by Whitley Cox
“You’re dancing with a new partner?” The disbelief and horror in her mother’s voice was enough to shame Violet into next week.
It would kill me to watch you dance with another man.
Once again, the memory of his words brought the world just a touch out of focus. Was she betraying him?
Her mother’s words brought her back to the now. “Did Jean-Phillipe mean nothing to you? He’s simply … replaceable?”
Finally, Violet lifted her head. Her jaw ached, her throat burned, and her eyes stung from fighting off the tears. “Of course he’s not replaceable. How dare you say something like that?”
Her mother threw her shoulders back. “Well, you’ve replaced him, so obviously he was.”
“He is not replaceable. I could never fill the void that he left in my heart, in my soul. The man was my partner in every way imaginable. I loved him. But he’s also dead. He’s been dead for over a year. Don’t you think I deserve to be happy?” The emotions were taking on a life of their own now, and Violet felt both angry and sad. A lone, hot tear trickled down her cheek. She lifted her cloth napkin to blot it away. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw things. She wanted to curl up in a ball in the corner and cry.
Her mother pushed her plate away. She’d hardly touched her food. “I think Jean-Phillipe deserves to be shown more respect than being replaced like the family dog. So what, when one dies you just go to the animal shelter and rescue another one. Don’t even have to get a new leash or collar.” She shook her head in disgust, then got up from the table, wiped a tear from her own eye and stormed out, leaving Violet sitting there wondering what the hell just happened.
14
With a whistle and a spring in his step, Adam locked the door of his SUV and headed toward the front door of the studio. It was almost eight o’clock on Wednesday night, and he couldn’t wait to see Violet again. Couldn’t wait to dance with her again. Couldn’t wait to …
His cock jerked in his shorts at the thought of taking her again in the studio, in front of all the mirrors. Would she do another little striptease for him?
Still whistling a tune to some show Mira was obsessed with, he opened the door, sighing immediately when the cool breeze from the air-conditioning hit the top of his head. It’d been a warm day, and he welcomed the goosebumps that chased across his arms.
Music from inside the studio said the class wasn’t over yet, so he sat down on the bench in the waiting room, brought out his phone and checked some emails.
Thoroughly engrossed in an email from a lab up in Canada about getting some samples from them, he didn’t hear the changing-room door close.
“Adam?”
His head popped up from his phone. “Paige? I thought you worked Wednesday nights?”
“Switched to Thursdays. What are you doing here?”
“Uh … ” His eyes darted to the dance studio door. The music had stopped, and he could hear the murmurs of the dancers getting closer. “I’m, uh … ”
The door opened, and out came a bunch of women of various ages, followed at the end by Violet.
Paige’s light brown eyes darted back and forth between Adam and Violet, then suddenly understanding glimmered in the flecks of gold, and she nodded. “Ah.”
Adam sighed. “I was going to tell you.”
Paige smiled, reached out and put a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “It’s okay. We’re divorced. You don’t have to tell me everything.”
“Divorced?”
Ah fuck.
Adam’s gaze swung to Violet. “Paige is my ex-wife. Mira’s mother.”
Violet’s green eyes narrowed and pinned on Paige. “Why didn’t you tell me your daughter danced here?”
Paige lifted a shoulder, then pulled the pins out of her hair and let the dark curls tumble past her shoulders. “I don’t know. I … I just didn’t want it to be about Mira. I wanted this dance class to be about me. It’s something I’m doing for myself.”
Adam’s eyes perked up. “Your creative outlet?”
Paige nodded. A small smile drifted across her face. “Yeah.”
“And is it helping?”
Another smile, this one bigger and adding a real sparkle to her eyes, bringing out all that gold. “Yeah. I’m really enjoying it. I think it’s helping.”
Adam’s gaze fell to Violet. “Well, you have a wonderful teacher.”
“This isn’t going to be weird now, is it?” Violet asked, his compliment falling by the wayside. She seemed strange. Guarded and closed off. What was up?
Paige shook her head. “No. I mean, I didn’t know that you were seeing Adam, but I still want to take the class if you’ll let me? I’m not jealous or upset, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Adam took a step toward Violet. She bristled. What the hell?
“Our divorce was amicable,” he said, wanting to reach out to her. Make a physical connection to break down some of those walls. “We’re friends and co-parents now.”
Paige nodded. “That’s right. You’ve got yourself a really great guy, and I’m happy Adam has found someone.”
Skepticism crossed Violet’s face. Adam could practically see her stack another brick on top of that already incredibly high wall of hers.
Paige squeezed Adam’s shoulder. “I’ve got to run. Mira with my mom?”
“Yep. Her last text said they were baking cupcakes.”
“Mind if I swing by and say hi before she goes to bed?”
He smiled and placed his hand over hers. Paige looked happier than Adam had seen her look in a while. “I think Mira would love that.”
With a nod and a wave at Violet, his ex-wife was out the door. He knew it was probably too good to be true, but he could have sworn he saw a little skip in her step.
The rest of the dance class had cleared out. It was just him and Violet. He turned back to face her only to find her halfway down the hallway, staring at the wall. She reached out and stroked something.
He got up from his spot on the bench and made his way toward her. “You okay?”
Violet gasped and snatched back her hand as if the picture she’d been touching had suddenly caught fire. She spun to face him. “You need to go.”
What? Where had that come from?
He took a few steps toward her, but she held out her hands to tell him to stop. “No. You need to go,” she repeated.
“But what about dance practice?”
She shook her head and averted her eyes, but he could tell she was struggling not to cry. Her jaw ticked from a tight clench, and the muscles in her long, slender neck were corded. “It was a bad idea. I can’t dance with you.” She swallowed. “I can’t be with you.”
“Is this about Paige? I swear to God it was an agreeable divorce. We’re friends. She’s okay with it.”
What had happened between when they’d been together Saturday night and today? He’d spotted her with a woman he could only assume was her mother, but he chose not to interrupt their dinner and instead just waved and went on his way. Was she upset he hadn’t gone into the restaurant in his sweaty running clothes to say hi?
“Is this about Tuesday night?” he asked, desperate to know why she’d done a total one-eighty and what he could do to fix it.
“What about Tuesday?” He could tell she was trying to keep her words light, but a bitter edge backed them.
“That I didn’t come in and say hi. Did you want me to come into the restaurant and introduce myself to you and the woman I’m assuming was your mother? I was gross and didn’t want to interrupt.”
She shook her head, and her eyes said she was not only tired and sad but also frustrated. Was her frustration with him? “No. It wasn’t about that.”
He reached out to her again. This time she didn’t put her hands up or push him away, but her body stiffened as he placed his hands on her arms. “Vi, tell me what’s going on. Why can’t we dance together? Why can’t we be together?”
Her eyes flicked up to the picture in front of them
. Adam followed her gaze. It was of a man, probably in his early thirties, with dark, almost jet-black hair, bright amber eyes and a confident smile. He was in a dark blue, sleeveless ballet bodysuit and tights and airborne in the middle of a perfect grand jeté.
Her boyfriend.
Her dance partner.
“Is that him?” he asked softly.
She nodded.
“What was his name?”
“Jean-Phillipe.”
He placed a knuckle beneath her chin and turned her head to face him. “Is he the reason you don’t want to dance for Art in the Park anymore?”
She blinked, and tears formed in her eyes. Her bottom lip quivered as she struggled to hold back the emotions. All Adam wanted to do was scoop her up in his arms and absorb the pain. “I just don’t think I’m ready.”
“What changed between Saturday and now? Is it Paige? Is it me? Am I pushing too hard? Because you can tell me to back the fuck off. And I will.”
She shook her head. “It’s not Paige. It’s not you. You’re … you’re wonderful. It’s me. I’m just not ready.”
“Not ready to dance with someone else? Not ready to perform? Not ready to be with someone?” He cupped her cheek. So much pain swirled behind her eyes. It gutted him. “You have to help me out, Vi. I’m trying to understand.”
She shook out of his grasp and turned away, wandering into the dance studio. He followed her.
“It’s all of it,” she finally said. “I thought I was ready, but I’m not. I haven’t performed in front of an audience in over two years.”
He wasn’t going to let her get away. Wasn’t going to let her shut him out. He ate up the short distance between them and reached out to her again. “Then I won’t push. I’ll back off. We don’t have to be any more than dance partners.”
“No.”
“Yes. You may not believe it, but I saw what came over you when we danced together last week. The smile on your face, the light in your eyes. It was as if a piece of you had been put back in place the moment you let someone lead you around the floor. The moment you knew I’d catch you if you fell.” He stepped closer to her. “Because I’ll always catch you.”
For what felt like the millionth time, she shook her head. A tear slid down the crease of her nose. “I can’t. I’m sorry. You need to go.” Then before he could wipe the tear from her rosy cheek and take her in his arms, she pulled away, showed him her back and retreated to the corner by the stereo, leaving Adam standing there dumbfounded and at a loss as to what to do next.
The following day, Violet was nowhere to be seen when Adam brought Mira to dance. Normally, she came out to greet her pupils, ask about their day or week and chatted with the parents, but when Adam and Mira arrived, Violet was missing.
“Where’s Vi?” Mitch asked, coming up behind Adam. Jayda slid down onto her bottom next to Mira, and the two girls started chattering like little birds as they put on their dance slippers.
Adam shrugged. “No clue.”
“Did you see her last night?” Mitch peered into the office where Kathleen was tapping away on the keyboard.
“Yeah, just briefly,” Adam replied. “She didn’t tell you she called it all off?”
Mitch spun around to face him. “Called what off?”
Adam’s eyes went wide. “All of it. The dancing, us. Told me she wasn’t ready.”
Mitch’s face scrunched up in confusion, and his eyes narrowed. “Weird. She went out for dinner with our mother on Tuesday night and came home absolutely miserable. Wouldn’t say what she said though. Just went to her room and hasn’t said much since.”
“Do you think your mother told her not to dance with me? Not to be with me?” Adam scratched the back of his neck. He was itching to go on the hunt for Violet. Open up every closet and pull back every drape in the building until he found her.
“May have,” Mitch said. “Mom’s going through some shit of her own right now. She’s not taking my dad’s death very well.”
“Shit,” Adam whispered, his eyes falling to his little girl and her eagle ears. “Right. I’m really sorry again for all your losses.”
Mitch brushed off the condolences. “I’m going to go see if I can find her.”
“There you a—”
Violet shook her head and held her finger to her lips. “Shh.”
Mitch stepped into her office and shut the door behind him, a perplexed look on his face. “What’s going on? Why are you hiding from your students?”
“I’m not hiding from them,” she said, pushing herself up to standing. She’d been hunkered down on the floor behind her desk, a box from Emerald City Bakery perched on her knees and cheesecake crumbs on her ballet skirt.
“You’re hiding from him?”
She rolled her eyes and dusted off her skirt. “I’m just not ready.”
Mitch grabbed an envelope off her desk and studied the front before handing it to her. “Does your behavior have anything to do with your dinner with Mom?”
It had everything to do with her dinner with their mother. She took the envelope and opened it.
“What did she say, Vi? You were so happy last weekend. Even more so on Sunday, than Saturday. Don’t think I didn’t hear you sneak in just before sunrise.” His lip pulled to the side in a crooked half-smile. “What changed?”
Violet let out a long exhale and leaned back against the edge of her desk. “We saw Adam. He was out for a run or something and waved at us through the restaurant window. Mom asked who he was. I told her, and she said I was replacing Jean-Phillipe like he was the family dog. When one dies you just go to the animal shelter and rescue another one. Don’t even have to get a new leash or collar.”
Mitch ran a hand through his hair. “Ah, fuck. She didn’t?”
“Yeah. And, well, I was up all Tuesday night thinking about it, and maybe she’s right? Maybe I am moving on too soon?”
“She’s grieving, Vi. She’s grieving, and she’s projecting. You have to know that.”
“Even if she is, is she wrong? I mean, am I trying to replace Jean-Phillipe?”
Mitch sidled up next to her and wrapped a protective big-brother arm around her shoulder. He pecked her on the side of the head. “You’re not replacing him. You’re moving forward. Big difference. The other big difference is that you’re thirty and Mom is almost seventy. She can’t imagine moving on because not many people her age do. But you have your whole life ahead of you. You can find love again.”
Violet rested her head on her brother’s shoulder. “Can you go take Adam out for a coffee or something? I’d rather not see him right now.”
He squeezed her tight against him. “I can. But you can’t hide from him forever.” He pushed away from the desk and unwrapped his arm from his shoulder. “Give me a couple minutes before you come out. I’ll text you when Elvis has left the building.”
Her whole body and brain were exhausted. It was a struggle to lift the corners of her mouth into a smile. “Thanks.” Once Mitch had left, she opened up the folded piece of paper from the envelope. The studio had only been open for a few weeks, so mail had been quite scarce. There was no return address on the envelope, and her address had been handwritten. Who was sending her mail?
Pinching the bridge of her nose, she stared down at the piece of paper. Her bottom lip dropped open. What in the holy hell?
It was a picture taken of Jean-Phillipe and Violet dancing on stage in New York, probably a photo taken for a website or newspaper, maybe a year or two before his diagnosis. Violet’s face had a big red X through it, and “RIP Gone too soon” was written above Jean-Phillipe’s head.
What. The. Fuck?
15
“How’s your sister?” Adam asked as he caught up with Mitch in Liam’s driveway Saturday night. He’d texted and called Violet several times since Thursday, after she’d blatantly avoided him and sent Mitch out as a distraction. But his attempts at communication were left unanswered. He even thought about showing up on her doorstep and n
ot leaving until she talked to him. That was encroaching on stalker-predator territory, though, and he wasn’t that kind of guy. She obviously needed her space. He only hoped eventually she would come around and let him back into that space.
Mitch opened the door to Liam’s house. “She’s okay. Got some weird mail that rattled her.”
Adam stopped walking. “Weird mail?”
Mitch shook his head in dismissal. “She’s taken it to the cops, just in case.”
“What did it say?”
“It was a picture of her and Jean-Phillipe, but a big red X was drawn over her face.”
Holy shit.
“She okay?”
“Yeah. Hopefully the cops can get to the bottom of it.”
Adam scratched the back of his neck. Poor Violet, when it rained it poured. “Have you talked to your mom?” Mitch had explained everything over coffee Thursday, letting Adam know how their mother had reacted to Violet’s news about Adam.
Adam felt like it was all his fault. Had he not waved at her in the window and sparked a conversation between Violet and her mother, they might not have talked about him at all and they wouldn’t be in this mess. Violet would still be talking to him. Dancing with him. Sleeping with him.
Fuck, and all because of a goddamn wave.
Mitch nodded. “I went over there this afternoon with Jayda, tried to soften the blow of me laying into her for how she behaved, but when we got there, she was in a really bad way.”
“Bad way how?”
They put their beer in the fridge and wandered out into the dining room. Nobody else had arrived yet, and Liam wasn’t even around, so they went to the task of setting up.
“She was in a dark mood. It looked like she was still wearing the same clothes from earlier in the week. Her hair was a mess. There was food on her clothes and face. Her breath stunk. She stunk.”
Adam’s shock must have shown on his face, because Mitch grimaced as he picked up the box full of poker chips and carried it over to the card table. “Losing my dad hit her hard. Her grief has spiraled into a depression, and Vi and I aren’t sure how to help her. We’ve suggested therapy, a housekeeper, a companion, a pet. She vetoes it all.”
