by Emilia Finn
“Your dream?” I interrupt him. “You mean the title?”
“Right. Anything that wasn’t building in that direction, we stripped away. It was fine to enjoy those things the rest of the year – for me, that thing was building houses and running around the forest with your mom; for Uncle Jack, it was buying fast cars and hotdogging around in them; for Uncle Bobby it was…” he pauses, considers, “Jesus, I don’t even know. Mom?” He laughs. “Maybe his thing was being up your grandma’s ass all the time, since he was always a momma’s boy. But then Kit came along, so he was up her ass too, he had to learn to allocate his time better. But in the countdown leading up to a fight, we shook off the things that weren’t helpful, and we applied ourselves to training.”
He gives a small smile. “That’s not to say you should give up dance, honey. I’m just saying, since it’s just a fun thing for you, like fast cars for Uncle Jack, and Mom’s lasagna was for Uncle Bobby, then maybe you should set it aside until the new year. Soph will understand, it’ll free your time up, and come the first, you can get straight back into it.”
“Yeah…” I look toward my house. Hide the hurt in my eyes, for the fact my own father doesn’t know the very thing that makes my blood run faster. He doesn’t mean harm, he just doesn’t know.
And how could he, if I’ve never told him?
“You’re probably right,” I admit. “I’m heading there now, so I might talk to Soph and see what she thinks.”
“The new year will be here before you know it. You’ll have your shiny new belt, you’ll have your degree, you might even be busy looking for a job, if that’s the direction you wanna go. Next year can be the year of making decisions. But this year might have to be about simplifying things, stripping away the extras. Because I swear,” he adds dramatically. “If I have to spend one more night at a dinner table, and my only daughter isn’t there, I might flip the damn thing, and your mom will get mad at me for making a mess.” He flashes a wicked grin. “Don’t be the reason your mom smacks me and makes me scrub the floor.”
Giggling, I press my foot to the clutch and slide the gear stick into reverse. “You’re probably right. I have to go for now, but I promise I’ll do what I can to get to the dinner table. Save me the seat beside yours.”
“Always.” He leans into the car and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Drive safe, be good. Tell Blair if he looks at your legs one more time, I might strangle him.”
“Daddy!” I laugh. “You have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“Hell I don’t,” he grumbles. “I was a kid once too, and hell’s bells, Bean, you look just like your momma. A man can only keep his eyes to himself for so long. After that, he has to step up. Dinky heart or not, you know we’re gonna run him through the gauntlet and make him work for you.”
“You’re wrong,” I pout. “And you need to mind your own business.”
“I know more than you think.” He stands and taps his fingers to his temple. “Maybe I’m a clueless guy, and maybe I’m a meathead without a fancy education like yours, but I know what I know. I watch that punk train every damn day. Tell him the gauntlet is comin’ for him.”
“Stop it.” I turn to look over my shoulder, and slowly back out of my driveway.
It would seem everyone in this town and the next thinks that they know Mac and I are meant to be together. And yet, they have no clue, because he won’t have me, and apparently I have no choice but to remain alone.
“Asshole.”
“Say something, Bean?”
I slide my car into first gear and wave at my daddy as he stands on the grass. “Nothing. Catch you later.”
I make my way out of the estate and across town. I have an hour until I have to meet Mac at the gym, and though an hour isn’t really enough, I don’t have a lot of options when it comes to fitting dance into my life.
It’s not just something fun for me. Dance, to me, is what fighting is to my cousin. What it was to my daddy.
But like he said, sometimes things just have to give.
Pulling into the parking spaces out front of the studio, I grab my bag and head inside at a semi-jog. My music is already playing, which means Rudy is here, I’m late, and I’m probably going to get into trouble – lovely way to start the conversation I need to have with the woman who’s dedicated so much of her time to teaching me.
“I’m sorry! I’m here—” I run into the studio and skid to a stop on a gasp.
Rudy holds Soph high off the floor, the way we’ve been practicing for me. Pirouette. Arabesque. So fucking graceful, it makes my stomach tug. Her back leg is so high that it almost seems impossible. Her arms, so straight, her chest so perfectly poised, it almost brings tears to my eyes.
I silently place my bag just inside the door, kick my sneakers off and, with my eyes on Soph’s every move, blindly fish inside my bag for my leather ballet flats. I tug them on, stand while counting the pulse of the music, then I make my way around them as Rudy leads Soph around the room.
They’re not exactly right. It’s not that they’re not independently amazing dancers, because they really are. Soph is the best I’ve ever seen in my life. But my dance is about passion. About love, and where selfish and selflessness meet. It only seems wrong because it’s Rudy and Soph, and they’re just… not together.
If Jay was here, it’d be tempting to drag him to the middle of the floor so he could dance with Soph. I would pay good money for her to teach him this routine overnight, then show me tomorrow, because I know without a doubt, Jay would understand the underlying message. He’d possess the obsession for his partner, the obsession needed for this dance to work.
God, I’m so in love with my routine.
I wait for the music to slow, for Rudy to slow Soph’s steps, and then for him to dip her back the way that’s supposed to almost look like a… well, a feast, I suppose.
Just like how Mac slid his tongue over my throat outside the club. The way his teeth clamped onto my skin and bit so hard that my blood dropped to my groin. He lost control for that one moment. The first and only time in his life he lost control, and took me the way we both want. Then he found his armor, slapped it back on to cover himself. To distance himself from me.
I clap my hands and walk forward when Rudy lifts Soph back to her feet. Their chests heave, and hair sticks to Soph’s sweat-slicked cheek as she rides the endorphin rush and watches me approach.
“Is that how it looks when I do it?” I ask her. “For real?”
“You look a million times better.” She walks away, but only to grab a water bottle and a protein bar. She tears the wrapper open and takes a bite. “It’s your routine, your heart, your passion. I’m just plagiarizing it, in a way.”
“You make it look so good.” I reach out and accept Rudy’s handsqueeze when, because of his labored breathing, it’s all he can offer in place of a hello. “You make it seem magical.”
“I should record it today,” Soph ponders. “Show you how you make it look. You’re so busy not falling on your face, you don’t have time to check the mirrors. I’ll record it and show you how it looks when the creator is the one moving. It’s going to look amazing at the showcase.”
“Yeah…” I chew on my tongue a moment and study Soph, while she takes hefty bites of her bar like she might starve if she doesn’t. “Um… about that.”
Her eyes narrow to dangerous slits. “What?”
“I can’t…” I have to fight against the lump that threatens to choke me. “I can’t do it this year.”
“Lucy!” she explodes. “We’ve been over this! You can, and you will. Stop being a little pussy.”
“It’s not about being a pussy,” I argue. “It’s not that I’m scared of failing. It’s not even that I’m scared of falling. I just don’t have time for it. Not this year. Stacked Deck is going ahead, Soph, the dates have been announced. There’s literally nothing I can do about it at this point.”
“You could just not go! Smalls doesn’t need your pres
ence for it to go ahead.”
“I’m already on the draw. The women’s divisions are already too small, plus I’m last year’s winner. I can’t not go. I need to show all of the women that it’s possible, that the fight world is diverse and accepting.”
“So that’s it?” Soph demands. “All that work, a whole year of working on your showcase routine, then you surprise us with Jay-Z, a routine a million times better, by the way, and still you’re ditching?”
Swallowing my grief, I clasp my hands together, stare right into her eyes and nod. “I’m sorry, Soph. I’m doing the best I can with the time and resources I have. I’ve been thinking about what balls to keep juggling, and which I could drop. Some are made of glass, and some are made of rubber. School—”
“Glass,” she inserts. “Can’t drop that one.”
“Right. Stacked Deck—”
“Bounces!” she snaps. “It bounces, Lucy. It will go ahead without you.”
“You’re right,” I admit. “It would go ahead without me, but Mac won’t. He can’t. He needs me to train him. That one is glass, and it’s the most fragile of them all.”
“He has an entire gym full of fighters that can train him, but you’re the only person on the planet that he’ll accept? You’re gonna let him be that selfish?”
I hate her for making me bitter at him for this.
“It’s not selfish for him to pursue his dreams. It’s exactly what you’re telling me to do right now – to take my own. Well, it’s his turn, and I’m the only one that can train him the way he needs. I’ve been working on this for a year, yeah, but I’ve been working with him for seven. Stacked Deck was always about him, so this time, it’s his turn to win. It’s his time to be selfish and take something for himself. This is my formal announcement that I cannot do the showcase this year. It’s not up for negotiation.”
I turn and take Rudy’s hand in mine. “I’m so sorry. I know this isn’t a game to you. Soph moved you here, she promised something that I thought I could deliver on. But it’s just not meant to be.” I step in closer, wrap my arms around his narrow waist. Then I look back up to the coloring along his jaw. “You’re free to go find a less flakey partner. One whose friend won’t hit you because he’s feeling possessive.”
Wary, perhaps even terrified, his eyes flick to Soph.
“One day,” Soph says to me, “you’re gonna wake up. Maybe you’ll be married, rushing around, getting your sweet babies ready for school. You’ll have long ago finished your degree, finished your work experience hours, you’ll be a decade into your shifts at the hospital. Maybe you’ll have held a patient’s hand the day before. You’ll be doing something important, and you’ll be reasonably content with it, because your husband and babies and patients will make you smile. But that day, while you sit at the kitchen counter, drinking your morning coffee and tapping your hospital sneakers against the steel footrest of the stool in the only ten minutes of quiet you’ll get for the rest of the day, you’ll think back to this day. You’ll remember standing here with me, with Rudy, and you’ll wonder, what if I made a different choice?”
“I don’t have that luxury.” I release Rudy’s hand, step forward so I stand eye to eye with the dance instructor I respect. “I’m sorry. But I just can’t do it.”
“I had enquiries from the Russian Dance Academy,” she blurts out. “They’re interested in what was promised.”
I burst out laughing so hard that I have to hold my stomach. “I’m not moving to Russia, Soph.”
“I didn’t mean you’d move. But the fact they’re interested is amazing. You have no clue what saying no means to your future.”
“It means that maybe I’ll get that husband and babies. It means that a content life with my family is better than a dream that might never work out. A broken leg, a broken anything, and it’s all over.”
“Isn’t that what they told Smalls when they made her go away to college? A broken arm, and her fight career could be over? And yet, she made her dreams come true.”
“Good for her.” I turn away and make my way back to my bag sitting by the door. “I was hoping to get my hour in today anyway, but if you don’t want anything to do with me after this, I understand.”
“No, stop.” Soph rushes across the smooth floor and shoves my bag back down. “There’s nothing?” she asks. “Absolutely nothing I can say or offer that would convince you to change your mind?”
I lower my eyes and shake my head. “I’m sorry, but no. I cannot go after my dream when doing so would mean stealing Mac’s from him. But there’s next year, right?” I smile. I fake it and pray I’ll still be welcome back here. “I can try again next year, and I’ll tell my family that I have plans, that I can’t make the tournament next year.”
“And if Mac loses this year?” she asks. “Will you forgo your dreams next year to help him again?”
“I…” I hesitate. “I don’t know. Probably.”
I grab her hand when she scoffs and goes to turn away. “Put yourself in my position. You’re me, and Mac is Jay. Tell me, Soph. What would you do if you were in my position?”
“It would be more reasonable if you were actually together.” She shakes her head. “He keeps you for his own, he needs you for his happiness, but he won’t give you back that same love or reassurance.”
“Preaching to the choir,” I grumble. “But you never know. I just need to shake my ass in his face a little longer. He’ll crack eventually.”
Finally, just as I’d hoped, her exasperation turns to a soft laugh. She pulls me in for a hug that helps release the anxiety that coiled in my stomach on the drive over here.
I know I already told her I couldn’t do the showcase, but I also know she was hoping I could juggle better. This is just the way it has to be.
“You need to learn some new tricks or something,” she murmurs. “I swear, it should only take the one booty shake for you to get your own way.”
“Not everyone is Jay,” I drawl. “He’s the easiest dude I’ve ever met.”
“Only for me.” She snickers. “Okay. Come back in. You owe me the hour.”
“Even if we’re not showcasing it?”
“Mm.” She’s pissed. Super pissed. “Yes, even if you’re not showcasing it. I still want you here as often as you can, practicing it, perfecting it. Next year, you’ll have a flawless routine that’ll make you famous.” She looks to Rudy. “There will be no bright lights and stages for you this year, but I’m willing to continue your salary if you’re willing to stay. Help her, make it the best damn routine this planet knows. Next year, we’ll get it out there.”
“But you’re also allowed to go,” I add when guilt slides through my gut. “You’re allowed to find something else, something more. You don’t have to stick around because of me.”
“I…” He tilts his head while he thinks. Taps a finger to his bottom lip. Grins. “I would like to stay. If something else pops up that makes my toes twinkle, then I’ll run it by you guys. But for now, I’d like to see this out.”
“Fair call.” I offer a closed fist, and wait for his to tap it. “I have to be out of here fifty minutes from now. Let’s see how high I can get that leg.”
“Yes.” Soph claps her hands and tosses the last of her protein bar into her mouth. “Convince me you’re worth the bullshit, Kincaid. For such a shy girl, you sure know how to be a pain in my ass.”
Lucy
Dietary Requirements
“We have five weeks.” Like a drill commander, I walk a line in front of Mac and try not to obsess over the fact that the gym is otherwise empty. “I’ve been thinking, and I’d really like to get you higher in the weight division.”
Standing in front of a heavy bar that I’m going to make him lift soon, Mac lifts a brow that reeks of ‘Are you fucking serious?’
“You’re weighing in the mid one-eighties. You’re just as tall as Ben, but you’re fifty pounds lighter, so that leaves us with a lot of room to move.”
“He�
��s… I’m…”
“Trying to make excuses?” I ask with a grin. “You’ll be fine. Being heavier might make you a little slower, but at the end of the day, I think it’s best for you. Heavier means when those fists land on your chest, you’ll have built it up more, you’ll know that you can take it.”
I continue lapping. “At this point, it’s not about what you can and can’t do in the octagon. We already know you can fight. Now it’s about building up your mental strength. Last year, he slammed you to the canvas, and because he made you feel fragile, your brain let you believe it. The fights before that, you smashed your opponents, because you believed you could. You walked into the fight with Iowa, and half of your brain was already saying no. He’s different, he was treated different because of Smalls’ interest in him, and that fucked with your head. You’d lost that fight long before you stepped up to him. It only became official when he slammed you to the floor.”
I peek down at the loaded bar on the floor. Consider. Then I walk to the wall of weight plates and grab some more.
“You didn’t get hurt.” I place the plates by the ends of the bar and look back up to meet his eyes. “Right? You weren’t hurt.”
He shakes his head. “I wasn’t hurt.”
“Like, at all? The next day, were you injured?”
Again, he shakes his head. “Not injured.”
“My point exactly.” I release the clips on the end of the bar and slide the new plates on. “You weren’t hurt. Means your brain fucked you up. So for the month, we work on your head. Iowa isn’t your enemy, Mac. I’m not your enemy. No one is… except you. So we build you up physically and, while we’re doing that, mentally.”
“Yes, coach.”
I stop moving, peek into his eyes. And grin. “That sounded sexy. I like being in charge.”
“Don’t do that.” He backs away with a fast skip when I stand. “I don’t have room to do this, work on my head, and tell you no.”
