CURTAIN CALL: Driven Dance Theater Romance Series Book 1 (Standalone)

by Brianna Stark

  Limitless.

  The movement itself transforms me from tight and fearful into something vast, free, and powerful. All I can do is enjoy it for the moment, since it might be the last time.

  The audience is quiet after my first solo.

  Silence, I am told, is a good thing. The rest of the dancers wait in the wings for their cue to take the stage, and I bend over to catch my breath. My heart pounds in my ears. I shake out my sore leg, and Renee mouths “Are you okay?” I nod. It’s the best I can do. There is no way I’m stopping now.

  It might be the last time to be everything I am meant to be, and there is no other option than to give it my all.

  Renee hands me my water bottle, and I wish I had another painkiller to pop, but I know that once I’m back on that stage, and my adrenaline spikes, the throb will dissipate.

  My water bottle glugs as I tilt it back in my trembling hand. The scent in the air is burnt dust and sweat. I roll my neck.

  Breathe.

  The transformation happens in the wings.

  The music calls me.

  Something in me lifts.

  Presence.

  My breath plumes in my lungs.

  Breathe.

  My toes tap the floor, from the dark wings and into the bright lights.

  This is it.

  My life flashes before my eyes, and something fills me up with light. Enlightenment. All the people who told me that I wasn’t good enough, the ones like Raina who said I wouldn’t amount to anything without her, become specks of dust in the bright lights with each move and breath I make. This is so worth everything, even if I just get to have it for a moment. My thoughts disappear, my skin, my bones, and my pain. Gone. I am the movement. There is no me.

  Pause.

  Move, move

  Pause.

  It’s all happening for the last time. My knee twists, and a shoot of pain attempts to shake me. But it’s like being in a dream and awake at the same time. I am witnessing it as a small fly splattered on the windshield as I glide above valleys like a hawk. Up, down, lift, turn, over, under, around, glide, glide, soar, soar, soar. Why couldn’t every moment be like this? It’s ironic how it’s the endless daily grind, the push for perfection, the patience and resilience, that get you to this moment so you can absorb the tests and tribulations. This is it.

  Almost there… A-l-m-o-s-t there…

  You can do it. You can do it. You have this.

  Push, push, push.

  Up, down, spin, lift, jab, slice, dash, press, push, push, push. Torque, fall, twist, spin, swing over, rotate backwards, pull through, dive.

  Stop.

  The end is coming.

  The music is lifting.

  The dancers move in. The black void is silent.

  Hands are all over me, lifting me off of my legs, suspending me through the air, holding me and supporting me.

  Weightless.

  Sweat dribbles, limbs float, the lights gleam, the air is thick, the music hums, the breath steadies, the weight lifts.

  The crowd lifts.

  Lift.

  Lift.

  Lift.

  I land on my feet before I disappear into the wings.

  The music keeps going.

  The dance keeps going.

  It always does.

  The applause comes like thunder. It’s the biggest crowd I have ever performed for, a crazy and uncontainable energy. I shuffle onto the stage as the house lights come up, and I lift my arms into the air before folding in half with one look at all the standing faces, my favorite moment. Sweat stings my eyes and drips off my top lip to the black floor and flies off me as I swing back up. I step back into the line of dancers melting like candle wax under the bright lights. Lexi opens a space for me between her and Daniela, just like my first day at Driven. Soon she will be off on her own solo show adventure.

  Daniela’s sweaty palm clamps with mine. The crowd keeps clapping.

  Dip.

  I bow my head down to so much more than the thousands of people before me. I bow to whatever it is that makes this all happen in forever time. This wild mystery we call

  Dance.

  I hear a knock on the door after the dancers have shared a celebratory glass of bubbles, Kent has made one of his famous speeches, and the backstage crowd has semi-dispersed. My skin rises, but then I relax. Charles is gone for good. I hope. What a creep.

  Dad cautiously walks in.

  “Busy?”

  “I thought I saw you, Karen, Abby and Michael in the audience.” Even Michael looked transfixed on the production; it was pretty sweet. I’m removing a final layer of eye-make-up with a cotton ball when we catch glances through the mirror.

  “Well, Kent got us VIP tickets…Next to the Harringtons.” He grimaces, and I near choke.

  “Really?” That was one thing we did have in common, a mutual dislike for my ex-best friends parents stemming from the days Daniela and I were classmates, and somehow I can’t help wonder if Kent put them together intentionally to give Christopher a dig.

  “Lucky you sitting next to the Queen.” I raise a brow.

  “It’s ok, she didn’t talk to me much after uttering something about the only reason you had such a good role was due to relations with the director. I told her at least I didn’t have to use blackmail to get you there.”

  “Oh my god!” I laugh. “You didn’t, did you?”

  Dad has on an easy smile, “I might have used the word bribed, but no really Branwen. We wouldn’t have missed the show for the world, even if Kent hadn’t given us fantastic seats. You were incredible and I am so proud of you. Your mother would be so proud of you too. She’s probably smiling down from heaven telling everyone up there that she always knew you had star quality.”

  Dad has tears in his eyes. So do I. I stand up and give him a hug. It feels good to let go of the grudge and chum around like we used to moons ago. It’s another one of those magical things that can happen on show night.

  “What do you say, we get Abby some more autographs, while joining the rest of the cast and crew for a celebratory drink?”

  “Really?” Dad blanches, “Are you sure you don’t mind? I know Abby would be in seventh heaven over it, and Karen is a little awestruck herself, but we don’t want to intrude on your special night, honey.”

  “You’re not intruding. Are you kidding, you would be making the dancer’s night.” I reach for my jean jacket and smile. “Lets go find Karen and the family.” I shrug at Dad and he gives me an acknowledging look. There’s a sparkle in his eye as he follows me out of the change room.

  Family. I could get used to that word. No one said it had to be perfect.

  28

  The day after the premiere, Kent shows up at my apartment in Chinatown wearing a ball cap and blue jeans. Oh. My. God. Opening the door, I can’t help but smile. I press my fingers to my lips.

  “What?” He frowns. “Is there something wrong with the way I’m dressed?”

  I bite back the smirk that taunts my lips. “Not at all.”

  He smiles a sexy smile and walks in the door. “Good, because it’s time to get going. Did you forget you have an appointment with Dr. Scott today, and your interview after that?”

  I want to forget, mostly about the doctor’s appointment, but also about overcoming my phobia of being in the media for something other than dance itself.

  Kent grabs my jacket in the front closet and holds it up for me to reach my arms into. I’m still trying not to smile, because things have become pretty intense between us, and I don’t know how to deal with it. But the premiere was a success, and I have no more excuses. Even if the show wasn’t over, the hardest part is.

  He opens the door to the black sedan, and I slide in.

  “Honestly, I don’t see the point of going to this appointment. We already have the prognosis.” I cross one leg over the other and stare out of the window. I never thought it would happen, but I’ve accepted my fate. I can’t control it. I’m human, no
t bionic woman. There’s not much I can do about the fact that my body is unwilling to take the abuse anymore. Sometimes the body, which has its way of saying yes, also has a way of saying no.

  Kent tilts his head. One hand rests on the wheel as we tailgate a yellow cab. “Well, then think of it as an excuse to get us in close quarters and talking again.” His eyes turn a shade warmer, and I squirm in my seat.

  “Look, I know. I know I am being an ass. But I honestly don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to feel, or what to think, and I…”

  He swerves the car to the curb, and shifts it into park. The muscles in his arms flutter as his focus slices into mine.

  “Branwen.” He places his hand on my hand. “I’m not Raina, and I’m definitely not Christopher. I gave you your space so you could focus on the show, but you killed the premiere, and I’m not going to wait two weeks for it all to be over to tell you how much I love you and want to be with you. You know that, right?”

  I gulp, totally overwhelmed and overjoyed, yet terribly afraid. “You might have a point, but I’m not who you fell in love with, or… How do you know you’ll feel the same way about me when we don’t have the dance to share? We shared an intense creative process. It was amazing, but maybe you’re confusing it for something else.”

  “I’m not confused.”

  His eyes are clear and focused, and he is not to be argued with. I sigh, looking away, somehow unsure what the problem is. There is a reason I held back, there really is…

  “You are a genius. You were born to create for the stage. You sacrificed a lot to get to where you are, to be an elite artist in New York. My career is over. And…” I shake my head and let the back of it fall into the leather car sea as his hand covers mine.

  “Things change. People change. All I’ve thought about since we met is having the entire package with you: the kids, the house in the burbs, the whole nine yards. If everyone else can have that, why can’t we? I’ve had a great career. I’m satisfied. There are other things I want to focus on. I only held back because I thought you wanted to perform more than anything. But I don’t think that’s true anymore, and your body definitely doesn’t. If taking a leap together is not what you want, I understand. Just don’t push me away because of some false social media accusations and a deep-seated belief that everyone you love lets you down. I don’t plan to let you go, unless you want me to.” His eyes search mine as the person in the car behind us slams down on the horn.

  “What should we do?” I bite back a smile and lift my gaze to him, blocking out the extraneous sounds. It would be a risk. A very huge risk, but a risk I couldn’t risk not taking.

  “What would Kenbra do?” He waggles a brow, and I instinctually wrap my arms around him. My mind was already made up. My heart knew a long time ago. I look at him, and his serious look breaks into a sexy smirk. I love that he makes jokes now. Because when I first joined the company, he barely smiled. That has to be a good thing, right?

  Seriously, I kiss him, and find the words I need when we surface for air. “I love you too, and I’m terrified, but I’m way more terrified of losing you and not giving my dream of having it all with you a chance.”

  He closes his mouth over mine as his fingers trail behind my ear and slide down my neck. God, I missed tasting him, being with him. There is something about it that makes everything so much clearer. Those yellow cabs and road-ragers will just have to go around us. This is a loading zone, not a freeway, dammit.

  “Um… one last thing.” I raise my brow, and Kent’s shoulders rise as he inhales through his nose. “What are those other things you want to focus on?”

  “Oh, that.” His eyes light up. “Well,” he says, putting the car into gear, “I’ve been thinking a lot about ways to do good with the recognition I’ve received from Driven. I’d love to use the fundraising skills I’ve developed to establish a fund for dancers’ rights. I think the timing is right, and it’s something that is well overdue. And…”

  I watch him with an easy smile. He looks so relaxed, so different, so youthful. And this new him is the greatest thing we’ve created all year.

  The medical assistant congratulates us on the show as she leads us to Dr. Scott’s office. Of course, Kent doesn’t take any of the credit, and he gives me a look that makes my heart flutter. We both take a seat and wait for Dr. Scott to show up in his white coat and offer his congratulations on the show. He sits in the chair and wheels himself toward the computer screen.

  He clears his throat, wiggles the mouse, and gives us a frank look.

  “Well, the outcome was a bit different than we expected.” He stares at the screen, and Kent’s grip tightens over mine. “The MRI shows definite wear to the cartilage, but it doesn’t appear to be as bad as it did on the X-rays.” Dr. Scott scratches his head. “I’m not sure why. I suppose there’s been some recent trauma to the area that reads like cartilage breakdown, but with a closer look…” He clasps his fingers over his lap and his eyelids blink together. “I am not making any concrete statements here, but there is a chance of a more promising outcome as long as you take some time off. We can re-evaluate once those knees have had a much-needed break.”

  The comment makes me giddy, but I hold off on the fist pump for now. Kent takes both my hands in his, and the look on his face is ‘toes in the sand’ ten times multiplied as our smiles meld together. We both suck in a breath, shaking our heads in disbelief.

  “I was actually planning to take next season off.” I look up at Dr. Scott for a quick second, and Kent closes his fingers over mine. “The last doctor told me that my knees would never make a comeback.”

  Dr. Scott nods. “Well, I can see why he thought that from the X-rays.”

  Kent lets out a breath of relief, as I squeeze his fingers in excitement.

  “I can’t make any promises, but with a nice long rest, some therapy, and strengthening exercises, you might be able to perform again; I’m not sure at what level, but there’s hope.” Dr. Scott nods.

  Wow. I can’t believe it. I shake my head. Everyone in the room is smiling. I love the word hope. I think hope might be my new favorite word. I have so many favorite new words and things, including this year, this company, this man… and last but not least, the one love I must not forget: this city.

  New York may have sent me running with my tail between my legs in humiliation, but boy, did she ever take me back. And like that old cocky boyfriend, this town just might know I’m the one it should have never let go of. At least I’d like to think of it that way. Maybe there is something I can thank Raina Freehurst for: giving me a reason to crawl back. Besides, a girl can’t keep running forever. Sometimes in order to move forward, all it takes is a good look at the demons of your past. Sure, it took me way longer than it should have, but I did it. And my body may not be what it was, I may not be who I was, but from where I’m sitting, everything looks pretty okay.

  Hope. I smile.

  Damn, I really love that word.

  Kent secures his fingers between mine with a smile as we step out onto the busy sidewalk. He gives me a look that tells me hope could very well be his new favorite word too. And then he starts the Audi, running his fingers through his glorious hair in his sparkling way. Through the window, the skyscrapers are sparkling too. They are no longer daunting and gray, and the electric circuit that bustles at their feet is creating its own luminescent rhythm. There is something about it. It’s freedom and suffocation all at once. We might get our little fantasy of escape, our little taste of normal, soon—and I cannot wait—but even if we did venture out… this city will always have my number.

  I think Kent might feel the same way, even if he doesn’t like to admit it. Because we both know there are times in the New York City dance world—in a company like Driven, which became its own monster—when everyone needs a mental health day, or maybe three hundred sixty-five of them, to be able to breathe again. And some people, like me, are forced to take a break whether they want to or not. But all I ha
ve to do is look at Kent to be reminded how much I actually want this. He shakes the hair out of his eyes and walks around the car to open my door in the parking garage under the penthouse, and I go along with it, knowing it’s something he likes to do.

  In the lobby, Kent introduces me to a woman in a black-and-cream Chanel suit with beige pumps. She shakes our hands and enters the elevator with us as I arch a brow at Kent, wondering what’s going on. I tell myself there is no way she’s another financier. No fricking way.

  I just stare at him, trying to figure out what’s going on, and when I do, I squint my eyes in disbelief. He wiggles his brow in a way that says, you got it, babe. And yes, for the record, I am totally crazy.

  She unlocks the door, and Kent motions for me to walk ahead as I stare back at him and that cocky smile dancing on his pink lips. The realtor clears her throat, and we both look up.

  “The listing will be posted by noon tomorrow. I expect a quick sale with multiple offers. I just need you to sign the last of the documents.” She places the pages on the glass table and hands Kent a gold-plated pen. Before I can give a reassuring squeeze of his hand in mine, he takes the pen between his fingers and signs on the dotted line.

  The agent arches a brow with a satisfied smile at his quick response.

  Kent rubs the back of his neck and smiles in his sexy way.

  Done and done. He takes my hand, and we head toward the elevator. I shake my head at him in disbelief—it’s been one of those days—and once the doors swing shut behind us, we’re descending, leaving the agent to do her last-minute primping to the unit and paperwork, while we head out for what could be one of our last meals on the town. My guess.