I can’t contain my smile, and we both start inspecting each other, as though to spot the differences. “Your hair…” I touch the much shorter light brown strands.
“Just cut it.” He squeezes my bicep. “Damn, Thora.” My arms are much more defined and muscular than before. The mention of me, of my change, pulls my mind in focus. And my stomach drops. I’ve been completely oblivious of the person I ran away from.
I turn my head to the table, and Nikolai’s strong jaw tics, his stormy grays puncturing me with skepticism and hurt.
Shay is just my friend. But I imagine the situation reversed, and I can feel my insides heaving in distraught—at the idea of Nikolai running up to another girl. Her arms flinging around him.
I’ll make it right.
But what’s worse: Nikolai isn’t alone right now. Timo stands next to him, clutching an orange mixed drink and throwing daggers into me. From someone usually so happy—it stings cold.
“There’s someone I want you to meet,” I tell Shay as I rotate back to him.
His gaze darts between me and the Kotovas, piecing together what this is about before I can even introduce him. “No,” he groans. “Thora, you didn’t.”
My heart lurches. “Didn’t what?” Please don’t look at me like that.
His face is bent in disappointment, as though I took a wrong path. You didn’t. You’re where you’re supposed to be, Thora James. My cheerleader is waving her pompoms in my face.
“Please tell me you’re not with him.” I follow his accusatory finger to…Timo.
“No…I’m not with him…” My smile has vanished, replaced by fear. I take a couple steps from Shay, and my gaze connects with Nikolai again. He can read me past recognition, approaching my side quickly and without falter.
I know how this looks to Shay, someone thousands of miles across the country.
Girl moves to Vegas to follow her dreams.
Girl gets trained by Guy.
Girl falls for Guy.
Girl forgets about her dreams in favor of love.
But I moved to Vegas to join Aerial Ethereal. Nikolai is helping me do just that, and he’d rather me succeed than start a relationship. Circus or a man. I’m choosing the circus. Now. And forever.
And if I forget, Nikolai promised he’d remind me.
Shay’s face hardens as soon as he notices Nikolai. Next to me. Since the wet T-shirt contest is on the other side of the pool, there are slightly less bodies and general commotion. But eyes flicker this way, and I have the sense that people are watching us from cabanas and the water.
I swallow a lump and step forward to introduce them. “Shay,” I start, “this is—”
“Don’t say it,” Shay tells me, shaking his head with a twisted face. He’s already come to the right conclusion. That I’m with Nikolai. So his reaction—it’s a valid one. “Dammit, Thora. You’re better than this!”
His voice slices my gut.
“You must be the best friend,” Nikolai says with a great deal of disdain. If looks could kill, Shay would be dead five times over.
Shay layers on a murderous glare of his own. “And she’s never said one thing about you.” Because I knew you’d react this way.
I raise my hands between them, standing directly in the middle of two different worlds. I wonder if they will ever bridge, if they ever can. “Please, let me explain.” More and more people filter over here, with drinks in hand, to watch this “fight” that’s become a bigger spectacle than a wet T-shirt contest.
“Sure,” Shay says, his voice caged with hurt. “Explain to me how the Thora James I’ve known for eight fucking years could throw away a college scholarship for a guy. One year, Thora, you had one year left.”
“He’s training me.” Tears sting my eyes. “Okay, he’s helping me.” I am pleading with him to understand, to picture what I do. But my viewpoint is a solitary one.
“Bullshit.” He points at Nikolai now. “I see the way he’s looking at you.”
“I didn’t leave everything for a guy!” I shout back.
“Then tell me I’m wrong! Tell me that you’re not with him.”
I struggle for breath, swallowing air before I say, “I can’t…”
He rests his hands on his head like I sucker-punched him. “Goddammit, Thora. Goddammit.”
“I’m the same person.” I haven’t changed in the way he believes. My dreams are all the same.
He drops his arms. “Wake up. You’re never going to be an aerialist in a world-renowned troupe. Do you hear how crazy that is?” I’m shaking, fighting back tears. “He’s giving you false hope so he can keep you around, probably to fuck you—”
“You’re a coward.” Nikolai’s hollow voice nearly silences the muttering crowds. He’s by my side, and then he protectively passes me, brushing my hand like saying I’m here for you before he takes a few steps ahead and faces Shay. “If you’re going to slander me, speak directly to me, not to her.”
Shay’s doubt leeches my brain. His belief isn’t true. It’s not true. Nikolai’s intentions are as pure as mine. I know they are, in my heart. I know it.
“Yeah, I have something to say to you,” Shay grits.
“Ooooh,” people in the pool echo, hands cupped over their mouths to create the noise. I realize I’ve shuffled to the side, in order to see both Shay and Nikolai from a spectator position, but I’m still closer to them than anyone else at the pool party.
“Leave Thora alone,” Shay sneers. “If you like her at all, you’ll stop feeding her bullshit—”
“It’s not bullshit.” Nikolai glares. “She has the ability to be better.”
“With your help, right?” Shay nods like he sees right through him. My stomach clenches. It’s not true.
“Yes,” Nikolai says lowly. “With my help. I’ve spent twenty years training on the apparatus she loves. I’ve spent my entire life in the circus. I have knowledge and experience that she needs. There is nothing for her in Ohio.” Anger protrudes the veins in his arms and neck, his muscles flexing.
My throat swells. Behind Nikolai, I now notice all who gathers. Not just Timo. There’s Luka. And Dimitri—there are dozens…no, several dozen athletes, all broad-shouldered, strong and hard-jawed. Gray eyes.
Most of them have those gray eyes. Kotovas. Cousins. Brothers. His family.
They stand as though they’re ready to back him. For anything. For everything.
“Her whole life is in Ohio,” Shay retorts. “She doesn’t belong here.”
Shay is my family. He is the one familiarity I have.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” people begin to chant, not only in the pool but around us.
I shake my head. No. No one is fighting.
The Kotovas start speaking in Russian, shouting over each other and the hostile encouragements. Nikolai rotates a fraction and yells a few foreign words back to them.
I meet Shay’s concerned gaze that fixes on me. His eyes soften so much. You know him. For years. You know him. His voice is drowned by the crowd, but I read his lips: Come home. He’s telling me to come home. With him.
My eyes burn, restraining combative emotions.
“Thora,” I hear Nikolai’s loud voice in the mass.
I turn my head.
His sincerity, his intensity, it rips right through me. “Don’t leave. Please.”
I inhale a pained breath. I’m warring with my dreams and with reality. Is it courageous to stay here or is it just a fool’s chase? I’m not sure…
“Thora,” Nikolai forces, my attention his once more, “you can succeed.”
Shay’s hands ball into fists. “Says the guy who’s been sleeping with her.”
“Fight! Fight! Fight!”
My stomach knots and unknots at Shay’s disillusion and the real fact. I haven’t slept with Nikolai. That’s not what this is about. In the pit of my ear, I hear his words spoken from months ago.
It’s wasted courage. And wasted love. You shouldn’t have to waste those things.
I can do this.
You can do this, Thora. It’s not over. It doesn’t have to be.
Not yet.
Nikolai takes a few commanding strides towards Shay, who stands his ground. My heart thrashes. They won’t fight. “What does it matter to you if I have?” He’s subtly implying: do you have feelings for her?
No. Not like that.
“She’s my best friend. If I see a guy using her, I’m going to step in the fucking way.”
“FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”
I keep shaking my head.
“This is the life she wants. Let her live it.”
Shay lets out an aggravated laugh and shouts over the chanting, “You think she wants to live this life?! The minute she doesn’t land a contract, she’s going to be back in Ohio. And you’re going to lose your fuck buddy—”
Nik decks him, his knuckles slamming into Shay’s jaw. My hands fly to my mouth. Shay rights himself quickly and throws his fist into Nikolai’s ribs.
In my peripheral, I see movement from the Kotova men, and I sprint so fast, imagining the fight turning into a brawl all against Shay. I extend my arms and all of them rock back at my appearance. “Stop.”
I can’t step between the flying fists behind me, but I can thwart a bigger fight. Out of everyone, Dimitri tries to challenge me, nearing my small frame.
I point a warning finger at him. “No.”
Dimitri seizes my wrist, tugging me to him. His glower says more than enough but he speaks, “I’m not letting Nikolai be punched by your friend.” What did Nikolai say about him: I’ve known Dimitri since I was a little kid.
I think I’ve underestimated the strength and loyalty beneath a childhood friendship.
I’m just trying to protect Shay. “I won’t let you gang up on him,” I force. Nikolai has dozens of people to back him. Shay only has me.
His fingers dig hard into my skin, my bones screaming.
Timo yells in Russian at Dimitri, his face reddening as he tries to get his point across. I see Nikolai land a right hook at the same time that Shay knees Nik in the ribs. Both blows pack a powerful punch, so much that they stagger back for a second.
“Stop!” I yell at them. My voice reaches their ears, their heads whipping to me in unison. They zero in on Dimitri’s clutch, and it diffuses their fight, redirecting their rage.
He releases his hold on me, and I walk quickly to the two guys as hotel management approaches in black suits, physically standing between them.
“Booo!” the crowd roars.
The DJ speaks into the mic, “She must have some pretty titties.” Ew. I cringe. They were not fighting over me like that. And even if they were, that’s—no. I cringe more.
I pass Nikolai, who speaks to one of the black-suits. And I make sure to brush his hand a little, just to show that I’m not choosing reality.
Not today.
I still want to dream. But my reality is also precious to me.
So I walk right up to Shay, my heart flip-flopping at his face, much more beaten than Nik’s. I’m not surprised. Even though he’s incredibly fit from gymnastics, he’s not even close to Nik’s size. I touch Shay’s cheek, the skin split open from a punch.
He winces and clasps my hand. “It’s fine…” He spits a wad of blood on the cement.
“I’ll help you clean up in the bathroom.”
He nods, accepting my offer. And I lead him out of the pool area, a series of boos following us all the way inside.
Act Twenty-Seven
Shay is leaving in ten minutes. After washing his face, we sit on the edge of the Dionysus fountain, staring at the revolving doors that lead out of The Masquerade.
Our friendship has never been this strained. Miles and miles apart and my aspirations have begun to destroy it. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He lets out a heavy sigh. “Thora…” He looks to me, his eyes reddened. “I don’t want you to make this mistake.”
“I know.” I know. My chin almost trembles, and I bite down. “But you have to let me make it.” I really, really hope it’s not one.
He rubs his eyes and then stares at the ceiling. For answers.
His jaw is already tinted red. “Your interview…” I trail off, imagining him shaking hands with the boss: split-knuckles, bruised cheek and swollen eye. His chances of landing the job are now slim.
“I wasn’t excited about it anyway,” he says under his breath. “I hate the idea of being an athletic trainer, watching other guys compete in the sport that I still want to be in—it’s depressing.”
I don’t ask why he’s taken the classes to pursue this career. His parents pushed the plan as a back-up when gymnastics ended. Shay qualified for the Olympics one year, but he never made the national team. It’s not a pursuit he’s ever tried again. He said the training was too rigorous, and he knew he wouldn’t make it a second time around.
“What are you going to do then?” I ask, my voice soft.
He shrugs and shakes his head a few times. “I have no fucking clue.” He turns and smiles weakly at me. “What a life, right—or I guess you wouldn’t know…You’ve had this crazy circus idea in your head since you were fourteen.”
“You remember how old I was this time?”
His gaze falls to his hands, his bloodied knuckles ten times worse off than my swollen ones. “I remembered before. I just hoped you’d reconsider this.” He checks his watch. “I have to go.”
We both stand and I almost start to cry—scared of him leaving again. It was easier the first time. When I still kept strings attached to him and me. When I knew I’d see him another day. This feels like the end of a novel together, not a chapter.
I hug him.
He hugs me tighter. “Be safe, okay?” he whispers, choking on the last word.
I squeeze him. “Be happy, alright?”
I wait for Shay to say: I am.
But he stays quiet. Then he lets go, picks up his duffel that he left with the concierge, and exits through the revolving glass doors.
Act Twenty-Eight
“I’m not a fortuneteller. Those who award themselves the title either have a penchant for trite metaphors or are liars. If I’m going to lie about something, it’s not going to be about projecting an inconceivable future. To be honest, that’s too stupid for people like me.” On the television screen, Connor Cobalt presses his fingers to his jaw in conceited contemplation, his Rolex watch glitzy on his wrist.
“Damn,” I say, sharing a pint of Cherry Garcia with Katya as we watch an old episode of Princesses of Philly. She texted me about five minutes after Shay left, asking for details about the fight since no one was sharing them with her. And I came up to Nikolai’s suite to explain.
The reality show takes my dazed mind off the turn of events, never ever believing Shay would show up here. Or that Nikolai would hit him. I wear an eternal pained grimace when I even think about it.
Apparently Nikolai and everyone else are still outside, speaking to management. I haven’t even figured out what to say to him yet, so decompressing with Katya is the perfect medicine to a hectic afternoon.
“Nikolai used to be Team Scott,” Katya tells me, pushing more of the fleece blanket on my side. She must see the goose bumps on my arms. I wish I’d brought a cover-up or worn jean shorts over my bikini, at least. But like Connor just said, I couldn’t have predicted the future.
“I liked him at the beginning too, with Rose, but it almost seemed forced at times. I mean, they rarely stood even two feet near each other.”
“I know, it was weird. I always thought she had more chemistry with Connor.”
“Who’s your favorite?” I ask her as the show switches to a series of commercials. “Of all the Calloway sisters and their men?” I expect her to say Ryke Meadows or Loren Hale—the two most popular guys of the bunch. One is overly protective, the other in complete I-would-die-for-you love with his childhood friend.
“Easy.” She eats a scoop of ice cream before saying, “R
ose Calloway.”
I flinch in surprise. “Rose?” I think I prefer Lily Calloway, the one who’s a bit shy, but in the face of so much publicity, so many warring voices, she’s stood strong in the end. It’s bravery that I think I need.
“Rose is always so well-dressed and put-together. And she’s smart.” Katya shrugs. “When she speaks, everyone listens. You know, when the show first aired, I’d often think What Would Rose Calloway Do?” She smiles with the spoon in her mouth.
I contemplate this. “What would Rose do in my situation?”
Katya’s smile fades. And I think we’re both mulling over the same answer: she’d choose to be on her own. Be independent. And try, stubbornly, to succeed without help. Without handouts. But she’d have an advantage in the end. She’s rich.
Her family owns Fizzle—one of the largest soda companies. My parents are like gold fish on the career pyramid. I’m more alone in that sense. Less lifelines and opportunities to phone a friend.
“Rose doesn’t always do the right thing,” Katya points out. “She makes mistakes too.”
I think about how the one-and-only season of Princesses of Philly ended, my eyes growing big. “This is true.”
The door suddenly opens. Only Nikolai enters, tensely. I can’t read him well enough to see if his strict demeanor derives from guilt. His quiet rage could just sprout from Shay and the fight.
I quickly peruse his body, a slightly reddish tint to the side of his ribs. That’s it. Clearly he outmatched Shay. He knows he’s bigger than him. And he still hit him. My blood runs cold and not even the fleece blanket stops me from shivering.
“Thora, can I talk to you alone?” He nods to his bedroom, and his chest rises and falls in a heavier breath, maybe preparing for me to say no.
But I want to hear what he has to tell me. I stand, setting the blanket down, and I head to his bedroom in my bikini, Nikolai trailing me. The temperature drops below zero when he shuts the door behind him.
My body shakes, the hairs on my arms rising. To distract myself from the cold, I sit on the edge of his metallic comforter, his bed made, his room minimal and modern. Spotless, the perks of hotel maids, I guess. Why are you thinking about hotel maids, Thora?
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