Wounded Dance

by Deanna Roy

  I look down at my lap, fiddling with the sheer fabric of my dance skirt. “His name is Denham Young. He lived with me when I was a teenager. At the time, our family was told that he was my father’s illegitimate son.”

  “Okay,” Danika says. “So why is he here now?”

  “He saw me on television and followed the trail to the academy after the video Blitz made. He’s been stalking me a bit.”

  “You had a baby with him?”

  My hands clasp together in a bruising grip. I don’t have a choice anymore. I have to tell Danika. “He came to tell me that he wasn’t my brother after all. We, well, we sort of had a … relationship back then. I got pregnant and gave the baby up for adoption.”

  Danika sat back. “This is why your father acts the way he does, I take it?”

  I nod. “Denham didn’t know about the baby until he came back. My father sent him away before we found out I was pregnant.”

  “So he never signed anything giving up the baby?” Danika’s face goes pale.

  “No. Blitz is having his lawyer help us with it.”

  Danika rubs her forehead as if she’s nursing a headache. “Do you know where the child is, Livia? Is that why he’s doing this to you?”

  “He’s just guessing. He doesn’t know what I know.” I can’t bring myself to tell her the rest. If she finds out about Gabriella, I just know she’ll stop our lessons.

  “But do you know where she is?” Danika’s eyes are piercing.

  “Yes,” I say. “I’ve followed them on Facebook.” It’s not in me to lie, but I pray she doesn’t ask if she is here at the academy.

  “Then you need some protection or he’ll get it out of you,” she says. “I’m going to get a restraining order against him for the academy, not that I think it will do that much good. We’ll probably hire some security for a little while, until this blows over.” She turns to her computer.

  “I’m so sorry this has happened,” I say. “I had no idea he would find me.”

  She waves her hand. “We’ll deal with it.”

  “Do you want me to stop coming?” I ask, fear in my voice.

  “I don’t know that it will matter. He might show up anyway if he has nowhere else to look.” She starts tapping on her keyboard.

  “Okay.”

  “Stay here until the officer arrives, and we’ll tell him all this,” she says. “I’ll let Bennett handle finding a security team for us. We’ll get them in place by tomorrow.”

  “Ted can stay here through the last classes,” I say. “He’s hired full-time anyway.”

  “When does Blitz get back?”

  “Tonight.”

  Danika nods. “All right. You and Ted stay here until we close, then you can take him with you. We’ll get someone in place after that.”

  She goes quiet, staring at her screen. I sit quietly on my chair, reliving the past half hour, wondering how in the world my life has come to this.

  Chapter 17

  Blitz is on his way to the hotel by the time Ted and I leave Dreamcatcher. I know he’s angry by his texts, which are abrupt and coming at a frenzied pace.

  I am so going to take this guy out.

  I should have creamed him when I had him on the ground.

  This is outrageous. He could have done anything.

  I’m going to pummel him into next week.

  The sky has gone dark by the time we pull up to the valet in front of the hotel. Ted gets out. “I’m taking you up,” he says when I turn to protest. “If anyone has Tweeted that they’ve seen Blitz here, that guy will turn up.”

  I have to give in. Blitz is still on his way. I shouldn’t go anywhere alone, even the inside of the hotel.

  We head up the elevator to the floor of suites. Ted stands in his menacing position, hands behind his back, cracking his knuckles as if he’s going to have to fight somebody as soon as the doors open.

  But the upstairs foyer is empty other than the bartender behind the private bar. “Anyone need a drink?” he asks when he sees us.

  Both Ted and I give a grunting half-laugh to that, and then laugh for real at the other’s reaction.

  “We can wait out here,” I tell Ted. “It’s a secure floor.” I don’t really want to go into the suite with Ted. It feels too private.

  “You got any coffee back there?” Ted asks.

  “I can brew you some right up,” the man says, turning to the back wall. “Anything for the lady?”

  “No, thank you,” I say, flopping onto the leather sofa opposite a television. It’s showing a rerun of I Love Lucy. I remember it from my childhood, before I was banned from television by my father. Perfect, I think. Mindless comedy.

  Ted sits on a stool by the bar, facing the elevators. I wonder how he got into bodyguard work. But I’m not up for conversation.

  I watch Lucy stomping grapes and try to relax.

  The bartender has just poured a cup of coffee for Ted when the elevator opens and Blitz rushes out. He barrels toward the suite, then spots me on the sofa and stops dead. “Livia?”

  I stand up, and then I’m in his arms, lifted off the ground.

  “Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you in any way, did he?” Blitz sets me down and looks me over, my arms, my face.

  “He didn’t lay a hand on her,” Ted says. “I would have broken him in two.”

  “Theodore Banks!” Blitz says. “I was hoping they would send you!” They smack each other on the back. “How’s life as a heavy?”

  Ted shrugs. “Keeps me working.” He sits back on his stool.

  Blitz pulls me close, his arm around my waist, as he asks, “So what the hell happened?”

  Ted sniffs. “The buffoon is walking out on the sidewalk when he spots your girl here in the SUV. I think he’s going to approach us, but then he goes in the building instead. He makes a big scene, yelling and screaming in the halls, until the chick that owns the place calls the cops. She had me stand guard until they closed. Livia stayed with me.”

  “Shit,” Blitz says. “Did he get arrested?”

  “Nah, he took off.”

  Blitz holds me tighter. “Livia, what did Danika say?”

  “She’s getting a restraining order on him and hiring security until it blows over.”

  Blitz kisses my temple. “I’m sorry, baby.”

  Ted sips his coffee, then says, “You going to get a protective order for her too?”

  Blitz shakes his head. “I think it’s pointless and will make her name part of the public record, which could make things worse.” He frowns. “I want to keep her under wraps as long as possible.”

  “You think he’s got some loser pals he might bring along next time?” Ted asks.

  Blitz looks at me. “What do you think, Livia? Would Denham call in reinforcements?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know anything about his life now,” I say. “But he was always very good at making fast friends. Loyal friends.”

  “Ride-or-die types,” Ted says. “Assholes with nothing to lose who get a charge out of stirring up trouble.”

  “He’s only been out of jail a few months,” Blitz says. “Do you remember the timeline from the list the lawyer sent? He could be on probation and violating it would send him back.”

  I shake my head. “I didn’t pay that close attention. But he shouldn’t know anybody here in San Antonio. I’m pretty sure he drove up here from Houston.”

  “And we have no idea where he went,” Ted says.

  “No,” I say. “And I don’t have any way to contact him either.”

  “Don’t do that,” both Ted and Blitz say simultaneously, then laugh.

  “Same as old times,” Blitz says.

  “How do you two know each other?” I ask.

  “Wrestling,” Blitz says. “We were both on the high school team.”

  I look back and forth between them. Blitz is muscled and strong, but has a lean dancer’s body. Ted is like a brick wall. “How did that work out?”

  Ted answers. “We didn�
��t compete against each other. He was a totally different weight class.”

  “I could have taken you,” Blitz says.

  Now Ted’s laugh is a roar. He’s lost all the gruffness he’s had with me all day. “I could squash you like a bug.”

  Blitz holds up his hands. “I could wriggle out of those sloppy meat-hook hands of yours any day.”

  I lean my head on Blitz’s shoulder. It’s nice to have an easy moment after these horrible two days. He squeezes my waist again. “I think we’re going to head out,” he says to Ted. “I should be able to take it from here. Thanks for watching out for her.”

  Ted stands up from the stool. “No prob.” He shakes Blitz’s hand. “Let me know if you need me again.”

  “Will do.” Blitz’s face flashes dark for a moment. “Will definitely do.”

  Ted heads to the elevator, and Blitz and I walk toward our suite.

  “Something’s wrong,” I say. “Why do you think you’ll need Ted again? Do you have to go back to LA?”

  Blitz opens our door. “We’re going to be doing some publicity stuff for the DVD release,” he says. “I just think a few extra eyes will be good.”

  “You said ‘we’ just now,” I say. “You mean both of us?” My belly quakes. I can’t imagine being out in public with reporters or even strangers with cell phones, recording an outburst with Denham. I was lucky today. It was still relatively secret.

  “I’m trying to work things out still,” Blitz says. “The lawyers can sort it.” He perches against the back of the sofa and draws me to him. “Meanwhile, I haven’t seen you in two whole days.”

  His lips press into the sensitive skin below my ear, and my anxiety begins to drift away. By the time he has his mouth fully on mine, I’ve let go of the afternoon. I’ve missed him, desperately, and now I can sink back into his attention.

  “I love you in pale blue,” Blitz whispers into my ear, tugging the neckline of the stretchy leotard until it bares my shoulder. “Although I think I like you out of it even better.”

  My body warms to his hot kisses along my collarbone. He pulls both shoulders of the leotard down and pulls my arms out, first one, then the other.

  “I’m going to kiss every part of you,” he says, baring my body, inch by inch. The leotard slides to my waist. He takes both breasts in his hands and his mouth trails down to take a nipple in his mouth. “I missed these,” he says.

  I wrap my arms around his neck, eyes closed, reveling in the feel of Blitz. His hair tickles my skin, and I catch the smell of him that is so familiar, pine and leather.

  He removes the black vest as he works, kicking off his shoes. Then he kneels in front of me, reaching down for the Crocs I wear to the studio before I change into ballet slippers. He eases them off.

  His hands grasp the leotard, which is at my waist now, and jerk everything down, tights and all. For a moment I’m bound at the knees, but Blitz lifts my leg to tug one side the rest of the way down.

  Before he reaches for the other, though, he takes advantage of my parted thighs to bury his face there. His tongue slides along me, and I have to clutch the back of the sofa to keep my balance.

  “Mmm,” he says. “There’s no place like home.”

  He pulls the tights off my other leg and stands up. “Now I’ve got you where I want you.”

  He lifts me up into his arms. “To the bedroom with us.”

  His footsteps are silent as we move from the living room to the bed. He nudges aside the sheer drapes that surround it, and slides me onto the mattress. I watch him as he slides off his pants, shirt, and boxers.

  Then he crawls between the silks over to me. “Think the bartender out there is tired of hearing you cry out?” he asks.

  “I think the walls are pretty thick,” I say.

  “Mmm,” he says. “Let’s test them.”

  And as his mouth works back down my body, he does exactly that.

  Chapter 18

  It’s a relief to have Blitz back. The weekend means no dance classes, but Blitz decides we should dance somewhere other than Dreamcatcher on the days we don’t have Gabriella to see.

  His manager’s assistant sends profile after profile of ballet instructors in San Antonio, plus others willing to travel. We sit cross-legged on the bed with his computer, reading over the qualifications of the teachers, but my heart isn’t really in it.

  “This one could teach us ballet lifts,” Blitz says, turning the screen to me.

  “We’ve been wanting to do that,” I say absently.

  Blitz shuts the lid of the laptop. “Come here, baby,” he says. “This has been the worst week, hasn’t it?”

  He pulls me into his arms, and we lie side by side on the enormous bed. Morning is long past, but we haven’t gone anywhere, just soaking in each other’s presence, lounging in soft thick robes and eating room service.

  His fingers tangle through my hair. “I guess it’s not the worst week of your life, though,” he says. “Is it?”

  I shake my head against his shoulder.

  “You want to tell me about the worst?” he asks.

  I’m not sure I do, but he waits so patiently that I find it is easy to release the memories to him.

  “Denham and I didn’t have a lot of time together before it blew up,” I say. “That week was the worst week.”

  The bad days flood back. August, really, was our month, the week before school started, when he taught me to drive, then the first weeks of school when we were messing around, and finally became lovers.

  Late September was when it all fell apart.

  Denham and I were like magnets, unable to pull away from each other. We joined clubs at school, and stayed for homework help, anything to spend less time at home. We would duck out early, buying ourselves time before we were expected home.

  Denham had friends all over, and we borrowed their bedrooms, their cars, and finally discovered a broken-down travel trailer in the backyard of a neighbor, unlocked and unused.

  It became our space.

  The dark period of my life began when Denham confessed to me that we shared a father. We were in the trailer, cuddled up on the narrow bed with a blanket we’d brought and kept there.

  I was talking about Andy, who had just turned four. He had asked for a black leather jacket so he could “be like his brother.”

  “You’re so good with him,” I told Denham. “It’s like you really are his brother.”

  His face contorted at that and a strangled sound came out of his throat.

  “Denham? What’s wrong?” We were naked, as usual, and when I sat up, the blanket fell to my waist.

  He glanced at my body, then covered me as if he couldn’t bear to look at me. “Livia, we can’t do this anymore.”

  This made me sit up. “What do you mean? I love you. You love me! That is all that matters.”

  “No,” he said, shifting away. “That’s not all that matters. Shit.”

  He shoved the blanket away and set his feet on the floor. He sat hunched over, his head in his hands.

  I curled around him, my cheek on his back. “What else matters?”

  “Family,” he said. “Your parents have been good to me. And Andy. God, that little kid. Everything he knows is a lie.”

  My heartbeat slammed in my ears. I had no idea what he could be talking about, but his voice was scaring me.

  He stood up, forcing me to break away from him. A streetlamp on the corner formed pale lines across his skin from the blinds. I couldn’t make out his face.

  “I treat Andy like a brother because he IS my brother, Livia. The reason I live with your family now is because your dad is my dad.”

  I held the blanket to my chest, not sure I understood. The words were too much, spilling over like a pitcher that was too full. “What are you saying, Denham?”

  He stepped close to me then and took my shoulders in his hands, gripping them like a vise. “I’m your brother, Livia. Your half-brother. Your father was with my mother. She had me. Th
at’s why I’m here now.”

  My body revolted. I started dry-heaving, clutching my belly, my breath coming in pants.

  “Livia, I’m sorry. I should have stayed away. I should have.” Denham tried to hold me, but I curled in on myself. I was blindsided by pain. Everything hurt. My belly. My burning eyes. My heart felt ready to burst.

  “Talk to me, Livia. Say you don’t hate me.”

  But I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t talk at all. I huddled, trying to manage the trauma and the pain. It was horrible. He was my brother. And we did things. All the things. Everything.

  I could still feel my body, swollen and slightly sore from this last time, just a few minutes ago.

  He knew all along, and yet he did those things, over and over.

  To his sister.

  I flung him away. I didn’t even stop for my clothes, but wrapped myself tightly in the blanket and flew out of the trailer.

  The ground was cold and wet on my bare feet.

  I ducked through the broken slats of the fence and crossed the small alley to get to our own backyard. I opened the gate to the fence and raced across the yard to the back door.

  I wanted nothing more than to go to my room and be alone, but everyone was right inside. Mom, Dad, and Andy sat at the dinner table. Denham and I were supposed to be at a football game.

  Dad saw me in the blanket, eyes on my bare legs and feet. The blanket slipped, exposing my bare shoulder.

  “Oh my God,” he said. “Who did this to you?” He turned to Mom. “Call the police.”

  “No!” I cried. “Just leave me alone!” I tried to run past, but Dad caught me.

  “Baby,” he said. “Let us help you. What happened?”

  Andy started to cry, and Mom picked him up.

  I didn’t want to talk, but I did want the truth.

  “Is Denham really your son?”

  His face bloomed red. Mom clutched Andy, her eyes wide.

  “Tell me!” I said to Dad. “Is he?”

  “Where is that boy?” Dad roared.

  “I won’t tell you until you answer me!” I shouted back. I had to know, but I could already see it. I could tell by Dad’s anger, his upset, Mom’s shock.