Before she can make some more embarrassing but accurately true comments, my phone rings. I flip the gadget, and all the mirth on my face washes up as I read the name appearing there. “I need to take this.” I get out of the dorm and close the door behind me, not wanting Candee to hear our conversation.
“Dad,” I greet, and hear his long exhale on the other side.
“How are you? Are you fine?” The concern in his voice is refreshing.
“I’m fine. And everything is fine.”
“Good. Wait, I’ll make a video call.”
Hell, no. Before I think of protesting, my phone beeps, a video call request popping up. This will be bad. I just know it. Looking up, I blow out a breath before hitting accept.
Dad’s face appears, and his face melts into a smile. Even in his fifties, Dad is a handsome fella, I’ll give him that. Life has been kind to him. The gray hair and wrinkles give him more of a silver fox look. Some of my high school friends used to come home just to see him—some even pulled up the guts to throw themselves at him.
#AwkwardAwkward
“Are you well settled?”
“Yeah, all’s good here.”
He nods, and his forehead creases a little. “Do you mind me asking who picked up your phone earlier?”
“He’s a … friend.”
One of his eyebrows lifts. “Friend? Or a boyfriend?”
“Dad! No, he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Then, a college friend?” He sounds skeptical.
This is why I didn’t want to join the kizomba class because I don’t like lying to my parents. With Mom, it’s easy to share stuff, but it’s so difficult with Dad because he has expectations. I debate telling him the truth, but then I think about what Candee said the other day. I’m an adult, and if I want to dance, I don’t need to explain this to anybody. Even if it’s Dad’s money, a little voice inside of me reproaches. But yes, even then.
“No.” I clear my throat. “He’s my dance instructor.”
He blinks. “I didn’t catch that.”
“I’m taking a dancing class. It’s called kizomba. And the guy who picked up my phone is my dance instructor, Remi. Long story short, I forgot my phone, and he just came by to drop it off.”
Under clenching jaw, he grits, “You’re dancing?”
“Yes. I came here two months before college started. I needed something to do, so my roommate and I enrolled in the kizomba class. It’s been—”
“I’m spending so much money on you, sending you to college, and this is what you’re doing. Dancing? Tell me, what are you going to do with dancing?” The veins in his neck strain from his shouting.
I hear Mom’s voice. “What happened? Is it Kaci?”
“Did you know about this? I’m sending her to college, and what is she doing? Dancing around, like a schoolgirl?”
“It’s just for fun—”
“I’m not making dancing a career. It’s simply—”
“—for fun …”
They continue taunting each other as I stand here with my phone in hand for more than a minute. “Dad? Mom?” I call out, trying to bring the conversation back, but they don’t hear me. I call them once again, louder this time.
Dad stops mid-shouting and brings his face back to the screen. “Your mom put all of this in your mind, didn’t she?”
Here we go. The blame game has begun. “What does she have to do with any of this?”
“She’s got everything to do with this. She didn’t do anything worthy with her life, and now she’s—”
“Marcus, you’re going too far,” Mom chastises.
“—you need to follow your goal. It’d be wise if you follow the advice of someone who was able to do something worthwhile with his life and not—”
That’s it. How can any man talk about his wife like this?
“Enough, Dad. You want to play the blame game, then let me participate as well. Breaking news, Dad, but giving advice and being controlled like marionettes are two different things.”
Shock slaps his face. “What? I have …”
“Shocked, Dad? You shouldn’t be. First, it was Mom. She had to stop doing the one thing she loved—dancing—because you didn’t approve.”
“Kaci,” Mom whispers her rebuke, but I don’t stop. Guilt strangles my words, but I push past it, speaking what should have been spoken long ago.
“Then, Kane, he’s lucky his business is doing well, or else you’d be reminding him what a waste it was to invest in his dreams, right?”
Stop, Kaci. Just stop.
“And now it’s me. I’ve never danced in my life, Dad, and now, I do. Maybe I’m not good at it, but it doesn’t matter because I like how I feel when I dance. I now know what Mom felt when she danced.” I pause to look at Mom. She’s shaking her head at me. I don’t let that deter me and look back at Dad. “And you snatched that away from her. You snatched the one thing that made her feel free. That made her happy. How could you? When you love someone, you love them the way they are, not the way you want them to be. That’s not love, Dad. There can be no love with conditions.”
A gentle hand gets closer, touching the screen. His eyes turn red as tears hang on his lashes. “Kaci …” His voice, a mere whisper, cracks, and that tears at my heart.
My trembling fingers wipe my cheeks. “I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you, but I needed to say it, and you needed to hear it. You’re a good person, Dad. Don’t make us hate you.”
I end the call.
#FeelingLikeShit
TWELVE
#Tarantism
What was I thinking?
What the hell was I thinking?
I shouldn’t have spoken to him that way. I don’t regret what I’ve told him, but I regret how I told him.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Remi: A playlist? You’re practicing?
With my bangs gripped in my fist, I groan. He didn’t answer my question. I asked him for a kizomba playlist, but instead, he asked two questions of his own. I’m frustrated enough right now. I can’t deal with questions.
Kaci: Something like that. The playlist, please. And is the studio open right now?
After spending more than an hour cooling my anger and crying my guilt in the shower, I knew I needed to get out of here. Not bothering with proper dance clothes, I slip on a white crop top, black leggings, and my sneakers. Usually, after having a conversation like this with Dad, I’d grab my iPod and earbuds and go for a run, but today, I need to dance, and I want to dance, alone, where I don’t have to think about who is watching.
Each time I’ve attended the dance class, there was a voice in my head reminding me I wasn’t alone, and my body couldn’t move freely. I was always conscious of my moves, but today, I want to lose myself in the music and feel. I want the joy, the ecstasy while dancing.
Beep—I open the text to find a “Yes” and a list of songs from Remi. I feed them into my phone, grab my bag, and rush to the door.
“Where are you going?” Candee asks, a bobby pin dangling from her lips as her fingers roll up a section of her hair in her rollers.
“To the studio. Don’t wait for me, I might be late,” I say before closing the door. I take the stairs by two and run to my car.
When I reach the studio, it’s empty, but the lights are on. Maybe the custodian hasn’t gone home yet? I drop my bag on the chair, connect my phone to the sound system, and open the playlist Remi shared. I click on the first one, and the music hits the wall. Tightening my ponytail, I walk to the center of the room. Remi’s instructions echo in my head, and I close my eyes.
The song starts, but my body refuses to move—it’s stuck. Frustration grabs at me. I rub my hands over my face. I breathe in slowly and breathe out a long breath.
When it’s time to fly, you spread those wings wide, and you soar. YOU SOAR!
My eyes snap open, and I force myself to move.
Since our class is a beginner’s class, I only know a limited number of ste
ps and moves, but the instructions of Remi and Layla keep playing in my head, and I keep moving. At first, my movements are awkward, but I don’t let that deter me, and my body starts flowing with the music. I keep my hands up to the level of my boobs as if I’m holding someone and my gaze is on my steps as I dance.
My feet follow the beat, my waist sways with the rhythm, and I let my mind wander between the music notes—forgetting everything that doesn’t matter—letting go of every barrier that’s holding me back. Tears of incredulity spring from the corners of my eyes and wash away.
Every fiber of my body feels the energy of the music seeping inside me. And I feel it. I feel all the feathers Mom sewed in my wings. They start to flap. With each move, each step, they flap faster, flying me higher. All the words Dad said, all the doubts I had about myself, get lost beneath the sound of the music filling me.
And right there, between the music, I feel him—Remi.
My back collides with a warm chest, sending a shiver running down my spine. Realizing I’m pressed too close to him, my toes curl, and I make a conscious effort to keep my knees straight so that I don’t embarrass myself and melt to the ground.
“Kaci …” he whispers, bringing his hand to the back of my neck, teasing the hair there with his fingers. “Kaci, darling, some people spend their lives watching others dance, and some dance, leaving others watching. Who are you, Kaci?” he asks, his voice so close that I can feel his breath heating the tips of my ears.
The song ends, and we keep still.
Remi’s fingertip slides up and down the side of my neck slope, making my voice thicker when I speak. “I’m the one who dances and leaves others watching,” I confess, feeling bolder. Then, the second song begins. The music. The beat. It feels hot. It feels dirty.
He turns me around until I’m looking into his beautiful eyes. His eyebrows knit seeing tears in my eyes, and his gaze falls to read what’s written on my crop top. “Ask Me to Dance” is written in hot pink on the white material. I had no idea I was going to join a dance class when I packed this, but now it seems like one of the best decisions I’ve made.
Remi’s lips spread into the sexiest smirk that’s ever been aimed at me. He steps back and bows a little. “Will you help me make this night better?” Remi asks in a husky whisper, raising an eyebrow.
His question confuses me. “Yeah.” I hesitate, leaning my body weight from one foot to another.
He takes my hands into his, and his touch is everything. It makes me twitch. It makes me warm. It makes my heart gallop. “Darling, dance with me.”
He wipes away my tears before touching my lips with his fingertip, his gaze following the movement of his fingers, and a shiver courses through me. His gaze meets mine, and he cages me into his arms, leading me, making us blend into the music.
I can dance, but with him, I dance better.
With each step, I grow bolder. My hips pop. My body curves. His arms on my body create an inferno inside me. I know what I’m doing. I’m tempting him. I keep my gaze on him, and he doesn’t disappoint. His lips part. His eyes get dipped in dark whiskey. His hold on me tightens.
In one swift move, he makes me twirl until my back is to him, and he stops, letting his hands drop. “Kaci,” he whispers into my ear, and my eyelashes flutter. How does he have such an effect on me? This is different. So different from what I used to feel with Ryan.
I clench my jaw, trying to resist him, but then he places his warm hand on my waist, and whatever effort I’m making to resist him flies out of the window. My body weakens, and my head voluntarily falls back on his chest.
Remi curls his hand around my waist, bringing me closer to him, and I feel his light scruff teasing my ears. “That was beautiful,” he compliments. He presses a soft kiss behind my ear, causing me to jump.
My voice is low. “Th-thanks,” I stutter, my body shuddering in his arms. The warmth is comforting. It feels like my body recognizes and accepts his touch.
I want more.
“You’re a mystery to me, Kaci. One minute I want to stay away from you, and the next minute I find myself drawn to you, wanting to kiss you senseless, fearing I might never breathe again. Why, Kaci?” he asks, his voice low and sexy, getting me even hotter.
His words—I don’t know the answer to his why, but I’m asking myself the same question.
He turns me around, letting his hands rest lightly on my waist. His beautiful ambers connect with mine, holding me captive. “Please tell me this isn’t only me, Kaci. Please tell me you’re feeling this”—he moves his finger back and forth between us—“whatever this is between us too.” Remi drops his forehead on mine, making me want to lose myself in his arms.
Mom’s words come back and hit me hard. You were meant to enjoy every bit of your life, Kaci. You deserve this, my beautiful girl.
I deserve this, I say to myself and speak my heart. “I feel this too, Remi, and much more.”
My words are all the push he needs. The next instant, his hands are under my crop top, gripping my waist and pulling me closer, making my chest collide with his, creating an electrical storm of our own—consuming us. Without giving me time to react, Remi leans down, his right hand plunging into my hair and his hot mouth claiming mine.
His lips feel like everything that I dreamed this kiss would be and more—much more. He kisses me like he knows exactly how each nip is making me wilder, how each bite is making my eyes roll harder, how each caress is tempting me to rub myself over him until we’re both panting for more.
We both desperately touch and pull at each other—the kiss no longer under our control. I grip Remi’s hair, pulling hard because I need more—more than I think I’ll be able to take, but needing it nonetheless.
The next thing I’m aware of is Remi breaking the kiss and fumbling with his phone in his pocket while I struggle to get a hold of my whooshing breath. I catch his frown as he looks at the name appearing on the phone.
“What happened?” he asks, breathless. My lips twitch, satisfaction widening my chest. But it doesn’t last. Remi freezes on the spot, his eyes refusing to blink in fear, as he listens to the other person on the phone.
His mouth opens up a little with disbelief. I start to ask what’s happening, but when he lands his gaze on me, my words die in my throat. Remi backs away from me, pain clouding his face. I reach up to touch him, but he keeps backing away from me.
“Remi?”
The tear rolling down his cheek breaks my heart, and I rush to him. “What’s the matter?” I ask. The phone drops to the floor, making me jump. “Remi?” I call again.
“It’s Wylla,” he whispers, pain oozing from his voice. “She’s missing.”
#FallingApart
THIRTEEN
#TheSilenceoftheNight
“This is all because of you,” he barks before picking up his phone from the floor. I, on the other hand, am rooted to the ground, shocked, seeing the hatred being aimed at me.
“What do you mean, this is because of me?” I ask, my chest heaving.
“I should have been with her, not you. You were just fucking using me to be your rebound.”
“How can you—”
“I heard what Candee said when I came to drop off your phone earlier, so don’t fucking pretend. You just wanted me to fuck you so that you could get over him. Well, guess what? Maybe there’s a very good reason he cheated on you with that best friend.” He shoves his index finger in my direction and storms out of the hall.
I can’t move.
How dare he? How dare he say those things? My throat burns. My eyes sting. I clamp my mouth shut, feeling a sob making its way up my throat, and fall on my knees. Screw his balls. Rotten dickhea—
Oh my God, Wylla. Wylla is missing. Shit … shit. SHIT! I need to help. With weak legs, I get up and wipe my tears away. I shake this anger off and gather my things in my backpack. Maybe I’m not needed, but I can’t go back to the dorm and cry about my pathetic choice in boys, knowing Wylla is missing. I need
to help. If Remi doesn’t want me there, well, he’ll just have to deal with it.
With my car key between my fingers, I run but come to a halt, seeing Remi standing in front of my car—hair in a tight grip. My presence intensifies the frown he’s sporting.
“I need a lift.”
Huh? That’s—unexpected. I stare at him, thinking whether I heard him right.
He takes a step toward me and stops. “Fuck!” he curses at the road and lifts his hands, looking at the sky before crawling his gaze back to me. A muscle pulses in his jaw. “Look, I’m sorry for what I said inside, but Nicholas took the bike, and he’s gone looking for Wylla. No one is picking up their fucking phone, so I don’t have a ride.”
He runs a hand over his face, and regret flickers in his eyes as he waits for my reply. I groan. There are a hundred taunts paving their way to my tongue right now, but thank goodness, I like Wylla, and I want her found, so I press that shit back because the situation is not right.
I snort out a “hmm” and get inside the car. He climbs in the passenger seat. “Where to?”
“Let’s try South Main,” he replies without hesitation.
***
“Can you drive a little faster? Please.”
I’m driving at 80, but I refrain from commenting. I get it. Remi is stressed. His one hand is covering his mouth, and the other one is resting on his bouncing knee.
The traffic slows down. Ahead, lights from emergency vehicles dance up the sky. Remi groans. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” We lower our windows and poke our heads out to see what’s happening ahead, but we’re too far back in the line. I want to console him, but since he’s being a dick, I keep my words to myself.
His phone rings, and he takes it out of his pocket with a shaky hand. My heart goes out to him. I can’t imagine what he’s going through. I’m scared for Wylla as well, but I don’t think I feel even an ounce of what Remi is feeling right now.
I take a look at the screen and see Nicholas’s name. He swipes right and takes the call. “Hello,” he says as his voice cracks.
Darling, Dance with Me Page 7
