by KC Enders
I want the promise of a future.
I want to know that love and support. To own Alex’s heart the way Gavin owns Gracyn’s.
I want what they have, and I’m not the only one.
A flash of movement from the balcony at the back of the house all but screams for attention.
The door to the suite—my suite—is open, and Kane is standing in the shadows. As pissed as I am with his blatant disregard for my personal space, what he’s doing is shitty as fuck.
The thrust of his hips, his dick in his hand as he watches Gavin kiss his fiancée. As he watches the way Gavin’s face lights up when Gracyn stands and reaches for his hand. You’d have to be an absolute idiot not to know what’s about to go down as Gavin dips low and throws Gracyn over his shoulder. She squeals, her peals of laughter bouncing in the space between the house and the studio—or pool house or whatever.
They deserve this time together. They deserve to take a minute and enjoy each other, lose themselves for a hot minute in the gorgeous California sun. And they should be able to do so without a fucking audience. I turn away and glance up toward my balcony just in time to see Kane stalk back into my room and wipe what can only be a handful of his jizz across my pillow.
“Fucking bastard.” I seethe, my hands clenching into fists. My blood is hot and thrumming in my veins and so not in a good way. I throw the door to the cabana open, shouting the words again.
Ian tumbles out to the pool deck as Gavin spills out of his room.
“What the hell?”
I don’t know who actually asks—it could have been any one of the guys, including Rand.
“I can’t fucking do this. I can’t.”
Gavin’s hand is on my sternum, holding me in place. “Talk to me, Nate.” His voice is low, calm, but I’m too far gone.
Anger burns through me, shaking me to my very core. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”
I try to sidestep, but we’ve all had way too much practice with this dance over the years, and Gavin anticipates the move, blocking me.
“What’d he do?” Ian asks, stepping in next to Gavin.
They know whatever set me off, it was bad.
Kane knows it, too, but that smug bastard strolls out of the house with a tall, lean guy, blond topknot perfectly tied up as a coitus handle.
Rand follows close behind, ever Kane’s shadow. Always trying to justify the shit Kane pulls.
Rage heats my face. “You sick fuck. What was that, huh? The fuck you think you were doing up there?” I point to where the breeze swirls the curtains on my door, lifting them up like white flags begging for surrender.
“Me? I don’t know what you’re talking about. We were upstairs until we heard you pitching a fit.” Kane makes a show of glancing toward the guy who’s got that wide-eyed oh shit look on his face.
“Bullshit, you disgusting piece of shit.”
All eyes are on me, waiting.
Kane narrows his and then grunts indignantly, protectively stepping in front of his flavor of the week. “It’s a day off, Nathaniel. I can spend it doing whatever or whoever I want.” He takes a step forward and goes in for what I’m sure he thinks is the kill. The big fucking deal. “Or is that the problem? You don’t like that I’m getting laid and you’re out here, moping? Or is it that it’s …” He looks at the dude who’s spent an entire fucking week in the house with us.
“Dell,” I say, throwing him a bone. “Dude’s name is Dell, for fuck’s sake. And, no, I don’t care who you’re fucking, who you’re using to stroke your fragile fucking ego. I don’t care, Kane. I don’t. You do you, man. Whatever—whoever gets your mind off the one you can’t seem to let go of.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ian mutters.
“But you need to dig deep, way deep down, and find some fucking respect for the rest of us. You violate my space again, and I will fuck you up. A fractured hand will be the least of it, you get me?” I turn to Rand, and some part of me is glad to see him shaking in his fucking shoes. “I want a cleaning service brought in—fucking forensic goddamn cleaners—to sterilize my room. Every inch of it. A new mattress, new bedding, new towels—all of it.”
Kane huffs a laugh, drawing my attention back to him.
“Fucking think you can jerk off on my balcony because you like the view and then wipe that shit on my goddamn pillow?”
“The fuck?” Gavin says, eyes closed, chin out, muscles jumping in his jaw.
Gracyn turns and goes back in the house, back into Gavin’s room. I’m guessing everyone’s going to be doing a quick check for dried slug trails now.
“I’m out.” I turn for the side gate leading to the circular driveway full of cars out front.
Ian calls after me, “Where you going?”
“Beach. Bar. I don’t fucking know, but when I get back, that shit had better fucking be done. And it might be a damn good idea for you”—I point to Kane—“to not be here.”
I throw open the gate, the metal banging loudly against the stone wall before clanging shut again.
Dramatic exit? Sure.
Do I give a shit? Not at all.
24
SELF DECEPTION
ALEXIS
Hour after hour.
Day after day.
I have spent practically every waking moment making up for lost time. So, when the artistic director calls me into her office at the end of the day, I want to cry. Just run away and cry.
Anything good she had to talk with me about would have warranted an interruption in class or a quick, happy chat out in the hall.
This—an end-of-day summons—can only be something bad.
“Have a seat, dear.” Mademoiselle crosses through her office with the kind of grace expected of a bull shopping for china.
In the studio or the public eye, she is the epitome of poise. Behind the closed door of her office, she is nothing less than disheveled comfort. It’s one of the things I absolutely love about her.
Time ticks by, and the distant sounds from outside her office fade.
“How are you doing, Alexis?” She stumbles slightly and falls into her chair.
I twist the top off my water bottle and take a drink. Mostly, I’m stalling because there’s a reason behind her question. It’s not strictly personal concern that has me here. I know that with everything I am.
“I’m good. Relieved to be back,” I say. But when I look up and see the way Mademoiselle is assessing me, I add, “Getting stronger every day.”
The air stills, a chill settling around me that has nothing to do with the temperature in the room. This is foreboding. Ominous. Serious as a fucking heart attack.
Pressing her lips into a tight line, she softens her eyes. All I see is pity and remorse.
“Alexis …”
Tears well up, burning my eyes. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I know what’s coming. “Please.”
“This isn’t the end, sweetheart. It’s just a different path.” Her voice is soft and kind, soothing the sting of her words. “I’ve had a handful of inquiries about you. You are an amazing dancer. Stunning and talented.”
“Please.” I sink into my chair, the weight of failure pressing down on me. I want to throw myself to the floor, beg at her feet to give me another chance.
“Your injury was—”
“I can do it. I’m getting stronger every day.”
“Anyone else would have been completely sidelined. Taken out of the game and never danced again.”
“I’ll work harder. Spend more time …” Doing what? I’ve done everything to rehab my Achilles and then some.
“And you can still shine.”
I catch my breath and whip my head up. Hope quickly filling the empty spaces in my heart.
Mademoiselle leans forward, taking my hands in hers. “In a smaller market.”
And that breath stales. It sours, turning toxic and sucking the life from me.
“The director from Kansas City was here. He’s a dear friend of mine a
nd a brilliant artist. And Richmond Ballet has asked about you—that’s where you grew up, yes?”
I barely manage to nod.
“Either would love to have you. They would be lucky to have you lead their companies.”
I blink rapidly, trying hard to keep my tears at bay. The last thing I need is to feel the failure, the disappointment, physically rolling down my cheeks.
“Denton Raspeau from Kansas City has assured me that you’ll make principal within—”
“Please … please don’t send me away,” I beg.
“I’m not. I would never send you away, Alexis. I would love nothing more than to be a selfish bitch and keep you here with me, but—”
“I’ll stay. I’ll dance in the corps de ballet. Just let me stay.” I slide forward in my seat, hands clasped in prayer or pleading.
“But that’s not what’s best for you,” she says, drawing each word out, enunciating them in a wasted attempt to get her point across.
All I hear, all I feel, is that I’m not good enough. That I don’t have what it takes.
“You, Alexis, deserve to shine. You’ve worked harder than any dancer I’ve had the privilege to work with. Denton can offer you what I cannot. He can make your dreams a reality, and when you’ve danced your heart out and you’re ready to slow down, make a change, you call me. I will have a position here for you—to teach, to guide the next group coming through. To impart your knowledge, yes, but more importantly, your work ethic.”
My head hangs limp between my shoulders. I can’t look at her, my mentor, the woman who holds my career—or lack thereof—in her hands.
“No one works harder than you, Alexis. No one.”
“Then, give me a chance. Please. Let me prove to you that I can make it. That I’m worth keeping.”
Mademoiselle sighs. She shifts in her chair, sitting back in the deep cushions. “Go visit them. Denton offered to fly you out to chat with him, see what the city is like. See if it might be a good fit for you.”
I clench my jaw, pushing back all emotion. Shoving it down below my professional veneer because I’ve already come back from being broken. Not as cleanly as I wanted, not as fully as I hoped. But the last thing I will do is allow anything to get in the way of where I’m going. Even if it’s not really where I thought I wanted to be.
“I’ll book your tickets for you. Route you back through Virginia. Talk to the artistic director there too. Spend some time with your family.”
More silence from me.
“Alexis, darling, take a minute. Go and treat it like a vacation of sorts. Maybe take a gentleman friend with you. Get away, lose yourself in a new city. But give it a chance. Consider the offer from Denton, the opportunity—all of it.” She pushes up to standing and promptly trips over her own feet as she walks me to the door of her office.
With my mind spinning, I step out into the hallway, my bag hiked high on my shoulder, my heart hanging low in the pit of my gut. I don’t know what to do. Am I dismissed entirely? Do I come back to class and rehearsal tomorrow? Do I slink home with my tail between my legs?
“I’ll contact Denton and the Richmond director and get your travel booked. Let my assistant know if you’ll be bringing a plus-one with you, so we can coordinate. In the meantime, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, erasing any doubt I have on whether to show my face at rehearsal or not. “This is a good thing, Alexis. Don’t doubt that for a minute.”
The door closes behind me, shutting me out into the dim hallway.
Instead of navigating public transportation in what could be the shittiest state of mind ever, I splurge on an Uber. It’s frivolous at the very least, foolish in reality after paying off my credit card. That night out with Nate and Ian was murder on my budget.
I do okay because I share my tiny apartment with two other girls, but I’m certainly not flush with cash. But it’s late, and I’m sad to the point of distraction, so here we are.
• • •
Halfway across Manhattan, my phone rings with a FaceTime request. I shove an earbud in and swipe the screen to connect with Nate.
“Hey. How are you?” I ask.
The image of him makes my heart ache even more. Behind him, the sky bursts in a sherbet-hued sunset. I want to crawl through the phone, through the miles, and curl up in his embrace.
Nate laughs softly and then pins me with a stare. “I thought I was doing as shitty as could be. But maybe I’m doing better than I thought. What happened?”
I sink back into the seat of the car, my hopes of hiding in the darkness squashed. “I’m okay, just tired.”
“Sweet thing, that’s not tired pulling your face down; that’s something else. What’s going on?” The scenery framing Nate changes as the beach comes into view behind him.
“Are you on the beach?”
“I am. It’s beautiful,” he says, spinning the screen for me to see. “I wish you could get away, come visit.”
A wayward laugh huffs through my nose. “Me too.”
“If I thought we could make it work with your schedule, we could pick a city in the Midwest. Meet in the middle for a day or two.” He says it so casually, like it would be no big deal.
And maybe …
“Maybe we can.”
Nate slides his gaze from where the waves are likely crashing in front of him to meet my eyes. “Say that again.”
I pull a bracing breath in and push it out with my words. “I have a last-minute trip to visit a couple of other ballet companies. Kansas City and then home to Richmond before coming back here. Do you … you probably can’t sneak away, right?”
“What? When?” Concern swirls with the excitement of opportunity.
“Soon.” I give him the quick and dirty from my conversation with Mademoiselle. “So, if you think you can fly in and meet me, I’ll let you know when I’m doing this.”
The possibility of getting to spend time with Nate is like a balm to the sting of this dismissal.
“I’ll be there,” he says simply.
“Nate, I don’t want to pull you away from writing or recording. Either of them.”
“Sweet thing, nothing could keep me away.” A warm, broad smile stretches across his face. “Tell me where you are right now though.”
“In an Uber, almost home. Why?”
“Yours or mine?” he asks, his eyes darkening. Teeth pulling the corner of his mouth inward.
A laugh bubbles out of me as I say, “Mine. Why?”
“Mmm … what would it take to talk you into spending the night at my house?” There’s a gleam in his eye that hints at something naughty. Something mischievous.
“I mean, not a lot. Your house is way better than my tiny apartment, filled to the brim with too many bodies. Why do you want me to stay at your house tonight?”
“Too many bodies? Just the three of you, right?”
“And whoever Lauryl’s brought home on any given night.” I scoff.
The thought of having all that space to myself, of whipping up a quick dinner in his gourmet kitchen, of the silence, is divine. “Oh my God, your bath,” I whisper, thinking of how glorious that would feel.
“How attentive is your Uber driver?” he asks, voice low and full of gravel.
I tilt my head and tap my earbud.
“Good girl.”
I fucking melt. My belly flips, and I press my thighs together at the simple praise.
“When you get to your apartment, I want you to run up and grab what you need for the night. I’m going to talk to your Uber driver and make it worth his time to wait for you and take you to my brownstone and make sure you’re in safe with the door locked behind you.”
“I’ll be fine. I can walk—”
“Alex.” His tone leaves no room for protests. “Oh, sweet thing. Are we having a listening problem? Do we need to talk about doing as we’re told?”
I swear to God, every muscle south of my belly button clenches at the same time. We have been passionate with each other, ravaged
each other, unapologetically devoured each other, but this hint at Nate giving orders, of me taking them without question … that has my belly fluttering.
“No.”
“Mmhmm. How close are you?” For the beat of my heart, I think he’s referring to me orgasming right here and now, but he clarifies, “How many blocks?”
“Three.” My voice shakes.
“When he stops, you’re going to let me talk to him. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
I look up to see the driver eyeing me in the rearview mirror as he pulls up to the curb in front of my building. Smiling, I pull my bag to my lap and lean forward a hair.
“My, um—”
“Boyfriend,” rumbles through my earbud.
“My boyfriend would like to talk to you real quick, if you don’t mind.” I disconnect from Bluetooth and push the phone through the space between the seats.
“How are you this evening?”
The driver turns to face the screen and mutters, “Holy shit, you’re—”
“That I am.” Nate chuckles. “Here’s what you’re going to do.”
25
LIKE A STORM
NATE
“Are you in?” I ask, my voice rasping and low.
I hand the hotel concierge my credit card and ID. I need a room—away from Kane, away from everyone other than Alex.
“Yes.”
I nod my thanks, taking my cards and shoving them in my pocket.
“Your room key, Mr. Calloway. Enjoy your stay.” The girl behind the desk is joined by another and then another, staring at me. Recognition strong and stars in their eyes. “Oh my God. He looks so different in person. Like … yummy. The things I would do …”
The elevator door pings open, as if it knew I needed to get away from here. I step through, the doors closing behind me almost immediately.
“Stay with me, Alex.”
The thought of her in my space, treating my home like it’s hers, presses down on me. Her comfort. Familiarity.
Mine.
“Where are you?” she asks.