by Deanna Roy
“A little,” I said.
His eyes caught mine and I felt that tickle again, like the sliver of grass on my skin. The rush he talked about when stealing. He was my wave to ride.
I got behind the wheel, scooting forward so I could reach the pedals. Before Denham could even buckle, I’d moved the gear and pressed the gas.
“Whoa!” Denham said as he was knocked against the back of the seat. “Now that’s what I call driving!”
We circled the lot, me alternately stomping the gas or slamming the brakes, until I felt I had whiplash. Denham encouraged the craziest moves, whooping and shouting for me to aim for the front doors and floor it.
When I finally put the car back in park, my throat was hoarse from laughing. I got out of the car so we could switch places again.
This time when we crossed paths, Denham clasped my waist, lifting me up and spinning me in a circle. The rush passed over me, no longer a tickle, but a wave, just like he said.
He lowered me slowly, my body sliding down his. When my face reached his, he leaned forward, and it happened. His lips met mine.
The kiss was lingering, careful, and quiet, the opposite of how we’d been in the car. I felt aglow.
When he let me go, I was warm with his attention, calm and happy.
“I shouldn’t do that,” he said, taking a step back.
“Why?” I asked. There was a promise in that kiss, a feeling that there was so much more. I wanted it all.
“I just shouldn’t,” he said. He ducked away and headed back to the driver’s seat.
I climbed into my side, refusing to look at him. I understood what he meant. We lived together. It wasn’t right.
But that didn’t stop me from wanting it.
Back in the rental car at the Alamodome with Blitz, I press my foot on the brake, gliding us to a stop. I’m not driving anything like I did that night with Denham. But I can’t compare the two experiences, and I will never speak of it.
There are some things that a woman keeps to herself, I realize. And my first lesson and my first kiss are things that need to be left in the past.
Chapter 12
Blitz leaves early the next morning for his flight to LA. I wander the hotel suite, wringing my hands with anxiety, until I pack for the private lesson with Gabriella.
It’s actually the first time I’ll have ever been alone with my own daughter. And Denham will be outside the building.
Maybe I should have canceled.
But it’s too late now, and I don’t have Gwen’s number anyway.
So a half hour ahead of time, I call the concierge like Blitz instructed and tell them I’m ready to go to the academy.
Downstairs, a driver in a plain slate blue SUV waits with my name in the window. The doorman opens the back door, but I shake my head. It’s too obvious when someone sits in the backseat that it isn’t a normal situation.
“Front, please,” I say.
The doorman obeys and opens the passenger door.
“Hello,” the driver says. His tone is abrupt. He looks like a football player, broad shouldered and wide necked. His blond hair is smashed beneath a jaunty hat.
“Can I take the sign out of the window?” I ask. “We’re trying to avoid being spotted.”
“Sure.” His nod is curt. “You’ll know the car from now on.”
“And can you lose the hat? I don’t want to be obvious.”
The man laughs and tugs off the hat, tossing it in the back. “I hate that thing anyway.”
“Good,” I say. “Thank you.” I pull down the paper from the window as we head toward Dreamcatcher. My heart hammers. I definitely want to avoid Denham seeing me when I go in. But I have every intention of deliberately talking to him when I come out.
When we reach the academy, we pass the green truck with Denham inside, and I instruct the driver to take me around to the back. I have my phone in my hand in case the backstage door is locked this time, but just like earlier this week, it opens easily.
I pass through the storage area and into the hallway. It almost feels strange to do this without Blitz. He’s been such a constant by my side since December.
Gwen and Gabriella haven’t arrived yet. I head into Studio 3 to wait.
I run through some warm-ups, thinking about Denham sitting in his truck just outside. I try to decide exactly what to say to him to convince him to leave.
He was a complicated boy, even at sixteen. He has to know his criminal background isn’t going to look good for trying to get Gabriella. He must think of her as a baby still. What would he do with a four-year-old girl in a wheelchair anyway? Surely I can convince him to move on.
The door opens and Gabriella rolls in.
“Where’s Benjamin?” she asks. She’s in a new emerald green dance leotard with a bright fluffy tutu. She looks like a little queen.
“He had to go away for a couple days,” I say. “He’ll be back next week.”
She looks disappointed, and I try to stuff down any feelings about that. I’m just the plain old regular dance helper. Blitz is a superstar.
“Why don’t we just have fun today?” I suggest. “And make up a little dance we can surprise him with?”
“Yes!” she says, her eyes sparkly now. “We can call it Benjamin’s Dance.”
“Perfect,” I say, waving to Gwen as she heads back out to the hall. “What sort of music should we use?”
We spend our hour listening to songs and coming up with silly dance moves to make Blitz laugh. We practice them over and over until Gwen comes in to remind us it’s time to go.
“See you next week!” Gabriella says, lifting her arms for a hug.
I lean down to her, swamped with emotion as I always am when I have to let her go. It’s been a good hour. I couldn’t bear to lose this time with her. I won’t let Denham take it from me.
As they head out and I change to street shoes, I try to muster my courage. I’m going to let them get out of the building, into their car, and out of the parking lot before I go out front to confront Denham.
I take my time in the halls, pausing to watch Aurora with her toddler class, then to chat a moment with Suze at the front desk. She asks about Blitz and I explain he’s in LA. When I’m sure Gwen is long gone, I take a deep breath and push out the front door of the academy.
The bodyguard in the SUV should still be parked at the back. There’s nobody to get in my way. The wind lifts my dance skirt as I head across the lot. I should have brought something substantial to put over my outfit for this meeting. It’s still warm, so I’ll be heading to Denham in just a leotard and a sheer skirt.
But it’s too late to do anything about it now.
I know when he sees me. He’s tapping on the steering wheel, obviously listening to something on his headphones, when he goes still.
His face locks on mine. As I approach the truck, I see the windows are down and his eyes take in every detail of my body in the tight, thin spandex. I stop a couple feet away from the door.
“About time you came to talk to me,” he says.
“You going to spend your whole life sitting on this curb?” I ask.
“Don’t got much else to do.” He leans over and opens the passenger door, pushing it wide with a shove. “Come on in.”
I hesitate. I can’t have him roaring off with me locked inside.
“I’ll stay out here.”
“I’m not going to bite,” he says. “Although I’ll admit you look damn delicious. But I don’t have enough gas to get me very far, so you’re pretty safe.”
I glance around. If I stay out here, I’ll be spotted by someone eventually. Suze might ask questions. Or Danika. I wouldn’t know how to explain this. And God help me if anyone took a picture and uploaded it somewhere. Blitz would go ballistic.
So I step up and sit on the torn-up cushion and close the door. But I keep my fingers wrapped around the handle.
“You look good, Livia,” Denham says. His voice is more casual now, without the
drawl and the leer in it.
“Thank you,” I say. “So how did you figure out where I was?”
“Googled the hell out of your man,” he says. “Wasn’t easy to link it all up.”
That’s good, I think. I wouldn’t want a million crazed fans here if they knew Blitz was back after the promo video he did with the wheelchair ballerinas a couple months ago.
“We were careful to leave this academy out of the interviews,” I say. “How did you find it?”
“When I saw y’all onscreen, I figured you hadn’t been together long. Saw he’d been in San Antonio and followed his trail on Twitter and those sleazy celebrity sites. When you got up on those ballet toes, I figured he met you here.”
“He did,” I say. No use denying that.
“You been an item long?” He breaks his gaze on me for that question, staring out the front windshield. His earbuds are piled in his lap now, white cords on faded blue jeans. He still has the black leather jacket on.
“A few months,” I say, stretching it a bit.
He doesn’t have the young rebel attitude anymore. His face is more filled out, still handsome, but not the lean, spare look he had as a teen. He’s rough around the edges, his whiskers grown out more than Blitz lets his get, and lighter colored. He looks hard, like he’s seen a lot. He’s been in jail, I remember.
“He doing all right by you?” he asks. His hand drapes over the steering wheel like he’s feeling laid back, but I can see the tension in his jaw.
I know this face, I realize. At one time, I knew what he was thinking just by the expression he was trying to hide. Watching him now sends a million memories flooding back to me.
“He is,” I say. “Although he’s worried about this. About you. What do you want, Denham?”
He turns to me then, his light eyes piercing me. “I came here to tell you about the DNA.” He sniffs. “But now I need to know about my baby.”
I don’t know what I should tell him. I could lie, say it is a boy and he lives in Nebraska. I could say he died when he was three. I could say I don’t know anything, that I hadn’t even seen the baby or found out the gender.
But I’m not good at those things. I think the less I say, the better.
“I hired a lawyer,” I say. Maybe I can intimidate him into leaving. “I know you have a criminal record. You won’t be able to get her.”
“So she’s a girl,” he says. “Imagine that. A baby girl.” He turns back to the windshield. “Is she as pretty as you?”
This is why I shouldn’t talk. Heat rises in me that I’ve even said that much. “I don’t have her, Denham. She was adopted at birth. It was all legal and square. It’s a good family. Please don’t mess up her life.”
He taps his thumb on the steering wheel. “I don’t see how it could be all legal and square if I didn’t sign anything. And I might have a past.” He glances at me. “But I do know one thing about the courts.” He flashes me a smile. “They love reforming bad guys.”
My blood chills. “Denham, this is not about you. It’s about her. Leave her be. I wasn’t happy to let her go either. I was too young to make that decision. But I stand by what’s happened, for her sake.”
This is the wrong thing to say. I know it immediately. Denham’s face lights up and he takes my hand. I want to pull away, but he’s got me.
“Livia! Then let’s do this for us. Let’s get our baby back. We can raise her. You got your man. And that’s all right. But let’s get her. Let’s right this wrong.”
I jerk hard to get my hand away. “That’s selfish!” I say. “It’s not what she would want. She thinks of her parents as her parents!” I must be careful not to say the father has died. This will only fuel Denham’s determination.
“She’s a kid. She’ll recover. When she gets older, she might be mad that she never got to meet us.”
I know Denham is right about this part, but there has to be a way in the middle, where Gwen keeps Gabriella and nobody is upset or destroyed by this.
But I remember what Blitz said. Make him fight and keep it expensive.
“You won’t win,” I say. “We’ll fight you.”
“Interesting,” Denham says. “Interesting that you want to fight so hard not to see her.” He picks up his earbuds and slowly rolls them into a coil. “Unless, of course, just speculating here.” He winks at me. “You actually know where she is and get to see her all the time. So you’re just keeping my daughter from ME.”
I’ve said too much. Coming here was a huge mistake. I fumble with the handle and throw open the door. I can hear Denham’s laughter as I dash across the parking lot and around the building.
I’ve made things worse.
Chapter 13
When I get back to the hotel, I want to bury myself under the covers and never come out. I have the whole rest of the day and night without Blitz. We haven’t been separated since I left home, so this is actually the first time I’ve been alone, pretty much ever. I suffered through many years of being homeschooled and watched by my hawk-eyed father. Babysitting my brother. Volunteering. Dancing.
But never alone.
I drop my bag on a chair and head to the balcony, my happy place.
I sit on Blitz’s seat instead of mine and look up into the sky. The sun is warm, and for a moment, I can block out all the unhappiness of the past hour.
I remember meeting Blitz, and how we danced the first time. The moments in the storage closet. His first intense kiss. Ballet lessons. Waltzing. That movie we saw early on and what he did to me in the empty theater.
My body shivers. This is making me miss him more.
I stand up and lean over the balcony rail, looking out over the city. In the distance, the revolving restaurant on the top deck of the Tower of the Americas slowly turns.
Despite my efforts, my mind goes back to Denham. I gave up so information. I never should have gone out there. I’ve only made him more determined to find Gabriella.
I need company. Somebody who knows my situation and can help. There aren’t many, other than Irma up at the church, but I can’t exactly ask for her advice.
Then there’s Mindy. My best friend.
She wrote me after seeing me on Dance Blitz. We had a flurry of conversations then. She tried to come up to me when I went to the church to see Andy, but her parents kept her away. Probably my father convinced them I was a bad influence.
I’ve been bad about keeping up messages with her since I’m always with Blitz. But I’m not now. I head back into the suite to find my phone. Maybe she can meet me at the park.
I could tell her about the baby. I’m not afraid anymore.
I scoop up the cell and tap out a quick note asking if she can meet today. That I’ve missed her and have so much fun gossip to share.
But almost as soon as I hit send, my phone beeps.
Message undeliverable.
That’s weird.
I go out on the balcony to get a better signal and try again.
Message undeliverable.
Strange. I’ll just call and leave a voice mail. I dial her number and tap my foot on the balcony floor. A brisk wind blows in and sends tendrils of loose hair into my eyes. I push them away. Another cold front, I guess. Texas weather is always unpredictable.
The phone never even rings. It goes straight to a computerized voice that says, “This caller is unavailable at this time. Thank you.”
Then hangs up.
What?
Did they take her phone away?
Even if they did, wouldn’t it ring? Did her parents deactivate it totally?
I head back inside the suite to pace a circle around the sofa. Is Mindy in trouble? And if she is, is it because of me?
I glance at the clock. It’s a little after noon. Her mom and brother are almost certainly at home, eating lunch with her. They are homeschooled, like I was. That’s how we became friends.
There’s a chance she might answer her home phone.
I dial it quickly and conti
nue to pace the room as it rings. After a few seconds, I get a message that isn’t their voice mail. Again, a computerized voice saying the caller isn’t available. And no chance to leave a message. It just hangs up.
Surely they haven’t disconnected their home line too.
Then I get it.
They’ve blocked me. My number can’t get through on either line.
I sit down on the sofa. They must really think I’m a threat. Me! Mindy’s best friend!
I’m really worried for her now. Did she get any other kind of punishment?
I walk over to the polished wood desk in the corner of the room. There’s a phone there, one that they wouldn’t know to block. I pick up the receiver and puzzle out how to use it. The instructions say to dial 9, wait for the dial tone, then key in the number.
I do that, typing in Mindy’s cell phone first.
She doesn’t answer, but I do hear her voice on the message. “Hey, everybody,” she says. “I’m losing my phone for a while. Don’t leave a message, because I can’t get it. Hopefully I’ll be back soon. Miss me!”
Despite what she says, I do leave a message.
“Hey, Mindy, it’s me. I’m staying at a hotel, but I don’t know if I’ll still be here when you get this. I’ll keep trying you, though. I miss you.”
Dang. I could try calling her home number from the hotel, but I’m not sure I’m up for talking to her mother, who would most certainly answer if they are watching her so closely.
She’s on Facebook. I’ll try that next.
The drawer to the desk glides smoothly on its track and I pull out the iPad Blitz gave me for Christmas. It’s been my window to the world, which used to be so small. When I lived at home, my parents didn’t allow me to have a phone or computer or even watch television. I had to sneak time online at the church when I could, and that was severely limited.
But now, I can look up anything, talk to anyone.
I power it on and head to Facebook. I have a fake profile there that I created to watch Gwen and Gabriella back before they came to the academy. It’s how I knew when the accident happened and that I should start a wheelchair dance class.
