, a photo Gelsey had sent two days ago of our bench in Central Park, my stomach unwound.

  “I’m afraid.”

  Sheppard nodded, canting his head like he wanted me to elaborate. So I did.

  “I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

  I hated the plea in my voice. Why was I even here? This was never going to work. I’d always been uptight. High-strung. Waiting for the world to end.

  Just relax, bro.

  That’s what Rhenn used to say. Always with that knowing look. Like he could read me.

  “Do you know what you’re afraid of?” Sheppard asked, pulling me back into the conversation.

  “No.”

  He scribbled something in his notebook. “Are you afraid of dying?”

  “No.”

  His eyes shot to mine. Wrong answer, I guess.

  “So death doesn’t scare you?”

  I shrugged. “Not really.”

  He tossed his notes on the table, along with his pen. Guess that was that.

  After a moment, he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “I need to ask some questions, Miles. And I need honest answers.”

  My throat tightened. “Okay.”

  “Do you ever think about suicide?”

  Was he fucking serious? Welding my back teeth together, I focused on the window behind his desk.

  “Yeah,” I finally replied.

  Sheppard didn’t react. But why would he? After all these years he could probably smell the crazy on me.

  Relaxing a bit, because I had nothing to lose, I smirked. “Not surprised?”

  His lips curved. “That’s what you call a ‘baseline question,’” he explained. “Like asking if you’ve got brown hair. Or if you live in Austin. Basically, it lets me know if you’re telling me the truth.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “So, you ask all the nutcases that question? Good to know.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly while he shook his head. “I could ask anyone that question, and if they said ‘no’ they’d probably be lying.�
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  Dubious, I lifted a brow. “Whatever you say.”

  Dipping into his stash of chocolate again, he popped a piece in his mouth and chewed slowly.

  “Do you think about killing yourself, Miles?”

  I blinked at him. One beat. Two. Ten. Then I thought about it. Really thought about it. And I felt like I was free falling.

  “No.”

  It was the truth. And that was what surprised me the most.

  Sheppard’s shoulders relaxed, and he eased back in his chair.

  “Thinking about suicide, especially given Blake’s recent attempt, is not surprising. It’s when you internalize those thoughts, when they become ideations specifically related to yourself, that you have to worry.”

  I buried my head in my hands, my ears ringing as I tried to process what he’d said.

  “Then what’s my problem?”

  Sheppard nudged the candy dish toward me, and when I relented, snagging a couple pieces from the bowl, he picked up his notepad and pen from the table.

  “That’s what we’re here to find out.”

  Miles

  My phone buzzed while Blake and I were eating lunch on the back lawn at Millwood.

  Swiping my finger over the screen, I smiled at the photo of a crack in the sidewalk, Gelsey’s pink Converse peeking from the bottom of the frame.

  Flipping to my camera app, I eased onto my back on the lush bed of St. Augustine grass and snapped a picture of the sky.

  “And they say I’m crazy.” Blake snorted as he reached for his Dr. Pepper. “At least I don’t take pictures of nothing.”

  I propped up on my elbow. “Not nothing.”

  Every day, Gelsey sent me photographs. Her pointe shoes. The fountain at Lincoln Center as the sun was rising. Times Square at night.

  The pictures were a chronicle of her life in New York. And for every image she sent, I returned one of the sky. Wherever I happened to be when I got her message, I walked outside and turned the camera to the heavens.

  We hadn’t progressed to actual words. And that was fine. I did enough talking to Sheppard and in group therapy.

  For now, I was content to save all my thoughts for the day I’d see her in the flesh. Hoping that maybe it would be enough. But prepared if it wasn’t. She could very well tell me that friendship was all she had to give.

  Not that I’d leave it at that. Some things were worth fighting for. Even if it took months. Or years.

  Gelsey Howard was one of them.

  After sending the photo, I sat up and grabbed what was left of my burger.

  “How are things going with your parents?” I asked Blake as I polished off the last bite.

  His nose wrinkled. But there was no scowl. Progress. “Okay.”

  “Just okay?”

  His eyes unfocused. Whatever he was picturing, it wasn’t part of this landscape. And when he answered his tone was flat. Faraway. “I killed their son. So, you know, as good as can be expected, I guess.”

  I inhaled a sharp breath, gaze drawn to the maze of scars on his flesh. Not the ones on his wrists. But the others that trailed up his arms. He’d carved his pain on his skin for years so the outside would match the inside.

  It took his parents a long time to acknowledge the wounds. Not because they didn’t see them. But denial was a complicated thing.

  “You’re their son too.”

  Blake nodded, lips pressed together to keep the self-recrimination from spilling out.

  After a long moment, he cleared his throat and looked over at me. “So you’re leaving, huh?”

  Guilt lanced through me. I took it in, then let it go. “I have a plane, dude. So I’ll be back once a week.”

  I stopped short of telling Blake it was so I could check on him. While that was partly true, he wasn’t ready to hear it. He’d filled all his empty spaces with self-loathing. Love wasn’t something he could abide. Yet. But like Gelsey, he was worth fighting for. So I wouldn’t give up.

  “What makes you think things are going to be better there?” he asked, picking at a few blades of grass and releasing them on the wind.

  “I didn’t say they’d be better.”

  “Then why?”

  I shifted, and the skin on my ribs where my new tattoo resided burned from the effort. “Because it’s time.”

  Gelsey

  “What’s so interesting?” Kieran asked, his palm sliding to my hip as he peered over my shoulder at the phone in my hand.

  My body went rigid as he inched a little closer, his chest molding to my back. Not that I minded the contact. I was a touchy-feely girl. But it was the intent behind it. Kieran had a thing for me. He’d been angling for a date ever since I told him that Miles and I were over.

  But I wasn’t ready to start anything up. And I didn’t want him to think I was leading him on.

  Peering up at him, I forced cheer into my tone. “Nothing.”

  At least that much was true. Miles hadn’t responded to my last picture message. Normally, I sent him scenery. But tonight, it was a full-length shot of me in front of the mirror, dressed in my costume for the performance.

  I guess I’d overstepped. Lesson learned.

  Tomorrow or the next day I’d go back to sending him images of the city. Maybe. I really needed to wean myself off of my Miles addiction.

  Plastering on a smile, I turned to face Kieran, trying not to make it too obvious when I brushed his hand away.

  “You look beautiful, Gels.”

  Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask.

  “How about you and I go out for a drink after the show? To celebrate.”

  My gaze coasted over his handsome face. Kieran was perfect for me. We shared the same interests. He understood dancing, and the hours I spent at rehearsal. We even ate the same foods. But he wasn’t Miles.

  “We’ll see.”

  His eyes lit up, and guilt flooded me.

  “I told you I wasn’t ready for anything serious,” I added, shifting my feet. “But, maybe…”

  He pressed a finger to my lips. “That’s okay. I can wait.” He leaned in and I could smell his aftershave. “You’re worth the wait.”

  Right words. Wrong man.

  I took a step back, and his smile evaporated.

  “I’ll let you finish getting ready,” he said in a slightly broody tone.

  He couldn’t pull it off. Because there was no darkness in Kieran. He was all light, and very little shadow. Unlike Miles.

  Catching his arm as he turned to leave, I blurted, “Do you like the Beatles?”

  His lip curled and, seeing my reaction, he tried for a smile. It was forced, though. Fake. “They’re a little before my time.”

  I nodded, letting my hand fall to my side. “Yeah. I guess. See you after the show.”

  Spinning for the dressing room, I dodged dancers and a few patrons who’d bought their way backstage with large donations.

  My phone buzzed, and I skidded to a stop in the crowded hallway.

  Miles.

  Tucking into a quiet corner, I swiped my finger over the screen. My stomach dropped to my toes as I read the message from the unknown number.

  Thinking about you on your big night. Your mama would be proud. Love, Dad.

  A million responses floated up. I was still pondering, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard, when a familiar voice caught my attention.

  Lifting my watery gaze, I spotted Ivan a few yards away, talking to Simon. My heart swelled when he threw his head back and laughed.

  This was his night as much as mine. Without him, I wouldn’t be here.

  As if he could sense me watching, Ivan looked around and, spying me in the shadows, he held out his hand. “Come,” he mouthed, lips curved in a wide smile.

  Nodding, I held up a finger, then dashed off a quick reply to my father.

  Thank you.

  It was all I could spare and more than he deserved. I pressed send and then lingered a moment, waiting for a response.

  When none
came, I pinned on a smile and glided to the man who’d raised me.

  Ivan pulled me to his side and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “Are you nervous, dorogaya moya?”

  I beamed up at him. “Why would I be nervous? You’re here.”

  Miles

  The usher led me to my box seat in the performance hall at the last possible moment. In order to escape detection, I’d loitered in the lobby, tucked behind a potted plant and shielded by my bodyguard until the lights flickered, indicating the ballet was about to begin.

  If the ball gowns, evening gloves, and expensive jewelry were any indication, I didn’t have to worry about being recognized. I did get a couple of curious glances on my way in.

  Probably because of the suit. All black. Including the button-down shirt. It looked like I was going to a funeral. And maybe I was. It all depended on Gelsey.

  My bodyguard for the evening—a rent-a-cop I’d hired at the last minute—took his post in front of the curtain. Taryn had squawked up a storm when she’d found out I was in New York without a member of her security team. I wasn’t planning on telling her at all, but apparently, the ballet was more popular than I’d anticipated, with every ticket sold out.

  I couldn’t exactly go nosing around for myself, unless I wanted people to know I was in town.

  Which, I didn’t.

  Sliding the usher—a kid in his early twenties—a hundred dollar tip when we shook hands, I whispered, “Do you know who I am?”

  He swallowed hard, bobbing his head. “Miles Cooper.”

  Hooking an arm around his shoulder, I leaned in close. “There’s an extra two hundred in it for you if you don’t text any of your friends and tell them I’m here.”

  Damage control. All I needed was a mob to show up in front of Lincoln Center before the ballet ended.

  “You don’t have to pay me. But…can I get a picture?”

  After a quick inspection of the darkened hallway to make sure no one was around, I nodded. “Let’s make it quick.”

  I smiled for a couple of selfies with the kid before reiterating my request for privacy.

  “Not a soul,” he vowed with a huge smile as he held open the curtain.