“That good, huh?”
“I’m not kidding, man. Kissing her is fucking unreal. If we’d been standing last night when we got into it, she would have taken me to my knees.”
Jed nudged him with his elbow and said, “I’m sure you would have made good use of that position.”
“No shit, but it’s not about that. We spent months texting, keeping it light, and in two nights I feel all of this? Have you ever experienced anything that powerful with a woman?”
“Yes, and I’m marrying her next month.”
“Right. Of all people, you know what I’m talking about.” He paced in the aisle and said, “You know I always own up to my shit, but I’m nervous about telling Roni about my past. I’m really into her, and I want more time with her.”
“And you’re afraid you might never get the chance once you tell her?”
“Exactly, but she deserves to know the truth before we get in any deeper. I’ve never cared what people thought about my past until she came into my life, and these last few months, it’s been weighing on me.”
“I know. I was right there by your side as you waited out your two-years-clean mark to prove that you could do it.” Jed put a hand on Quincy’s shoulder and said, “Listen, you won’t want to hear this, but you already know it, because I’ve heard you say it. If she can’t see you for the man you are today, then she’s not the right woman for you. End of story.”
Quincy raked a hand through his hair, swallowing that sharp-edged truth, and said, “You’re absolutely right. I just wish I had told her before last night. I’m already in deep, Jed.”
“I knew you were last night. Whatever happens, we’ll get through it. I’ve got your back, Quincy.”
“I know. Enough about my shit. What’re you doing here? Need a book for Hail?”
“No. I’m looking for a book about getting through to teenagers for the Young Knights program.” Earlier this year, Jed started the Young Knights, which was like the Big Brother mentoring program, but it was run through the Dark Knights. Now there were about a dozen kids taking part in the program. “We’ve got a new kid who’s a bit ornery. I want to make sure I’m doing things right.”
“Ornery teenagers should be right up your alley. Follow me, my friend.”
BY THE TIME Quincy climbed onto his motorcycle after work, he was wound tighter than a top. He and Roni had both worked until seven, and they had plans to see each other at eight thirty, but the guilt of not telling her about his past was eating away at him. He’d tried texting, but she hadn’t responded, so he rode straight to the studio, hoping to catch her early.
Angela was behind the desk when he strode through the door carrying his helmet. Her blond hair was pinned up in a high ponytail. She smiled, curiosity rising in her eyes. “Hi. Quincy, the world’s best first and second date, right?”
He loved knowing Roni had told her about their time together. “The one and only. And you’re Angela?”
“Sure am. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“You too. Thanks for winning me for Roni, by the way. Is she still around?”
“Yeah, she’s here. She’s in room three, down that hall on the right. But before you go see her, I just want you to know that she’s been through a lot. I know you two have been friends for a while now, and you don’t seem to be a jerk, but be kind to her, okay? She deserves the best things in life.”
“I only know one way to be these days, Angela, and that’s what you see is what you get.” He realized that wasn’t quite true, because his demons weren’t visible, but he was about to fix that.
“Okay, good. Would you tell Roni I’m heading out? I’ll lock the door behind me.”
“Sure.”
He followed the sounds of music down the hall, and there in the middle of the third room was Roni, wearing black leggings and a pink wrap top like she’d worn the other night, gliding elegantly across the floor. Her arms moved gracefully up and down, but when the tempo changed, she crumpled to the floor, head and shoulders bent forward, rolling her body upward and shifting into the splits. With pointed toes, she walked her hands forward in time to the beat, and one leg swept around her and then up, toes pointed to the ceiling. Then she was on her feet again, sinking, rising, sashaying, in a series of graceful, and then more abrupt, movements. Quincy was spellbound. She was so focused, it seemed like she was one with the music. The song started again without a pause, and her arms moved above her head in a new and different dance. Then she dropped to the floor, dragging her body along it with her hands and forearms. She turned onto her back, rising slowly, as if there were a cable in the center of her body, lifting it, her chest arching.
The lyrics came into focus as he watched her dance. It was a song about needing to lose someone in order to love herself. That could be his theme song. Not about a relationship with a person, but his relationship with drugs. He’d needed to lose them in order to love himself. The sentiment and the intensity of Roni’s dancing coalesced, swamping him. It felt like a sign, and he knew he’d made the right decision not to let any more time go by before sharing his past with her.
When the song came to an end, Roni stood with her head bowed, her chest rising with her heavy breaths. She rubbed her hip, as if it hurt. He wanted to rub it for her.
“Wow, babe. That was beautiful,” he said from the doorway.
Her head jerked up with an uncomfortable expression. “Quincy. What are you doing here?”
“I came by early to talk. I texted, but I guess you didn’t get it.” He walked into the room, wondering if she was already regretting what they’d done last night. “I can come back at eight thirty like we planned if this is a bad time.”
“Sorry, no, it’s fine. I’m glad you’re here. I was messing around and you caught me off guard. I’m not used to people seeing me dance.” She grabbed a sweater from the table and pulled it on. The soft gray tumbled around her, stopping just above her waist and hanging sexily off one shoulder.
He stepped closer and reached for her hand, finally earning the sweet smile that made his chest constrict. “Hi, beautiful,” he said softly, and leaned in to kiss her, inhaling her feminine scent, which stirred a hunger for more. “If that was you messing around, then I need to see you dance for real, because you blew me away.”
“Thanks, but I don’t perform anymore.”
“Why not? That was so powerful.”
“It was okay. I was too stiff, my turns sucked, and I favored my left side.” She leaned her butt against the table, a flash of sadness moving over her features. “I’ll never be able to dance the way I used to.”
He set his helmet on the table and shrugged off his leather jacket, tossing it beside the helmet, and stepped in front of her. She lifted her eyes to his, and damn, she was right when she’d called their connection electric. His body felt like a tangle of live wires every time they were together.
“Talk to me, babe. What do you mean, like you used to?”
She lowered her eyes. “It’s not a pretty story.”
He slid his finger beneath her chin, lifting her face, and said, “I have my own ugly stories. If you share yours, I’ll share mine.”
Her lips curved up. “What is it about you that makes it easy for me to open up?”
“I don’t know, but whatever it is, I think you bring it out in me.”
She hoisted herself up and sat on the table, patting the space beside her. “You might as well get comfortable.”
He stepped between her legs and put his hands just below her hips. “I’m good right here, thanks. I want to be able to see your face.” He squeezed her outer thighs and said, “And this is a nice benefit.”
“I guess after last night we’re officially past you keeping your hands to yourself.”
“They’re on the outside of your legs, not between them.”
Crimson stained her cheeks, and she looked away, shaking her head and grinning. “I’m not used to hearing things like that.”
“I’m only t
elling it like it is.” He ran his hands down the outside of her legs and felt her bristle. She hadn’t given him any indication that she regretted last night, but that flinch worried him. He held his hands up, bringing her eyes back to his, and said, “I’m not trying to do anything, Roni. I was just being affectionate, not sexual.”
“It’s not that,” she said apologetically. “I love when you touch me.”
He breathed a sigh of relief and sat beside her. “Is this better?”
“Yes and no,” she said softly.
He laced their fingers together, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “How about this?”
“I like that. I liked you standing in front of me, too. It’s not you, Quincy. Despite what it probably looks like after last night, I haven’t been with many guys, so if I react funny sometimes, it’s because I don’t know how to react.”
“It doesn’t look like anything to me, Roni, other than two people who are into each other.”
“Then that’s good. I’m still new to this whole couple-dating thing. My whole life has been about dance, as I told you the other night. But it goes deeper than just dance classes. Remember how I said that my grandmother wanted me to get out of the place where we lived?”
“Yeah. To be honest, the way you described where you grew up made me wonder why she allowed you to live there. I get that she refused to be run out of her home, but still. It didn’t sound like the best place for a young girl to grow up.”
“I know. Shortly before she died, I learned there was more to why we stayed. According to my grandmother, I started dancing as soon as I could walk. I don’t want to sound braggy, but she said that even when I was young I was a gifted dancer. When Elisa validated what my grandmother saw, it changed everything. It changed the way I saw myself, and it gave me a path to get out of the awful place where we lived. It’s true that my grandmother didn’t want to leave because she’d grown up there, but now I know that the only way we could afford my dance lessons was to stay there, because the apartment was rent controlled.”
“A means to an end.”
“Yes, and by the time I was twelve, I wanted that end with everything I had,” she said so passionately, her face brightened. “I danced my butt off seven days a week. The reason I’d never roasted marshmallows or gone to a single school dance or party was that I didn’t have a normal childhood. Gram and I never even went to the movies. I never saw a Disney movie until last year, when I watched one with Angela at her apartment. While other kids were out at parties playing Spin the Bottle and Seven Minutes in Heaven and when they were experiencing their first kisses and going to prom, I was here honing my skills, striving to be perfect, because talented wasn’t good enough to get into Juilliard, and that was my dream. I’m not complaining. It was my choice to work that hard. I could have had a less lofty goal and had more of a life, but I was never happier than when I was dancing. When I was lost in the music and motion, I was no longer the girl who had to keep her head down and run from the bus stop to the apartment, or sleep with my head under a pillow because the gangs outside my windows were up at all hours, squealing wheels and shouting profanity.”
She could have been describing Quincy’s childhood, and it made him sick to think about her growing up in that situation.
“I dreamed of being onstage, telling stories through dance. I wanted to be the best contemporary dance soloist, to suck people into the story and make them think and feel things they never had. I lived to dance. It’s all I ever wanted. Well, that and to make my grandmother and Elisa proud. I would have done anything to achieve it, and I made it, Quincy,” she said with pride and tears in her eyes. “I got accepted into Juilliard, and I worked my butt off and achieved the impossible. Me. I was just a girl with a dream from a poor neighborhood, raised by her grandmother. I beat the odds, and I was so proud of myself. After graduation I got a job with a great dance company. I was on top of the world, and I came home to celebrate with Gram. She was on top of the world too, so proud of me she couldn’t stop talking about it. We were going to make apple pie. She stayed home to cut up the apples, and I walked a few blocks to the store to get the rest of the ingredients. The streets south of where we lived were really bad, but north, where the store was, wasn’t that bad, and we always walked when we could.” She squeezed his hand, staring absently at the floor, and said, “I was on my way back from the store when I heard gunshots—poppoppop—real fast, seconds before the car slammed into me, and then everything went black.” Tears slipped down her cheeks.
Quincy’s heart shattered. “Jesus, baby.” Sadness engulfed him. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight.
“I got dragged by the car. The pavement tore right through my clothes. I had to get skin grafts on my left hip and thigh. I fractured my hip, broke my leg, my foot, a few ribs, and shattered my dreams, all in the blink of an eye.”
“No,” he choked out, not wanting to believe it.
She swiped at her tears and said, “I was messed up for a long time. I moved back in with Gram while I healed and went through physical therapy and rehab, and when I was well enough, Elisa hired me as a receptionist, and she allowed me to work on my range of motion and strength at the studio before and after work. Eventually I healed enough to teach, and Elisa offered me the apartment upstairs. I didn’t want to leave Gram, but she basically kicked me out. I think she felt guilty. I tried to get her to move in with me, but she refused.”
“Christ, Roni. You’ve been through so much. I’m sure she felt guilty, but it wasn’t her fault. She did what she could so you would have a chance at a better future.”
“I know.” Her voice cracked.
“It’s okay, babe. I’ve got you.” He kissed her temple, rubbing his hand soothingly down her back. “I wish I could take all that pain away and wipe your memory clean, so you’d never think about it again. What happened to the guy who hit you? Did he go to jail? Was he high? Drunk?”
“No. He was a seventy-four-year-old grandfather of three. I don’t know all the details, because they never arrested anyone, but I’ve been told that it was a drug deal gone wrong. Someone fired shots meant for someone else, and one of the bullets hit the driver in the back of the head. He was killed instantly.”
Quincy gritted his teeth against the bile rising in his throat.
“That’s why I no longer perform,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’m good, but not good enough.”
He cradled her face in his hands, wiping her tears with his thumbs. “What do you mean? I saw you dancing like the wind. If the company that had hired you won’t take you back, can’t you work for another dance company?”
“I wish. Dance is all about levels of perfection. My movements are too jerky, and I get pains if I dance for too long. I’ll never dance professionally again.” She held up her index finger with a genuine smile that reached her eyes and said, “But there is a silver lining. I found another passion. Two, actually, that I might not have realized if I had continued down that path. When I used to help teach, it was just a way for me to pay Elisa back for all of the classes I wanted to take. But now that I put my heart and soul into it, I love teaching, helping girls of all ages feel better about themselves and showing them that they can shine no matter what is happening around them. And I found that I love children, too. Before the accident, I never had a chance to slow down and think about kids or having a family of my own one day. Children were never part of my life outside of helping to teach here at the studio, and like I said, I didn’t think about whether I was enjoying them. I was filling a commitment. But remember the little redhead in Kennedy’s class who was leaning against the wall the other night?”
“Yeah. She was a cutie.”
“She is. She’s a doll. Her name is Dottie, and believe it or not, standing against the wall is a big improvement for her. Her mom put her into my class to try to get her to come out of her shell because she’s painfully shy. The first few classes, she sat on the floor huddled with her arms around her legs, pee
king at the other girls. She wouldn’t even look me in the eye. But now we’re connecting. She’s getting there, and it’ll take time, but it feels good to know that through dance and music, she’s making strides. I never would have found that type of fulfillment if I’d continued dancing professionally.”
“That’s great, babe. But you worked so hard. You gave up your childhood to be the best, to dance alone onstage and tell stories through your movements. I don’t understand how you can walk away from that dream. Is it all or nothing in that industry? Do you have to dance with the best? Can’t you perform with a smaller group? Start your own solo dance company?”
“My own? No. And the rest is complicated,” she said softly. “To dance with a company, big or small, takes a lot of practice, and you’re part of a team. Every dancer’s movements are a reflection of the group. I know what I’m capable of, and I can’t keep up with them, Quincy. Sometimes I get pains in my foot or my hip, my lower back. My movements are no longer fluid enough to complement other skilled dancers. I would stand out like a sore thumb, and there are days when I can’t make it dancing to a three-and-a-half-minute song. I would never bring down the other dancers with my subpar performance. But I’ve accepted that I won’t perform again, and that’s okay.”
She sat up and looked into his eyes. Gone were the sadness and tears, replaced with something brighter. “I’m blessed to be alive, Quincy. I’ve got a second chance, and I’m beyond thankful for that, because I don’t think my grandmother would have survived losing me and I got a year and a half with her after the accident. All the wishing in the world can’t change what happened, but I can embrace what I’ve been left with, and that’s exactly what I am doing. And you know what else? If I hadn’t been hit by the car, we probably never would have met. More glittery silver for the lining.”
“You’re fucking incredible, you know that?”
The Gritty Truth Page 10
