by Sara Cate
“Of course we’ll need a fourth,” he adds, looking at me.
It’s no secret whose spot I’ll be filling, but miss out on the opportunity to see the guys running around a muddy field with a football? No chance.
“Sounds fun. As long as I can be on your team,” I respond, looking up at Frank. He gives me a hearty smile, and I feel Nash squeeze my leg so hard I yelp. I obviously claimed Frank for my team so that Nash would have to team up with his dad. I see them glance at each other before the room grows silent again.
We leave the leftovers sitting on the countertop in the kitchen as we all take the field. There’s tension among the guys as we get in place. Frank goes over the rules. The fence line is the endzone, two hand touch, and Vera gets the final say on any calls. As Frank tosses the coin, Nash calls heads before it lands.
“Tails,” Frank announces.
“You go first,” Alistair says as he and Nash huddle up near the line. Nash keeps up his cold shoulder while Alistair gives him instructions to cover me, which he does. Frank puts me in charge of the first throw, which I barely pull off before Nash comes charging at me. Alistair easily intercepts.
They carry it to the end zone, but Frank doesn’t look too upset. The next few snaps go the same way, Nash and Alistair dominating, all without Nash uttering one word to his dad.
Frank pulls me in for a huddle. “This time I want you to cover Alistair,” he says. “Stay in front of him.”
“Okay.”
As I take my place on the line, Alistair gives me a wink that I can’t help but smile at. Even as he runs toward the endzone to make a catch, I’m on him, and his eyes are on me. He moves quickly to the right, and I stumble to keep up, watching Nash, waiting for him to make the throw.
Frank could easily stop him, but he’s hesitating, and I know why.
Alistair lets out a laugh as he tries to maneuver around me again, but I’m too close for him to get a good catch. Soon, I’m laughing too.
“Dad!” Nash yells, and it’s like the game comes to a complete halt. My head snaps back to Nash as the ball comes flying, and I manage to dive in front of Alistair as he tries to catch it, sending us both to the ground in a clumsy tackle.
His hands are locked on my hips as Vera yells from the porch. “Unnecessary roughness!”
We’re all laughing as I climb off of Alistair, but I notice the way he gulps, and I don’t know if it was from the contact or the fact that Nash just called his name. We don’t make a big fuss out of it as we get back to the line of scrimmage. Frank is biting back a smile as the game continues.
Nash and Alistair whip us on the field, and the rest of the game goes the same. Now, Nash is talking to him in the huddle, shouting at him, “Go long, cut right, cover Frank.”
And it feels so good, we’re all on top of the world. Even Vera is smiling ear-to-ear.
When we finally call the game, I catch a smile on Nash’s face as his dad claps a hand on his shoulder. Everyone is sweaty and muddy, so we park on the patio furniture out back as the sun begins to set. Vera brings us all a pitcher of tea, and I notice the way she watches Alistair carefully.
It’s not the first time this weekend that I feel Preston’s ghost looming, just under the surface as if everyone is careful not to slip up, afraid his memory will pop back up, ready to bring everyone down. I mostly grieve Emma’s death alone, so I don’t quite get this experience of moving on as a family after the death of one of your own.
“Well, I’m ready for my post-turkey nap,” Frank announces as he gets up from the table. Vera follows him with a laugh, patting Alistair on the back as she walks past us. The two men and I are left sitting at the patio together in awkward silence. I don’t think either of them are ready to move past everything now that Nash has uttered less than a dozen words to his dad, but it’s a start.
24
Tonight, I want to forget about everything. The only thing on my mind at the moment is the ballet and a night on the town, outside Del Rey, away from the ghosts that haunt us. It’s just Alistair and me and two tickets to the ballet.
Of course our seats are the best in the house. We’re in a private box on the side of the stage. When I wake up in the morning, there’s a garment bag hanging outside my door. Inside is the black gown with the embroidered, see-through back I bought that day he took me shopping. As I slip it on, I remember the way he reacted the first time I wore it. That day, I was terrified of him. Not that he would hurt me but that there was something powerful between us. He took one look at me in this dress, and it scared him. Alistair always pushed away women, afraid they would ruin everything he had worked for. He realized that he was no match for me. If anyone could change his mind, I could.
As we walk into the theatre, there are so many eyes on us. Instead of hiding my face, I straighten my shoulders and link my arm with his. We take our seats, and I feel his hand on my back. I want to kiss him so bad it hurts. I know I said I was going to focus on the ballet tonight and not whatever this is with Alistair, but that was before I saw him in his black tux. I was not prepared for the way he fills out the shoulders or the way his salt and pepper facial hair would look over that bow tie and black on black tux. Even his hands are sexier tonight. The creases around his eyes. The strands of white in his hair.
Any woman would be lucky to claim Alistair Wilde, and tonight, I get to pretend he is mine. In some way, he is mine. They both belong to me—no, we all belong to each other, and it’s not about who is sleeping with who or who’s dating who. When we’re on that island, those rules don’t matter, and it’s just us. We’re a family—albeit a very fucked up family.
Part of me wants to tell Alistair what Nash said, that he likes the fight. I want to tell him that Nash only let me come with him because in some weird way, he likes thinking of us together, as competition.
He looks over at me as the lights fade and the music starts. Perched at the edge of my seat, I watch as the dancers take the stage. My eyes absorb everything—the motion, the movement, the most subtle of flexes in their muscles and the expressions on their faces. And I remember it all.
I remember how it felt to be on stage, and not the kind I dance on now. The beauty, the work, the pain, the agonizing structure that translated into raw grace and beauty. Everything about it hurts to watch and yet, I can’t look away.
When did this stop being my place? When did this stop being me? It was before Emma died that I gave this up. I can’t blame her death for everything. As I watch the dancers, all my age, girls who were trained the same time I was, girls who didn’t give up like I did, I ask myself. Why did I give up on myself? Why did I waste my life?
A tear runs down my face as I feel a soft hand brush my forearm and fingers interlace with mine. His lips touch my ear, and I smell his cologne as he whispers, “If you want it, then take it. It’s not too late for you, Zara.”
Turning toward him, our faces are so close I can feel his breath on my lips. My cheeks are wet, but my eyes are shining as I nod with a sad smile. “Thank you.”
Then, he kisses me. It’s not a passionate, hungry kiss but a loving touch of our lips. For a short second, we are so connected that a hiccuping sob shakes my chest, and as he pulls away, I stare into his eyes, suddenly desperate to keep this connection.
Squeezing his hands in mine, I rest my head on his shoulder, and he holds me close as we watch the rest of the ballet.
“What’s going on?” he whispers, nodding to the dancers.
“Giselle is a peasant girl, and she falls in love with the prince, but he gets engaged to someone else.”
“What a dick,” he mutters, and I laugh.
“Giselle goes mad and dies of a broken heart. She becomes a ghost.”
“And haunts him I hope.”
I silently laugh again. “Actually, she saves him.”
When I look up at him, our eyes meet, and he brushes a hair away from my face. Then his lips touch my forehead, and I force a breath in my lungs even though they feel like lead.
My heart is hoping for something I didn’t plan. I never wanted to fall for Alistair any more than Giselle wanted to fall for the prince, but we can’t help who we love.
As the show comes to an end, I don’t lift my head from his shoulder. I don’t want this moment to end. “One more surprise,” he says, and I smile. Of course, there’s more.
With my hand around his arm, I follow him around the theatre like he owns the place (maybe he does). As he starts going through doors that other people are not going through, I start to panic.
“Where are we going?” I ask, pulling back on him.
“I made some calls.”
My skin is flooded with hot pin pricks as we reach the stage floor and we walk through a door, the security guard only nodding at Alistair instead of stopping him. Once we pass through, I dig my heels into the floor and stop him.
“No.”
“What are you doing?” he asks, looking at me like I’m crazy.
“This is where the dancers come out. I know what you’re doing Alistair, and I don’t want it.”
Lowering his voice, he straightens his tie and steps toward me. We’re in a long, empty hallway, and there’s no one around to hear us. “I want you to see the stage from down here, and the principle dancer wants to meet you.”
“Why? Why would she want to meet me?”
“Because I told her you were a dancer and a friend of mine, and she said she wanted to meet you.” He has so much confidence it’s unsettling. Why doesn’t he understand this from my perspective?
“I’m not a dancer, Alistair. I’m a stripper. I don’t belong on that stage. You can’t take a stripper to meet the prima ballerina.” My voice comes out in a harsh whisper, and the words slice something in me. As if I'm hurting my own feelings, betraying my own heart.
He snaps too, pressing me against the wall. In the low light of this hallway, I’m locked in almost total darkness against his body.
When I look down, he snatches me by the chin and lifts my eyes up to meet his. His jaw is set and his eyes are fierce. “Stop that. Stop talking to yourself like that. These dancers should feel fucking honored to meet you, do you understand?”
“Why? Because I’m here with you?” I snap back, and it feels like I'm talking back to a parent.
“Yes, because you’re here with me. You think I’d bring just anyone here? You think you’re just anyone?”
“What does that mean? Who am I to you?” I whisper, tears filling my eyes.
Shoving my body against the wall, and pulling my face toward his, he attacks my lips with his as he answers. “You’re everything to me.”
Then his tongue is in my mouth, claiming me and making me cry out. Lifting one of my legs, he positions his body even closer, and I can’t breathe. Fuck it, I never want to breathe again.
He devours me and I let him. I want to belong to him, to be his. I want to give him my body to do with it whatever he wants.
How can I be everything to Alistair Wilde? Why me?
Emma was the brighter burning sun. She was the one with the charisma, the shining personality, the talent, the confidence, everything.
But with the way Alistair is kissing me, I’ve never felt more special to anyone. He grips my body so tight I never want him to let me go. He’s not touching me like he wants to fuck me. He’s touching me like he loves me, and it’s making my head spin. What am I supposed to make of this? What am I supposed to do now?
A door closes down the hall and we pull away, panting. We rest our heads on each other’s while we wait for the ability to breathe again.
“Alistair,” I whisper. I’m not even sure what I want to say, but I know I need to say something.
“I know,” he answers. Then, he kisses my cheek before he turns away and leads me down the hallway again toward the stage door. As we pass people moving here and there, I try to force Alistair’s words into my own psyche. They should be fucking honored to meet me. It’s a ridiculous thought and not something I would ever utter intentionally, but the mantra changes the way I carry myself, my spine a little longer.
“Mister Wilde,” a sweet voice calls as we pass the door that leads to the stage.
Alistair spins and we come to face a beautiful young woman who instantly makes me feel the hot sting of jealousy. I almost don’t recognize her at first in her casual clothes without makeup, but it’s Giselle herself.
“Oh, Ms. Thurber,” Alistair answers politely, putting his hand out. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
“Likewise,” she answers. I feel myself square my shoulders and extend my neck as I stare at her. She embodies grace and femininity, making me feel inadequate instantly. But then I feel Alistair’s hand around my waist as he pulls me forward.
“Ms. Thurber, I’d like you to meet Ms. Zara York.”
The ballerina actually bows her fucking head at me as I put out my hand, which she takes gently between her lithe fingers. “Such a pleasure to meet you,” she says. “Please call me Hanna.”
I’m speechless. Finally, after staring at her like a fish for a whole three seconds, I manage to stammer out, “You were amazing.”
“Thank you. Did you enjoy the show?”
“Very much,” I manage to reply.
“Good. A few of us are headed out for drinks if you two would like to join us,” she says with a smile.
I know they want to hang out with Alistair. I know that, but inside I’m still forcing all of that fake confidence.
“Thank you,” I reply.
“I think that would be wonderful,” Alistair adds. “I’d like to show Zara the stage if that’s okay.”
Hanna waves her hands toward the stage door, and I squeeze Alistair’s hand as he leads me through. There are a few stage hands cleaning up the area, but they mostly ignore us as we walk together toward the middle.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, somehow too interested in him, this beautiful, amazing man who for some reason wants to give me so much more than I deserve. Even if Alistair and I could be together how long would this last? He’d lose interest after a while, blaming me for getting in the way of his career. I would fall recklessly head over heels for him and it would end in my heartbreak.
“Doing what?” he asks with a furrowed brow.
“Being so amazing to me.”
“I think you know why.” As he looks at me, I’m pulled into his orbit. As he wraps his hands around my waist, he leans his face close to mine again. It’s at this moment I realize just how big things are between us. This isn’t about sex or a fling. Alistiar Wilde is taking down his walls, even if only for a moment, for me. The man who doesn’t date, shoves his feelings away, and tries to buy his way out of anything uncomfortable is offering me his heart.
I can hardly breathe.
“You make me feel good, Zara, and I haven’t felt good in a long fucking time. When I’m with you, it hurts a little less. It doesn’t go away, but I don’t hate life so much when you look at me like you’re looking at me right now,” he says.
The pain etched in his features sends shivers down my spine. Reaching up, I run my fingers along his brow and down his cheek. Now that the walls are coming down, I see the pain underneath.
“Am I allowed to be happy, Zara? Or is this my punishment? Loving you if I can’t have you.”
The world stops turning as soon as I see the tears fill his eyes. I love him. I love him so much I can hardly stand it. And suddenly it feels so obvious. His words cut so deep because I feel them too. Are we allowed happiness? I don’t say it, but I know Nash feels the same way. The three of us are bound by grief. The guilt for surviving the people we loved the most has been eating us away for two years.
Wrecked and broken, we found each other again.
“You should be happy, Alistair. You shouldn’t be punished. None of us should.”
“Parents aren’t supposed to outlive their children, Zara. I shouldn’t be here if he’s not. I should have been—” I press my fingers against his lips to stop
him.
I know it’s a terrible thing to think, and I won’t tell him what is on my mind, but I can’t hear him say what I know he wants to say. He wishes it were him on that helicopter. But me? I can’t bear the thought. I can’t fucking bear it.
“You do not deserve to be punished, Alistair. You deserve—”
He pulls me closer as my tears stream across my cheeks. Reaching up, I wipe his away from where they stain his skin.
“What exactly do I deserve? Loving my son’s girlfriend? I don’t deserve anything good.”
Grabbing his cheeks, I put his face in direct view of mine. “I’ve told you, Alistair. I don’t belong to Nash. I love him, yes, and I’m here to help him too, but I belong to you just as much as I belong to him.”
“Do you hear how fucked up that is?” he says with a laugh, and I kiss him.
“I don’t care how fucked up it is,” I mumble against his mouth.
“Neither do I.”
25
Sitting at a posh bar downtown, I’m having a hard time keeping up with conversation. There are six of us, mostly dancers and their partners. I’m suddenly jealous of Alistair’s coolheadedness in these social situations, like he’s used to looking casual and engaged at the same time. As for me, I’m too starstruck to join in easy conversation. Not to mention, the conversation we had on that stage shook me to my core, and I’m having a hard time acting casual since.
Alistair nestles me close to his side as I sip my red wine. His hands haven’t left my body since the theatre, and I love the way I fit so perfectly against him.
“You two are a beautiful couple,” Hanna says, looking at us both with a calm expression.
“Thank you,” I reply, and when I look at Alistair, the corner of his lips lift in a small smile.
Leaning forward, I kiss him softly and he pulls me closer. I don’t want to go home tonight. I know we have to, but I also know that Nash is waiting for me.