by Tijan
His eyebrows pinched together. “For what?”
That answer was so simple. “For me.”
He stared at me, long and hard. I almost thought he was going to draw me into his arms, but he didn’t. His hand adjusted his hold on my arm. Then a flat tone came from him. “You’re being melodramatic. Get the fuck over yourself.”
26
Nate
Dinner was a disaster.
She was freaking. I didn’t think comforting her would help, so I went the opposite.
I might’ve chosen wrong.
After my words, she couldn’t function. I thought she would crumple, but she just swayed and replied to my questions with one or two words. She mumbled everything. By my fifth bite, I knew nothing could salvage the evening, so I asked for the bill, and we took the leftovers home.
My phone had been buzzing at a regular rate throughout dinner, and after a quick glance, I left them unread. Logan and Mason were waiting like they said they would. The texts were from Graham, and I guessed the rest of his family members, judging by the first few words I glimpsed in each text. There’d been a call by a number I didn’t recognize, and whoever it was had left a message.
I also wasn’t dealing with that at that moment.
We walked inside, and Quincey went off to relieve Emily.
She had taken a car service here, so I ordered another car to take her home.
Me: Seeing the nanny home, then I can call.
Logan: Sounds good. I’m still beating Taylor at video games. Could do this shit all night long.
Mason: We don’t want to hear about your foreplay. Sounds good, Nate. I’m watching tapes.
Hearing a soft tread coming from the back, I put my phone away. Emily came out, her coat already on, and she gave me a sleepy smile. “I fell asleep putting Nova to bed. It’s been a great shift. I almost feel bad being paid for tonight.”
“I ordered you an Uber.”
“Thank you.” She was rubbing at her eyes. “Oh.” Her hands dropped. “Quincey just asked me for my hours. I thought she knew you were paying me now?”
Another thing we needed to have a discussion about. It hadn’t been something I intentionally forgot to mention to Quincey, but now after her little outburst, I was thinking it could simply return to the back burner. No point in adding fuel to this situation’s fire.
“Just tell her that you need to tally them up. I’ll handle it.”
“Okay. I can do that.”
A set of headlights turned down our road, and both of us were guessing it was the car I ordered. She moved to the front door, and I followed her to make sure. When she was off, and the car was gone, I checked on Nova first. She was sleeping soundly and looked like an angel.
Quincey left her bedroom door open, so I moved through Nova’s room to look in on her, too.
She was in her bathroom.
I heard the water running and considered waiting for a moment. But what for?
She was angry. She was sad. She was a mess.
I was being honest.
She also wasn’t the only one with a tragic life, so I didn’t know what else to say to her?
My mounting frustration meant I had an urge to head to the gym instead of my office for a phone call. I would do both because any conversation about Duke would make me want to punch someone. I went back to my room, changed into some workout pants and a tank, and headed downstairs to the gym.
I plugged my phone into the speaker system and made the call.
They each answered just as I threw my first punch at the weight bag.
“What are you doing?” Mason asked.
“I’m working out as we do this call.”
“Nice! Mase, you hear that? We got the alpha asshole Nate on the phone. I love the alpha asshole Nate.”
“Don’t rile him up, or you’ll be flying there to bail him out of jail.”
My grin was faint, but it was there. They were joking, but if Duke had been in the gym, their statement wouldn’t have been too far off.
I sighed before throwing a jab. “Logan. Tell us what happened.”
He started, and I kept throwing punches the rest of the night.
My knuckles were swollen by the time we were done. The skin tore over three of them, and I left that gym with bloodied hands. What a fucking metaphor for the shit that I was living through.
27
Quincey
I had an emotional hangover.
I’d been a bitch the night before—the biggest—and Nate was right. He’d been so right. Melodramatic? Plaster my face in the dictionary next to that word.
He even told me he’d gone through things in his own life, and there I was, wailing about my own. I had one controlling father. I didn’t even know all that Nate had gone through in his.
Nate had asked about dancing, and the agent conversation last night. He was right about that, too.
I was getting tired of how right he was all the time. Like, screw him and the saintly horse he rode in on? Then I looked around, and I was on his bed, in one of his bedrooms, in his house, and yeah.
Melodramatic and hypocrite could both be my new labels.
I glanced over and saw it was nearing five in the morning. Nova might already be awake, or she might sleep till seven. I was almost hoping for seven, but I knew that was a long shot. Nate had been up late. I heard him when he came back from the gym.
Or I might’ve seen him because I’d been sitting in the living room, in the dark, spying on him.
After I took a shower, I came out to apologize. Nate hadn’t been around, so I went in search of him until I heard him in the basement gym, and he’d been on a call with his friends.
I recognized their voices by now.
I couldn’t make out all the words, and I began to feel guilty for eavesdropping, so I moved to the living room by the basement door. I kept the lights off, telling myself that I was really just trying to fall asleep.
I was lying, though.
I wanted to see Nate walk by, all sweaty and hot from the gym. He did, and he walked through a ray of moonlight, and I almost slid to the floor in a heap of hormones.
I was all over the place. Sad. Mad. Self-loathing, but I rounded back to my hormones. It was how I started the night, so I was now telling myself that at least I was a well-rounded human being. The meaning of that phrase didn’t fit my personal meaning, but I was still going to cut myself some slack.
Which was something I was proud of because cutting myself slack was not something I’d ever done. Ever. Seriously. Such a perfectionist. Always a perfectionist.
Getting up, I washed up.
I was feeling lazy today, so I slipped on some flowy yoga pants, a tank. Yoga shoes. Padding quietly into Nova’s room, I found her still sleeping. She was curled over, her penguin by her head and a blanket covering one toe. I pulled it off and laid it over her before heading for the kitchen.
All the lights were off, so I was assuming Nate was still sleeping.
“Morning.” I heard the low rasp from the kitchen table.
I jumped but laughed. “You’re not sleeping.”
I could see him better as I came more into the room. He raised an eyebrow. “Am I supposed to be?”
A whole burst of nerves hit me, and I needed to get this over and done with. If I didn’t, it’d ruminate, and I was learning that I was terrible with anything ruminating.
I linked my hands together and stood before him. “I’m sorry about last night. Emotions were already high because of my family, but I think I would’ve been a mess anyway. The longer I stay away from my dad, it’s like the more things start to become clear. It’s making me a little bit crazy, and I didn’t use to be melodramatic. At all. There’s a reason Calihan is angry with me. I was stuck-up, and I was always just so perfect. I was locked down. This is the first real opening I’ve given her to get back at me, and that’s what she was doing. She was taking a swing because I’ve shut her down by not letting anyone else in. But all that asid
e, I lost it last night, and I am sorry for that. It won’t happen again.”
His eyebrows bunched together. “Look, what I said was wrong. I went for the shock factor, thinking it’d help you. It didn’t. I apologize for that, but for what you just said now… First off, I’m not your father. Second, I never want you to apologize to me unless you’ve done something to hurt Nova or me. And three, you’re making yourself vulnerable. Am I getting that right?”
Jesus. “Yeah.”
“The fact you’re making yourself vulnerable and you think it’s okay that your sister is taking ‘her chance’ speaks volumes about your relationship.” He had a coffee mug in front of him, and standing, he took the cup to the coffee machine. He filled it, then reached for another. That one was filled. He added the coffee creamer I used, the healthiest I could find, and dumped the exact portion I always used before handing me the second mug.
I took it, slightly stunned. “How do you know how I take my coffee?”
“We live together.”
I rotated around as he took his coffee back to the table. His laptop was there, his phone next to it. He had headphones plugged in.
I said, “I never get my coffee when you’re here. You’re usually gone or working when I get mine.”
He opened his laptop, his eyes finding me over the screen for a moment. “You’re not the only one who can use a PI.”
“Carl was never that detailed.”
“Mine was.” He went back to his computer, and it felt like the conversation was finished.
I moved around the kitchen, starting to make breakfast, when he spoke again.
“I have a friend who plays for the Raiders. He offered me two tickets for the Sunday game. Would you like to go?”
I froze, then swiveled back around.
Was this a date?
But no… He didn’t look like he was asking me out on a date. He spoke matter-of-factly and business-like.
He stated last night we needed to get to know each other. Was that what this was?
I was going with that. It felt more comfortable in that situation.
Just two adults raising the same child, getting to know each other to make things easier and less complicated.
“I’m sure Emily could watch Nova.”
“You don’t want to take her with us?”
An eighteen-month-old? At a football game in October? In Seattle?
But before I could say anything, he waved his hand. “Never mind. You’re right. It would be a good idea if it were just us two. Media doesn’t usually care about me, but I don’t want them to start now.”
Media. Right. The gossip bloggers. This was never an issue in my life.
I was struck again at how similar but so different our lives were.
I needed to get out of there. I needed to dance but not here. Not so close to him.
“Do you—” I paused. No. I needed to ask. “Do you mind being here for Nova until Emily shows? I want to go somewhere right now. Maybe a walk in the gardens.”
An emotion flickered in his eyes, but he nodded. “I can be here all day if you need that? I know you like having Emily, but you’re more hands-on than most parents with nannies.”
I was because I had that privilege. I had the time, and I was in a situation where I could pay for help. It meant a great deal to me. I wanted to soak up as much Nova time as possible, but I needed to be somewhere not here right now.
My legs were itching for it.
“Thank you.”
I fled after that, totally fled. I had my purse in hand, the coffee with me, and I was pulling out of the driveway within five minutes. From there, I didn’t have a set location in mind, but body memory must’ve taken over.
I pulled up outside an old studio I used to go to. It was one that was always open for dancers.
No one else was there, so I programmed the music and went to the barre.
“Quincey?”
I stiffened but turned.
Matthew Chiltress was coming toward me.
Internally, I was weeping but also happy. I’d danced a few productions with Matthew. He was one of the stars in the Seattle ballet scene—well, in the national scene now. He was ready for a day of dancing in his gray top and black tights. His hair was combed back. He looked vital and alive, and I was so jealous.
“Matthew. Hello.”
I pulled on my dancing mask—chin up, shoulders back, arms at the ready. I lifted my mouth in a small smile. It was one that he couldn’t tell if it was polite or a fuck-off sort of smile. I always loved giving one of those. I’d been so good at them.
He paused, taking me in.
His eyes darkened in appreciation before he gave me a slight wolf whistle. “You’re looking amazing. Motherhood agrees with you.”
Motherhood with a nanny, he meant. No one believed I was actually the one raising Nova.
“Thank you. And you look amazing as well.”
A cockiness flared before he masked it, moving closer. “I was just talking about you the other day with another girl.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. She was a dancer in New York who recently moved here. She’s new but getting a master's degree in dance therapy. She doesn’t know the area that well, and I thought you might be a perfect person to show her around. You’re local and you have time now. She’s looking for places to set up dance therapy programs. She mentioned nursing homes or other shelters that deal with people who have experienced trauma.”
You have time now.
It was a small dig from him. Since I wasn’t dancing, I had all the time in the world.
“Why did you think of me?”
He frowned. “I don’t know. But here you are, and I’ve been meaning to reach out. Maybe I telepathically called out to you to come see me?” There was the old Matt I remembered. He’d always been a flirt. A dancer first, a flirt second. He sidled even closer, folding his arms over his chest. His muscles rippled from the movement. “Really, Quince. How are you doing?”
I forced a light laugh as I edged back a step. My hand reached behind me, finding the barre, and the touch settled me. “I’m good, Matthew. Really. How are you doing?”
He noted the backward shift, and a knowing smirk filtered over his face before he let out a sigh. He moved to face me at the barre, his hand touching it as well. “There’s a new production in town, a new choreographer.”
“Yeah?”
My chest tightened at the thought of something new. Jealousy spiked through me.
We both bent forward, heads moving past our knees. Or mine was. I heard Matt answer, and we both paused and held the stretch, letting our lines show. “Too bad you’re still not dancing. You’d be perfect for the lead. They’re looking for a Latina lead, but I told—”
“Who is it?” I jerked upright, my heart pounding more than it should be.
Coming back from being gone so long would be hard but coming back to be a lead was not realistic.
But… I couldn’t help myself.
“What?” Matt straightened upright, frowning. “I didn’t think you could dance anymore. That’s why you left.”
“Things have… I might be able to do a production.”
His lips parted in surprise. “Well, then. The casting is in a couple of weeks. I can show you the routine.”
“I can do that.”
He stepped back, seeming to reassess me. “I heard your agent dropped you.”
“I can get a new agent. You know I can.” Why was he now fighting me on this? “What’s the issue, Matt? Why even mention the opportunity if you didn’t think I’d be interested?”
He opened his mouth, then shut it and shrugged. “I’ll let the new choreographer know. I’m the male lead.”
Of course, he was.
My chest tightened up. “Who’s my competition?”
A dry laugh. “Everyone, but no one’s going to be expecting you. I’ll only tell Patrice.”
“That’s his name? The new choreographer?”
I moved my head up and down. I figured. They were more progressive than the other two established companies. “Thanks, Matt. Thanks for telling me.”
He let out another sigh, letting go of the barre. “You want me to show you the routine? I mean, it’s almost like kismet.” He shot me a teasing grin.
I ignored that, saying, “I’d like that.”
For the next hour, he moved me through the steps.
He broke each section down, moving me through each at a fast pace so I could get the steps down. It was complex but new. There was some hip-hop, some step, and some modern thrown into it alongside the usual ballet. I loved it, and he was right. As we began moving through the steps at a faster pace, my heart was pounding, wanting to burst out of me.
This dance was for me. I felt it in my blood.
I just needed to make sure I wasn’t rusty.
When other dancers started coming into the building, we slowed and began going through the arm motions.
Matt wiped some sweat from his face, his eyes gleaming. “I forgot how fast you pick up on routines.” Then he sobered, his arms dropping completely when the door opened, and a group of girls came inside. They looked over, gasping when they saw Matt, but he turned his back to them. He lowered his voice. “I’ll talk to Patrice, and I’m fairly certain I can get you on the call list, but you know they send out last-minute changes through agents. You think you can get one in time?”
Nate. Nate had contacts, and he was right. I was hoping he was. I could put feelers out and see who got back to me.
“Let’s hope.”
“About that other girl? The dance therapy girl. Should I give her your information?”
I hesitated, but that right there was my answer. “I want to focus on this routine and the agent first.”
“Okay. She’ll be around, so there’s no hurry for that.”
I dipped my head in a small nod. My chest was heaving from the workout. “Thanks, Matt. I mean it.” Bending down, I grabbed my phone and headphones. I was walking to the door when he called after me.
