28. Why I need Dancing

TWENTY-EIGHT

#2 it makes everything else in my head quiete

It was almost three in the afternoon when I finally woke up, sunlight blazing through the window on an icy winter day. Nathan was long gone, off to perform life-altering surgeries and then finish his usual clinic hours.

I spent an hour lying there, smelling his sheets and wondering if that ghost of a goodbye kiss on my cheek actually happened or was just a figment of my imagination. Then I laid there for another hour, debating whether or not I should just cancel my appearance at the gala. Whether I should just cancel the whole arrangement and go back to Belmont, where I belonged. After all, Carrick was probably going to spill what he'd seen to Nathan anyway, so there was no reason for this to continue.

But in the end, I kept seeing Nathan's big brown eyes blinking at me from across the bar. I remembered him saying he didn't care what I wanted to do, as long as it was my choice.

And I imagined the disappointment coloring his features if I bailed on the one promise I'd made to him in all of this: just to be there.

That alone got me out of bed.

When I was little, I often had a hard time sleeping in the room I shared with two of my sisters. Frankie snored, and Marie kicked me in her sleep. More nights than not, I'd sneak out after bed and crouch at the top of the stairs so I could peek at whatever my older siblings were watching on TV.

Soul Food was one of the few movies Lea and Kate could always agree on with their friends. Not exactly appropriate bedtime fare for a six-year-old, but I usually fell asleep on the stairs before the Big Mama fell into her coma. I usually tried to stay awake until my favorite scene, though. The one where Faith, the wayward cousin, does her dance audition to a piano version of "Don't Leave Me" by Blackstreet. She was the bad one in the family. The one who stole everyone's man. The fuckup and nothing else.

In that scene, though, she dances and comes alive, and everyone watching knows it. They don't think she's a screw-up. They think she's an artist. A person with real merit. And it was to those beautiful, butter-smooth piano riffs.

Even at that age, I could relate.

It was the reason I started dancing in the first place. I rewound the VHS tape and taught myself her choreography until Nonna finally put me in dance classes just to stop hearing the music.

That day, when I finally got myself out of bed, I didn't go for a walk, look for a job, call Nathan, or do any of the things I knew I should prioritize. Instead, after seeing that Carrick was also not in the apartment, I changed into dance clothes—my clothes. Faded cropped leggings, a stretched-out leotard, and the pair of soft black ballet shoes I hadn't worn in months. Then I fled to the studio on the top floor.

It wouldn't feel the same. I knew that. There were things I couldn't do, moves my knee just couldn't handle. And since I had no desire (or money) to go to the ER, I had to hold myself back at least that much.

But the rest of the routine…it had been too long. A quick bout of good cardio, followed by some light ballet work and stretches on the floor and against the wall. Then I put on my favorite playlist, the one that included everything from the Chopin barre music Mrs. Suarez played in her studio to the old-school Sinatra Nonna used to teach all her grandkids the box step, to show tunes and hip hop and everything in between. Every number I'd ever loved, every routine I'd ever given myself to. I selected "Don't Leave Me." And I danced.

Three hours later, I was covered in sweat, and my knee was throbbing, but I felt almost at peace and happier than I'd been in months as the final song in my playlist came on: Billy Joel's "She's Always A Woman."

I smiled. This was a new addition. Mostly because I thought Nathan would like it. When I'd added it to the list, I'd imagined how he might sit and watch me while he listened.

Moving in time to the familiar piano, I wove my body into spontaneous patterns around the room, taking up as much space as I liked with arabesques, leaps, and pirouettes onto my good leg, and too many other movements I didn't have names for but only did because they felt good and right. By the time the song was on its final bars, I ended with a deep bow down to my toes, folding into myself like a butterfly returning to its chrysalis instead of going out into the world. It's what I wished I could do. I didn't want to fly. I wasn't ready. All I wanted to do more than anything else was go home where it was safe.

But home didn't exist.

And so I was here.

"You have to dance."

A deep voice that warmed every cell in my body echoed through the room. I jumped and straightened, then found Nathan's reflection in the mirror.

He was standing in the doorway, still impossibly handsome in his scrubs. His glasses were a little smudged, and his hair looked like he'd been running his hands through it again. Like he had been too busy to change, too much in a hurry to take care of these little things the way he usually would, all because he wanted to come home to me.

My heart ached in response.

How I wished it were true.

I turned, feeling suddenly awkward. "Um…hi."

"Hi." He took a step into the room. "I got home, and I couldn't find you." He looked around the studio. "Now I know why."

I crossed my legs, suddenly shy in my dancewear. I didn't know why. He'd seen me in far more revealing things at the bar. Or even his bed.

Maybe it was because out of all the clothes I'd worn in front of Nathan, whether they were costumes for a platform or for his parents, these worn-out dance clothes weren't a costume. They were just me.

"It's where I needed to be," I said quietly. "How did you think to come here?"

"Just a guess. I was about to call your sisters, but I thought I'd check here first." He shoved a hand through that thicket of hair again and shook his head like he still couldn't believe something. "I didn't understand until now. But you're…Joni, you can't stop doing that. Dancing, I mean. You're too good."

I deflated a little, though the acknowledgment felt nice. He couldn't know how much of a shadow I was of my former self. How completely absurd it was to think this was what I used to be capable of.

"Oh, Nathan," I said sadly. "I had to stop. You know that. This…" I waved a hand toward the room. "This was just messing around."

He shook his head stubbornly. "It didn't look like it. That was…that was fucking amazing. I am literally amazed."

"No. I had to skip so much of that routine."

Nathan openly gawked. "There's more?"

I nodded. "Oh yeah. But my knee…" I flapped a hand toward my scarred leg.

His eyes darted quickly down. "Right. Your knee."

He didn't say anything more, though his gaze didn't move. His focus remained on my legs and seemed to grow hotter with every passing moment.

I fought the urge to cover up. More from my own yearning than from that heated expression.

"About last night," Nathan started. He managed to tear his gaze up from my legs, and his brown eyes met mine, looking almost nervous. "Did Shawn follow you home from the bar?"

I gulped. But as easy as it would have been to let him think that, it would have also been the same as lying.

And I didn't want to lie to Nathan. Maybe I even felt like I needed to tell the truth.

Or as much as I could handle telling.

I sighed. Might as well get it over with.

"I…I have to tell you something," I said. "I wasn't at Opal last night."

"I didn't think you were," Nathan said, to my surprise. "You only work Tuesdays and Thursdays, and I've heard Tom refuse to give you more shifts at least ten times."

I should have known he would remember that. Nathan noticed everything.

"I was working somewhere else," I said.

Nathan perked up, obviously curious. "You got another job? That's great. Where?"

"I don't know if I would call it great," I muttered as I sank down to the ground. I pulled my knees close to my chest and swallowed hard. Why was this so hard to say? "I was working for this guy named Kyle. He's the, um, manager at Diamonds."

"The strip club?" Confusion colored Nathan's face, but not, I was grateful to see, anger.

"Yeah," I admitted. "He took me on for a couple of shifts there a few weeks ago, serving drinks, but it was a trial for these…parties he runs."

Nathan was quiet for a long moment. "I didn't know you had decided to do that after all," he said finally.

"I'm not actually stripping…but I was topless. And had to give lap dances and things like that."

Every bit of the description that, in my mind, hadn't been that big of a deal felt dirtier the more I recounted it. The windowless walls. The cluttered green tables. The harsh laughter of the men with oily stains on their teeth as I worked their bulging pants.

If I'd liked it, it would be one thing. If I was even apathetic about it, that would be another.

But I hated it. I hated every bit of it.

"It was shady," I said. "Shady enough that I'd rather get on the pole than do it again, if only because it's legal. I'm pretty sure this place wasn't, and I won't be going back. But I needed to tell you, partly because I just don't want to mislead you, and partly because Shawn was there, and also…Carrick."

Immediately, Nathan's whole body tensed. "What did he do?"

I sighed. "Nothing. He did nothing. But he saw me…you know, and then we rode the subway back to this neighborhood together."

"Well, that explains why he texted me last night," Nathan said wryly as he removed his glasses and rubbed the spot between his brows. "He knew where you were coming from."

Curious. Carrick certainly hadn't given off the "walk a gal home safe" kind of vibes. He had, however, given off the "I don't want my brother to kick my ass" ones.

"He also met Shawn. Who I did not know was going to be there, Nathan, I swear it. He just showed up with these gangster dudes, but I did not ask him to come. And I told Shawn…and he told Carrick that…well, I sort of said we're engaged."

Surprise colored Nathan's face. "You did?"

I bit my lip. "Was I not supposed to?"

He shook his head. "No, it's fine. I only…I suppose I thought it was primarily for my parents' benefit." He shrugged. "I didn't think you'd want your friends to find out about that too."

I gave a half-hearted shrug. Honestly, that hadn't even occurred to me, even with Rochelle there. All I'd known was that I wanted Shawn to leave me alone. That I wanted him to know once and for all I was not available for him anymore.

"It didn't work, though," I said as I lay my cheek on my knee.

Nathan's face hardened with the recollection. "Because he followed you home."

I gulped. "Er, yeah. Apparently. But I didn't want him to do anything?—"

"Of course, you didn't want him, Joni. I heard you yelling before I was even outside."

"Oh, um. Okay. But I didn't want to talk to him ever. Honestly, I just needed to make some extra cash, and working for Kyle seemed like the easier way to do it, and now everything is a mess, and I just…."

I trailed off as I waited for the next interruption. Maybe some yelling. A bit of name calling. Shaming for good measure, followed by a solid lecture on how stupid I was before ordering me to get the hell out of his apartment.

But instead Nathan just said, "Okay."

I looked up. "Okay?"

Nathan inhaled and exhaled deeply. "I don't want you to see Shawn Vamos ever again."

I wilted. So he did blame me. "Nathan, I promise I'm not trying to contact him."

One hand waved the comment away like a fly. "I don't mean that way. I mean that you need to file a police report about what happened so we can get a restraining order. He assaulted you last night. It can't happen again."

My mouth dropped. He couldn't be serious. If last night had taught me anything, it was that poking the bear was more dangerous than waiting for it to go back to sleep. Serving Shawn with a restraining order would basically be like using a really big stick.

"I could have killed him last night," Nathan admitted. "Part of me wanted to. For touching you that way."

This time, the shame I heard in his voice was for himself. Not me.

It took everything I had not to get up and hug him. "Nathan, you do not need to feel bad about that."

"Don't I?" He rubbed his face. "I just want you to be okay, Joni. I would have given anything at that moment to get him away from you. It's almost compulsive, this need I feel to keep you safe. Obsessive, even."

We remained there together, pondering just what had happened and the gravity of Nathan's admissions. I rubbed my own face, considering how much I liked them. How much I wanted to believe them too.

He was obsessed with me a little bit? Well, I was kind of obsessed with him too.

And that was a very dangerous and addictive thing.

"And as for your job, I won't pretend I wouldn't have preferred to know where you were working before my brother did," Nathan said carefully. "Mostly because I don't like being the last person to know things. My family did that a lot. Kept things from me. Manipulated me because of it." When he looked at me again, his eyes were impossibly big. "They still do."

My heart twisted. God, I knew how that felt better than anyone. "I never wanted to keep things from you. I just…I don't want you to be ashamed of me."

He tipped his head. "Joni, if you needed money?—"

"It wasn't about the money," I cut in, maybe too sharply. "Well, it was. But it was also about…ugh, I don't know what all it was about. What it is about. All I know is that I don't want you to think I'm taking advantage of you."

I flopped backward in frustration, kicking my feet out like a child. Nathan took a few broad steps toward me, then slowly sank down next to me, right there on the floor.

"Is that what you want to be doing?" he asked without a trace of derision or contempt. "Because I meant what I said, Joni, if it's what you want, I don't care. I really don't."

"Oh, you'd want your fake fiancée to be a glorified stripper when she's not working at a shitty bar?" The words tasted bitter, like unsweetened chocolate. "Makes me a real prize to introduce to your parents."

It wasn't a fair question. I knew it wasn't fair. Because I wasn't actually his girlfriend or fiancée or anything remotely close enough for him to protect or possess or whatever else I thought was supposed to happen.

Which wasn't even what I wanted.

Was it?

"I don't…" Nathan sighed. "Well, I admit that I would prefer that the woman I'm seeing not sleep with other men."

"That's not what I was?—"

"I'm not finished."

I buttoned my mouth shut. And forced myself to listen.

"And I hate the idea of people touching her without consent or treating her poorly because of what she does."

He practically growled that one. I wasn't sure if that was a response to me or maybe her. Lindsay. Something he'd seen long ago.

"But," he finished, "the idea that I could ever put limits on what she wants to do, stifle her in any way…no. No, that's not something I'd ever want to do."

"Is that how you felt about her?" The question toppled out of my mouth before I could stop it.

Nathan turned sharply and stilled. "Who?"

I peeked up at him. "Your real fiancée. Or maybe Lindsay. And…Isla."

Nathan braced his arms over his knees but folded his hands together hard enough that his fingertips turned white. "Carrick." He spat the name.

"He said…Lindsay was like me. That you fell in love with her in college, and she took advantage of you and wanted you to help her and her kid. And that she died in a fire, and I'm basically just your second chance at the same thing." I said the words quickly. They tasted bitter on my tongue. "That I'm a pathetic version of the real thing. Redemption."

My fake boyfriend was quiet for a long time. A very long time. Long enough that I wondered if he was going to speak again.

When he did, though, it wasn't at all what I thought he would say.

"You are nothing like Lindsay Frazier."

I bit my lip. Frazier. Her last name made her seem more real, somehow. "But Carrick said?—"

"Carrick was twenty years old and more interested in frat parties and binge drinking at than my life during college," Nathan interrupted. "He has no real understanding of what happened between me and Lindsay. He didn't even know about her until I asked him to come to her funeral."

"So…what did happen, then?"

At that, Nathan sighed and removed his glasses to rub the spot between his brows. Oof. If he was taking them off, it must be really bad.

"I have a story for you too," he said. "You're not the only one with secrets."