Eyes on Me

by Rachel Harris

  My family couldn’t lose Ilusiòn. It was Ma’s dream, and Dad had worked two jobs to make it come true when Angéla and I were kids. My sister grew up taking lessons here before becoming a junior instructor, and the wall behind the reception desk held a framed photo from her first performance. It hung next to one of Ma and her former partner at the Blackpool Dance Festival. Hell, there was even a picture of me from junior high, back when the studio hosted our school’s Mother-Son dance.

  Selfishly, I couldn’t lose the studio, either. This was the only place outside my house where I could turn off the noise and not have someone constantly scrutinizing my every move. I didn’t have to fake it at Ilusiòn. I could take a deep breath and just be.

  “Ágoston, I need you here on the weekends,” Ma said, her percussive Hungarian accent getting stronger. “Especially Saturday. It’s our busiest day of the week, and now that it’s fall, enrollment will start picking up.”

  Sidestepping the fact that it was currently Saturday and we were far from busy, I pointed to my sister. “Angéla has it covered.”

  We may’ve shared a womb for nine months, but my twin was considered the dancer, not me. Sure, I knew the steps. I loved letting loose on the floor, and I’d attended a few practice parties and even occasionally stood in when a student didn’t have a partner. But as often as I came here to zone out, Ilusiòn was my sister’s domain. My place was the football field and, as of this past summer, Hunt Construction and Remodeling, where, unfortunately, I’d made a shit-ton more laying tile than Ma could afford to pay me.

  “Angéla assists with planning the programs and instruction,” she said, planting her elbows on top of the counter. “I need you to answer phones, check in students, and schedule lessons.”

  My jaw dropped. “You mean be a secretary?”

  For the record, I had nothing against desk jobs, and I wasn’t a chauvinist asshole. But come on. I could work with my hands, lay tile, and earn fifteen dollars an hour with Hunt, or I could sit on my ass here for nothing.

  It was really just about the math.

  When Ma didn’t argue, simply kept looking at me, I squeezed my forehead. A headache was coming on. “What happened to Tori?”

  Her expressive dark green eyes flashed with emotion. “Tori will no longer be working with us.” From the way Angéla’s head swiveled in shock, I guessed my sister hadn’t known that, either. Ma made a shooing gesture with her hands. “No worries. She was offered a position where she could earn more money, and we’re happy for her.”

  She beamed a smile, the one she used to win over judges back when she competed. “But, my darling, you won’t be a secretary. You shall be the face of the studio while I teach, yes?” Reaching over the counter, she grabbed my chin in her hand. “Such a handsome boy I have. After eleven hours of labor, it’s time I capitalize on my son’s heartthrob status.”

  As my best friend alternated between snickering and feigning vomiting behind me, and Ma patted my cheek, my evil twin jumped on board.

  “Absolutely, Ma.” Angéla waggled her eyebrows with a devious grin. “In fact, why stop at the door? We should make posters and graphics and spread those babies online. ‘Come to Ilusiòn and Let a Football Stud Sweep You Off Your Feet.’” She ignored my death glare and added, “Now that would put us on the map.”

  As much as I wanted the studio to thrive, I had to draw the line somewhere—and stunts that made me sound like a prostitute or involved any type of social media was it.

  I tried a different tactic. “You can’t expect me to flake on Mr. Hunt. The guy’s a fair boss, and I’ll make good money. Answering phones here won’t bring in extra cash.”

  “No, you are right,” she agreed, glancing at her splayed palms on the desk. “Helping here won’t earn you a paycheck.” I withheld my victorious grin, guessing more was coming. She looked at her hands and, after a moment, added in a soft voice, “But it saves me from paying someone else.”

  Angéla stopped fiddling with the program binders. Behind me, Chase stopped spinning.

  My mother was a proud, strong woman. When she was a little girl in Hungary, she’d worked her ass off to become the best dancer she could, and when she’d turned nineteen, she followed her dream to Texas, where she enrolled as a dance major, met my dad at a salsa class, and continued to work. She didn’t admit to weakness easily, so I knew that confession had cost her, and I felt like shit for it. But finally, we were getting somewhere.

  Now if she’d only run the numbers, she’d realize how much more I could contribute working for Hunt. “But Ma, laying tile—”

  “No.” Her green eyes filled with love and steely determination. “You are the child. I’m the adult. You shouldn’t be doing manual labor, especially not during the school year. Your father and I would rather you not work at all, but I need you and your sister until the season picks up. But your priority will always be school and football.”

  Chase wheeled the chair over. “He can always quit football.”

  I kicked out my foot, launching the chair backward, and he took off with a grin. I knew what he was doing. Playing the fool, saying stupid shit to break the tension like he always did. And, just like every other time, it worked.

  He wheeled himself back, and Ma pulled a face, leaning over the counter to ruffle his over-gelled hair, and remarkably, the air shifted. After reprimanding him for teasing her boy, she asked Chase about his family…a subject he’d sooner eat nails then dive into, but he kept the easy smile as he told her about his sister enrolling at UT, going pre-med, and how his parents were over the damn moon.

  Having practically raised him the last ten years he’d avoided going home, Ma easily read between the lines. Chase would’ve gladly traded his family’s wealth for even an ounce of love, but that was one thing my family had in excess. Her face softened as she tenderly put her hand on Chase’s shoulder. “Tonight, we’re having enchiladas!”

  For those in the know, that was Viktória Torres for you’re coming over so I can spoil you, and my boy wasn’t dumb. Next to Hungarian goulash, enchiladas were Ma’s best dish. It was my abuela’s secret recipe, handed down when she married my dad, and our family’s go-to comfort food. Which showed she understood how messed-up Chase’s home life really was.

  I hated his dad. But, I had to admit, I was grateful for a break from the constant soup.

  “I’ll be there,” he replied, trying for his usual carefree smile and missing it by a mile. Lucky for him, the bell on the back of the door finally chimed, and Ma turned to greet the newcomers. Chase’s shoulders sank with relief.

  My best friend was a lot deeper than people gave him credit for, but that didn’t mean he liked airing his dirty laundry. Especially in front of my sister. They’d grown up together, too, and in a lot of ways, Chase was Angéla’s surrogate brother. But certain topics were off-limits even for her.

  While Ma and her students headed onto the dance floor, Chase picked at the seam of his jeans, head down, feet still. The lack of movement was more of a concern than anything else.

  Angéla cleared her throat. “You know, if my brother did quit, the Tigers would suck. He’s the only half-decent player we’ve got.”

  Chase staggered in the chair, making a production out of grabbing at his chest, and I shot my sister a look that said, What the actual hell?

  “Damn, girl.” His mouth twitched with a smile. This time, a genuine one. “Next time tell me how you really feel.”

  She bounced on her toes, fighting a grin. “I call it like I see it.”

  He wheeled forward again. “You do realize that without me, your brother would have no one to catch those perfect spirals, right?” He wiggled his fingers in the air. “Recruiters have called these babies the best hands in the nation. Some people have even called them magic.”

  Chase’s cocky grin left no misunderstanding of who those people were, or their gender, and my sister’s lighthearted smile fell right off her face. There one minute, gone the next. It was enough to give me whip
lash.

  The muscles in her jaw clenched. As her lips pinched, she shook her head. “I bet they do.”

  He visibly flinched at the cold sound of her voice, and while she started stacking the program binders, Chase looked at me in befuddlement.

  I shrugged, just as confused. But I did look at her closer.

  Maybe I was biased, but Angéla was beautiful inside and out. She was the kind of girl who bent over backward to make others happy, which unfortunately made her an easy target for people who liked to take advantage. It was one of the many reasons I was so protective of her. It also made her abrupt mood shift so bizarre.

  My sister wasn’t rude. Ever. I wasn’t the most observant guy in the world, but that meant something was eating at her. But what? Worry over Ilusiòn? Or was it something else?

  A guy, maybe?

  My hands clenched into fists. Angéla never talked boys with me—one time, Chase and I set a guy straight for making her cry, and she stopped telling me stuff—but I’d keep my ears open from here on out.

  She huffed a breath and rocked back on her heels. When she lifted her dark brown eyes, she looked at us both and then rolled them, trying to play off her moodiness.

  “Fine, I guess you’re both half decent. The entire program’s screwed when we graduate, so neither of you can quit, okay?” She shoved a chunk of glossy black hair behind her ear and hugged the binders to her chest. “I should get back to work. These lessons won’t plan themselves.” She bit the corner of her lip. “If Ma needs me, tell her I’m in the office, okay?”

  I nodded, and she sent us a quick smile before spinning on her heel and disappearing behind the office door.

  “That was weird,” I muttered. Which said a lot, because I’d seen a lot of weird shit.

  The usual reason for weird shit nodded beside me, staring at the blank space where my sister had stood. Regardless of what was up with her, Angéla had accomplished one thing: Chase was clearly no longer thinking about his dad.

  Music rolled over the speakers, and more students trickled in. He sighed and kicked back in the chair, putting his feet on the counter. “So, what was that with your mom?”

  I groaned and scrubbed a hand across my face. “Man, I don’t even know. Things have been off lately. Money was tight after Dad’s car accident, but he’s back on the job now. I figured it’d gotten better, but obviously it hasn’t.” I glanced at the closed door and lowered my voice. “It actually reminds me of when Angel got sick.”

  Chase’s body turned to stone, and his eyes flicked to mine. “She’s not…?”

  I quickly shook my head. “No. No way. She would’ve told me.”

  Seven years ago, when Angéla first got diagnosed with leukemia, my entire world came to a halt. She was my twin, my other half, and as much as she drove me nuts, she was the best part of me. I called her Angel for a reason. I’d gotten lost for a while, not knowing how to deal while my parents shuttled her back and forth to MD Anderson. That was when Chase’s dad signed us up for peewee football.

  To this day, it remained possibly the one solid thing the man ever did for his son. Thankfully, it helped me, too. Football had given me a much-needed outlet for the storm that had raged inside, and it even gave me my nickname because of how hard I could take a hit. It brought me attention of my own…something I still felt guilty about.

  What kind of asshole got jealous of his sick sister? A twisted one, obviously.

  Angéla deserved every drop of love and support she’d gotten that god-awful year. Hell, she still deserved it. But those fourteen months had defined us both. Apart from the studio, she continued to struggle with where she fit in the world, while I’d found my place on the field. For better or worse.

  “No, Angel’s fine, but something is going on. That’s why I jumped on Mr. Hunt’s offer.” I watched Ma talk with her students, looking as happy as I’d ever seen her. “I need to keep that job, man. Laying tile will bring in way more cash than they’ll save by me working here, and it’s clear we need it. Desperately.”

  Chase blew out a breath. “Well, it goes without saying, but if there’s anything I can do…”

  He left the offer hanging, knowing I’d never touch his family’s money, and I nodded in appreciation. It was enough that he had my back.

  The bell on the door jingled again, and I got out the clipboard for the group class sign-in. Today, Ma was teaching an advanced salsa combination. Ilusiòn offered the full array of expected American and international ballroom dances, along with a few nontraditional ones, but she preferred teaching the Latin styles. It’s what had drawn her to my abuela’s studio all those years ago, and eventually what led to her meeting my dad.

  As I greeted the regulars, a few couples who’d been taking lessons since my peewee days, talk turned to last night’s game. While the older men gave us pointers for next week, subtly and sometimes not so subtly questioning my decisions, Chase and I exchanged knowing looks. These guys considered themselves family and felt they had a vested interest in my success, so I didn’t really mind their weighing in with their opinions. But it went to show that even here I wasn’t completely free of the field. Even here I needed to be on guard.

  As I nodded along to their collective take on my ability to read defenses, my eyes shifted to the window, and I muttered a quiet curse.

  Chase pushed to his feet. “What’s wrong?” When he caught sight of who’d pulled into the parking lot, his face twisted, and he fell back into the chair. “Damn, she doesn’t give up, huh? I’ll give her one thing, the girl’s persistent.”

  “More like delusional.” I forced a smile for the gathered crowd and politely excused myself before turning my back to the door. “She needs to get it through her thick skull that we’re done and move on. I’m tired of this shit.”

  Back when Cameron and I were together, I thought it was awesome that she took lessons. It helped improve her cheerleading, and it gave me a chance to see her even when football took up most of my time. Hell, I’d actually thought it was sweet that she could bond with my mom and sister over dance. Now her coming around was just pathetic. What made it worse was there was no pattern to predict when she’d stop by, so my options were to sit here and hope today wouldn’t be one of those days or avoid the studio altogether.

  How was that fair? This was supposed to be my space. My one drama-free zone. Somehow, Cameron got it in her head that if she spent enough time around me, I’d take her back. As if my disinterest was because of some secret need to spend more time with her. Wrong—it sprang from revulsion. No matter how many times she swung by and re-spun her apology, it wouldn’t erase what she did.

  Cammie’s twisted delusions were just one more reason laying tile was better than manning the front desk.

  A silver Altima jolted to a stop next to the parked green Prius, and Cameron slid out of her car, tossing her wavy brown hair over her shoulder as she greeted her best friend, Ashley.

  Chase shook his head. “Giving up isn’t Cammie’s style. Girl knows she fucked up, but now she wants you back.”

  Yeah, I’d say getting caught on Snapchat making out with a guy who wasn’t her boyfriend counted as screwing up. I pushed off the desk. “Well, too bad. Been there, done that, and I’m over it. Hell, I’m over drama, period. I’m not messing with girls at all this year.” Chase shot me serious side-eye as I glanced longingly at the closed office door. “I don’t need this right now…”

  “Get out of here,” he told me, nudging my ribs with an elbow. “Go work out your new monk philosophy with Angéla, and I’ll deal with Cameron and Ashley before heading home.” When I hesitated, he put his hand on my arm and shoved. “Go. I won’t even make it obvious. I’ll get her signed in, stonewall her questions, and work the desk until class starts and Marcus takes over.”

  The bell on the door chimed, and I nodded gratefully. I should check on Angéla anyway. See if I could figure out what was bothering her, and after that, I’d let her put me to work doing whatever she wanted. Making c
opies, planning lessons, killing bugs. I’d even join a class if they needed me, as long as I didn’t have to dance with Cameron. I’d do everything I could for Ilusiòn. Including going back to work for Mr. Hunt.

  A surge of adrenaline hit my blood. It was the same rush of energy I got whenever I stormed the field. We’d find a way to save the studio. I’d figure out a way, and in the end, that was what mattered. Not Cameron and her twisted delusions. Hell, she did me a favor when she cheated on me. She might’ve made me look like a fool, but, thanks to her, my senior year was gonna be drama-free. Now I could focus on what was important.

  My family and my game. In that order.

  Chapter Three

  Lily

  From the reception area, Ilusiòn appeared exactly how I’d pictured it, right down to the friendly, professional smile on the man seated behind the desk. Beyond the cozy couches and plush chairs of the lobby area lay an expanse of honeyed hardwood floors that clicked when you walked, wall-to-wall shiny mirrors that didn’t miss a thing, and a dance space currently teeming with skilled students. My basic nightmare brought to life.

  Yep, this hour is going to suck.

  Technically speaking, the dozen or so people taking part in the class already in session probably didn’t count as a crowd, but it was a heck ton more than the empty room of my best-case scenario. Even if they were too caught up in their own steps to notice my clunky ones, I’d assume they were watching, and the anxiety alone would make it worse. God, I hated failing. Especially with an audience.

  Maybe they had a separate room for the private lessons?

  Dad’s firm hand on my lower back ushered me ahead, and I inched away from the door. Whatever spell had fallen between us in Mrs. Cooper’s office yesterday had been broken by the time I’d gotten home from school. He’d spent the night locked in his office again, hiding until about an hour before it was time to come here. As for me, I’d spent the night as I’d planned, tackling my mountain of makeup work, and this afternoon bored out of my mind.