by Elias Taylor
“You said you supported my dancing.”
Hayden pushed himself to his feet even though it clearly caused him pain.
“I love your dancing,” Hayden said. “I would take a crowbar to my knee if it would fix yours, but this isn’t about you dancing. It’s about you just leaving me behind because I don’t fit into your ballerina life.”
Heather turned away from him. She couldn’t bear to look into his battered face and see the agony pulsing beneath the bruises.
“You’re the one who just disappeared last night after promising to come back,” she said.
“And I’m pissed at myself for that,” Hayden said. “But you can’t just fly away when things get hard. I mean, my God, you haven’t fucking changed in 10 years.”
Fury surged in Heather’s chest. He couldn’t blame all this on her.
“I said I was sorry for that, but I was a kid back then,” she said. “We’re not sixteen anymore. You can’t be out picking fights with no-good bikers.”
Hayden threw his arms up and stormed across the room. He leaned against the wall with his hands and took a steadying breath. Heather knew it had been a low blow to accuse him of picking a fight. Deep down, she even knew that he probably hadn’t started a brawl. But he had got himself in the position to get beat up and that wasn’t ok with her.
Tears pricked at her eyes and threatened to fall. She willed them to back down. Hayden turned back towards her and the expression of mingled pain and anger on his face made Heather want to cower.
“I used to think you were the worst fucking thing to happen to me,” Hayden said. “You almost changed my mind, but it turns out I was right.”
“Screw you, Hayden,” Heather said.
He didn’t answer, so Heather turned on her heel and headed towards the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Home,” Heather snapped.
She had only driven down the block when the tears started streaming down her face. She didn’t know if she was sad or mad or a combination of the two. So she just let herself cry for a little bit. For some stupid reason, she kept expecting Hayden’s arm to appear around her shoulders, like that night she had cried on the beach, and he had comforted her.
When she got back to her apartment, the tears had dried up for the most part.
Heather pulled her cellphone out of her purse. Nothing from Hayden. She hadn’t even realized she was hoping to see a text or call until there wasn’t one.
Without any hesitation, Heather called up Brigid with the Chicago Ballet.
“Brigid, this is Heather Carlson!”
“Hi, Heather!”
“I thought about the audition and I’m in,” Heather said.
After Brigid had gone over all the details and they had ended the phone call, Heather stood in the middle of her apartment. She stared at the living room, kitchen, and bedroom that had become so familiar to her in so little time.
Yesterday, she would have said the familiarity and comfort were good things. She was settling into life in Lyndon and focusing on being happy in the moment.
Today, she didn’t feel settled. She felt like she had been in a rut for the last month. Or some sort of daydream soaked in denial. And now she had to get out of it.
Chapter Eighteen: Gone
Hayden knew he didn’t look great when he showed up for the club meeting at Maverick. Charlie had matching bruises, but at least Charlie had caught up on sleep the night before.
Hayden had just sat up all night, almost calling Heather a hundred times. He was still so angry and he didn’t want to be angry when he talked to her again. She had shied away from his fury and then answered with anger of her own.
He had been too harsh on her. He knew that. It was wrong for him to bring up what happened when they were kids, especially after he had bailed on her like that.
“You ok?” Charlie asked as Hayden slouched in his chair.
Hayden grunted. He was in a place beyond words. Charlie looked like he wanted to know more, but at that moment, Sugar and Redeye entered the room with Rattlesnake right behind them.
Redeye let out a low whistle. “Fuck, you boys don’t look good.”
“Ah, I’ve gotten worse beatings,” Sugar said.
“Hope you gave as good as you got,” Rattlesnake said.
“Where’s Butcher?” Hayden asked.
He and Charlie hadn’t seen their dad yet since the set-up. Butcher had sent Redeye to post bail and drive them home after the night in prison. Hayden wasn’t looking forward to what Butcher was going to dish out to them. Then again, nothing could hurt as much as what Heather had said to him. When she mentioned flying back to Chicago, Hayden had wanted to grab her and tie her to him. He wanted to forbid her from going.
But of course, he couldn’t do that. Heather was her own person. She was the type who would never stop in pursuit of her goals. Even if that meant sprinting by some opportunities she hadn’t thought of before.
Hayden had really thought they had something good going. Something new and fun and beautiful that had the potential to blossom into something beautiful and enduring. If only Heather would let it. If only she wouldn't run away again.
Hayden was startled from his thoughts as the door to the backroom burst open with a bang. Butcher stood in the frame, glaring down at them all.
He stepped into the room and to Hayden’s surprise, another man followed him. It was an older, leaner biker with a distinct Road Warriors patch.
“What’s going on?” Charlie asked.
“I’m gonna let Lizard take that one,” Butcher said.
“You’re Lizard?” Hayden asked.
“Yes,” the Road Warrior said. “And I’m here to offer an apology.”
Charlie’s jaw hit the floor. Hayden squinted his eyes up in distrust.
“Those guys who beat you two up went rogue and I’ve taught ‘em to keep my name out of their mouths,” Lizard said. “The truth is, I want peace just as much as you guys do.”
Hayden’s eyes flew to his father. Butcher was seated in his usual chair with a grim look.
“I admit it that I didn’t believe him at first, ‘specially after what you boys went through,” Butcher said. “But Lizard’s shown himself to be good to his word.”
“I wanna make this right,” Lizard said. “Peace is profitable, for the both of us.”
“And I’m not too old to change my mind,” Butcher said. “Doomsday, tell ‘em your ideas.”
Hayden started. His father was actually requesting his opinions. Hayden cleared his throat.
“Structure and rules,” Hayden said. “Clear dividing lines and a code to follow. I was thinkin’ we could start there.”
An hour later, Lizard departed. The group of bikers had drafted a plan for sustainable peace between the clubs. It was going to take work, but it was possible.
Before Hayden knew it, the room was empty except for himself and his dad.
Hayden nodded at his father and started to stand up to go.
“I wanted a word with you, son,” Butcher said.
Hayden furrowed his brow. His dad was wearing a thoughtful expression.
“Yeah?” Hayden asked.
“I know I’ve been tough on you,” Butcher said. “But it’s because I know you’ll be a great Number 2 to Charlie, I just wanted to make sure you had the grit to stick to your guns.”
“I want to be a good right-hand man.”
It was rare that Hayden could be this open with his father and he wasn’t going to let the chance slip by.
“You will,” Butcher said. “It ain’t easy running this club, but you got it in you.”
Hayden stared at the table. He knew fatherhood didn’t come easy to Butcher. If Hayden were in his dad’s shoes, he would do it differently. He would make sure his child didn’t fester in resentment or need to act out to get attention. Even so, Hayden could tell his father had done his best.
“I’m stepping down,” Butcher said. “I want you and Charlie
to take your vows as the new leaders.”
Hayden was floored. This was what he had always wanted. What he had been working towards for years. But it felt so sudden. And like such a massive change. Hayden realized that he wanted to consult Heather before he accepted.
“Things are weird with Heather,” Hayden admitted. “I don’t know about timing.”
His dad appraised him.
“Talk it out with her,” Butcher said. “I won’t pretend to understand women, but I will say that Heather has a way of keeping you at peace.”
“You think?” Right that moment, Hayden felt anything but peaceful.
“All I know is you’ve been happier these past few weeks than I’ve seen you in a long time,” Butcher said. “And when you’re carrying a club on your shoulders, you need to take the happiness you can get.”
“I’m gonna talk to Heather,” Hayden said. “I’ll straighten things out.”
“You do that. Then tell me how the chips fall.” Butcher heaved a sigh and headed towards the door.
His father gone, Hayden was left alone with his thoughts. He glanced at his phone, then shook his head. He couldn’t do this with a phone call. He needed to see her.
Within fifteen minutes, Hayden pulled up at the curb outside the dance studio. He jogged around to the back where there was a separate entrance to Heather’s apartment. He rang the bell once, but there was no answer. He pulled out his phone and called her twice. When she didn’t pick up, he went back to ringing the doorbell a bunch more times and then he even tipped back his head and called her name.
Nothing.
She was probably with Melinda or her family. That’s what Hayden told himself, but he couldn’t stop the growing feeling of dread.
He walked back towards his bike and saw the light was on in the studio. He opened the door and ducked into the waiting room.
Lenora Newsome was grabbing some paperwork off her desk.
“Hayden,” Lenora said. “I saw you pull up.”
“Yeah, I was looking for Heather.”
Lenora gave him a long look. Hayden couldn’t figure out what she was thinking.
“She’s gone,” Lenora said. “Flew to Chicago to audition for a choreographer job this morning.”
Hayden’s heart sank. He knew the audition was the next day, but he had been hoping that she would at least talk to him before leaving.
“Do you know when she’ll be back?” Hayden asked.
The older woman shrugged. It hit Hayden that Lenora might be upset about Heather’s departure as well. The instructor loved Heather and she had made no secret of how much she appreciated Heather’s teaching.
“She said they were looking to fill the role ASAP,” Lenora said. “If she gets the job, she’ll likely start immediately and not come back.”
“And we both know she’ll get the job,” Hayden muttered.
It was Heather. Hurt knee or not, she would find a way to edge out the competition. She would out-hustle them all.
Hayden rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, right where his old infinity tattoo was.
“Are you alright?” Lenora asked.
“I’m fine,” Hayden said. “I gotta go.”
He wanted to ask more questions. He wanted to mine the instructor for every detail she knew about where Heather was, and how she had acted before departing, but instead, Hayden turned and pushed the door open.
As he got back on his bike, Hayden cursed himself for being this torn up.
After all, Heather Carlson had blown up his world once before. He should have expected this.
Chapter Nineteen: Pain
Heather’s stomach lurched as the plane touched down at Chicago O’Hare. She had been queasy all flight, probably from nerves.
Heather always got nervous before big auditions, but in the past, her nerves had been outweighed by her excitement. Not this time. Her heart was weighed down by everything that had happened the day before.
She had been so furious with Hayden and her anger had fueled her actions. She had organized her flights, thrown a bunch of stuff into a suitcase, and informed Lenora of her plans all in a blur of ire.
On the plane, Heather’s frustration had turned to weariness. She had watched the landscape far below from her window seat and she had started to wonder if she had over-reacted.
No, not over-reacted. She was justified to be upset about Hayden getting in a street fight. She hadn’t listened though. He had tried to explain, but she had closed her ears. And then lashed out. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the pain in Hayden’s face when she told him she was going back to Chicago for the audition.
As people began to disembark the plane, Heather told herself to focus on the audition. It was going to be similar to performance auditions where the candidates would go through several rounds of workshops over the course of a few days. Each round, some people would be weeded out.
Given the liability of her knee, Heather would have to be well-rested and energetic. She had just a few hours to drop off her stuff in the hotel and then get to the first round that afternoon.
Heather hopped in a cab and told it to head downtown to the hotel the ballet had booked for her. She checked in and breathed a sigh of relief when she got to her room.
She popped into the bathroom and examined her reflection in the mirror. She was sweating a bit and her face was pale. Heather splashed some cold water on her face.
No more thoughts of Hayden. Only dance. They wouldn’t just be looking for skill and technique, but also creativity and improv abilities. Heather could do that, but her mind would need to be sharp.
It was easier said than done. When she plugged in her phone to charge, she saw that she had three missed calls from Hayden. She had to ignore them. She didn’t have the bandwidth to call him back and talk, after all that had been said last time.
All of a sudden, Heather felt like crying. It was painful to ignore him like this. She wanted things to go back to being how they were. She even wanted to chat with him about the audition, just to hear him tell her she would do great and they’d be crazy not to hire her.
She wished she could erase the fight. No, she wished she could go all the way back in time to that Ferris wheel and not even start anything with Hayden again. No, she wished she could go back to the moment her car broke down and call a different tow company.
Every possible scenario made Heather more and more depressed.
She checked the time and decided to head to the ballet early. Might as well give herself time to stretch and warm up.
An hour later, Heather had finished her warm-up and was resting a bit in the lobby of the theater. She loved the smell of it. Every time she inhaled, she was transported back to opening night when she had pulled on her swan costume with the delicate white feathers.
It had been pure magic, nothing less. Or it had felt that way at the time. Now Heather wasn’t so sure. Maybe there were other forms of magic.
She ducked into the studio reserved for auditions. The audition was starting in a few minutes and there were about 20 other dancers of all ages. Heather had always been good at assessing the competition.
Leonard Marks, the head choreographer, walked in. Heather had worked closely with him, but she was willing to bet that so had a lot of the dancers in the room.
“Alright, folks, let’s get to it,” Leonard said. “We’ll be running through a few routines today and assessing your overall dancing. Then we’ll end with some improv. Tomorrow you’ll get to show us your best choreography if you’re called back.”
Heather appreciated Leonard’s no-nonsense attitude. She lined up in the center of the group. It was her preferred spot. She danced better when she knew she was right in the middle rather than on the side. There was no hiding in the center.
Leonard was nothing if not professional. He ran through a routine once at full-speed, then told the dancers to repeat it. This was no joke. Heather gritted her teeth. She could do this. She had kept up her practicing as wel
l as she could the past few weeks.
As they started the first dance, her knee started to irk her. She instantly regretted choosing the center. A healthy Heather belonged in the center of the group, sure, but maybe her injured self belonged in the background.
She bobbled a few moves during the first dance and she knew her mistakes did not escape the watchful eyes of Leonard and the other choreographers standing along the sides. Heather gritted her teeth. She didn’t know if she wanted this job, but she didn’t want to be cut either. She wanted the option. She was going to have to do better.
The next routine was simpler but involved a lot of techniques. This was right up Heather’s alley. She had drilled perfect technique into her very bones. Perfect feet, straight legs, elegant arms.
Heather pushed through the pain in her knee and did much better. She had to adjust a few things to favor her good leg, but at least there was no visible limping. It hurt.
At last, they reached the improv section. Heather knew that this was the most important part. Mastery of dance was necessary, but innovation and artistic instinct were crucial to be a choreographer.
As the music started and Heather stepped out to do her 30-second improv, she was grateful for all the lessons she had drafted at the studio back in Lyndon. Coming up with lesson plans and routines for the kids had required Heather to really listen to the music and get creative with putting moves together.
As a performer, Heather had just done what she was told and done it well. As an instructor, she had to put more thought into the dances.
When she finished her improv, Heather noted Leonard’s subtle nod of approval. Bum knee or not, Heather Carlson had not lost it.
As she stood along the wall and waited for everyone else to finish, she felt a pang of regret. Would she ever get to choreograph more pieces for her students in Lyndon? They had been so excited about potential dances for the showcase coming up in a few weeks.
When the session was over, Leonard announced the candidates invited back the next day. Heather had made the cut.
