Chapter 29

Twenty-Nine

SARA

Jenand I sat on the couch, talking after arriving from the airport. “Sounds like you had a lot of fun out there,” she said as she stood up from the couch and grabbed my empty coffee mug. “But what did you guys really talk about? Did he tell you about his time in the war? Has he ever had a long-term relationship?” She walked into the kitchen and washed our dirty dishes.

Exhausted from my flight, I didn’t feel like following after her, so I put my arm over the sofa and faced her. “He mentioned the war very briefly, and he did have a serious relationship once. Engaged, even.”

Her eyebrows climbed up her forehead. “Engaged?”

“Didn’t end well between them. Long story,” I said noncommittally, not wanting to elaborate on the details. It was his story to tell, not mine. Boundaries were necessary sometimes, and I needed to keep Tom’s past protected. I knew the burden of carrying secrets and Tom had struggled with his, yet trusted me enough to share them with me. I couldn’t betray his trust, even for my best friend.

Jen must have caught the dismissiveness in my reply and dropped her sponge, a weepy look in her eyes. I didn’t want to shut her out, but right now was not the time to have this conversation. She opened her mouth to utter something, but closed her lips as if she’d caught herself about to say something she shouldn’t.

When I saw the hesitant look in her eyes, my mouth became dry. I knew exactly why she’d stopped herself. And I wished she’d listened to her conscience.

“Did you tell him about the…accident?” she asked, the last word in a whisper, as if the word itself was a sin to be spoken.

I turned my gaze away. She knew very well what talking about the accident did to me, even mentioning it gave me anxiety. Straightening, I rotated completely from her and crossed my arms. I pursed my lips and took a couple of deep breaths through my nose. My heart rammed against my chest.

“Sara?”

“No. I didn’t,” I replied coolly.

“Don’t you think it’s important he knows?”

If anyone knew how marrow-splintering those memories were, it was her. It wasn’t something I could blurt out in conversation. It wasn’t a box with a lid. Once the container housing all my nightmares was ripped open, there would be no putting them away again.

I heard as she turned the faucet and the water stopped. Her sneakers squeaked on our hardwood floors as she walked over to the couch and placed her hands on her hips. I wouldn’t look up at her.

“Sara—”

“—Jen, I know what you are going to say, but I don’t know why it’s necessary to tell him anything right now.”

She sat down next to me. “Honey, what happened to you wasn’t some insignificant event in your life.”

I turned to face her, my brow pinched in frustration. “My mother died because of me. You don’t think I know the weight that carries?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. Don’t you think he needs to know?”

I breathed heavy, trying to remain composed. “He knows my mother is dead. There’s no need for more.”

“It wasn’t just about your mom dying, Sara.”

When I said nothing, she gasped. “He doesn’t know, does he?”

I rubbed my temple, trying to keep calm, but knowing if we kept having this conversation, I was going to end up in a crumpled mess. I purposefully hadn’t told Tom about my failed dancing career. I didn’t want him probing into what happened or why I stopped dancing. Nothing good would come out of that conversation. What was the point of talking about something that never was? Dancing was my past. Tom was my present. End of story.

I shook my head, my gaze now glued to my hands resting on my lap, picking at my nails. “I know you mean well, Jen. Thank you for that, but I can’t do this, not right now. Someday…maybe.”

After another long moment of silence, she stood up and paced, her hands clenched. “First of all, your mom did not die because of you. She died because she was in a car accident.”

What was the point in rehashing the past? Why bring this up today? Did she think after all these years she’d get me to see things differently?

“She died because I didn’t stop her from getting in my car, Jen. It was my fault and everyone knows it. I’m responsible, and every time you force me to talk about it, you force me to relive it. So please, do me a favor and leave me the hell alone. Please.” I pushed up to my feet and stormed into my room, slamming the door behind me. My chest filled with anguish as I tried to stifle back tears, but my eyes betrayed me and my grief poured out in rivers.

“Sara,” Jen uttered softly across the closed door, “after you healed from your injuries, you told everyone you couldn’t dance anymore. That the injury to your spine affected your balance and movement.”

Oh, God. She’s not going to stop.

“It did. So, what?” My voice cracked.

“Maybe at first it did, but I saw you months later, right here, in this living room. We’d just moved in and we still didn’t have all this furniture. It was early in the morning and I woke up to the sounds of loud thumping, like someone was jumping hard in our apartment. I peered out of my room and there you were, dancing in the middle of our living room. Headphones on and completely lost in the music. You didn’t even notice me peeking through the open crack of my door.

“You moved like the dancer I knew before the accident. Nothing was holding you back. So, stop telling yourself the reason you are not up on that stage is because of your spinal injury. You are not up on that stage because you choose not to.”

I sank to the floor in sobs.

“I know it hurts, Sara. I know you miss your mom more than anything in this world. That you still blame yourself for her death. You stopped dancing because you wanted to punish yourself for what happened. I know this is hard for you, but I can’t watch you keep doing this to yourself anymore. And I’m sorry for bringing this up today, for pushing you to talk about it. Perhaps it isn’t the best time, but it was the only time. Please, Sara. Open the door.”

They say the truth hurts. Well, in my case, it was a jagged knife digging into my heart, tearing me up as it ground my flesh to a pulp. I sat on the floor, holding my knees, trembling, my face soaked with grief. I never knew she saw me that day. She never said anything. It was my dirty secret and now it shamed me.

“I only want what’s best for you, Sara. Please open the door. I don’t want to leave things like this.”

I wiped the tears from my eyes and stood, facing the door, a hand on the knob. Opening it meant shattering the façade I had erected four years ago. It meant facing the reality that I had chosen to give up on my dreams because I didn’t feel I deserved to be happy. It meant accepting that while my mom lost her life, I hadn’t suffered a single consequence.

“It wasn’t fair. I should have been the one to die that day. What right did I have to go on living, Jen? What right did I have to go on dancing? What right did I have to be happy when she was six feet below ground?”

She had no reply.

And I could not open the door.

Jen didn’t press me anymore. At some point she walked away. She did know me like no one else. But even with her, whenever this topic came up, I automatically shut down. I couldn’t talk about it, even when I knew I had to.

Now she wanted me to tell Tom? If three highly certified therapists and a very persistent best friend hadn’t been able to crack my shell, how would Tom?

The answer lay buried in my chest, inside my aching heart. Tom had seen me when he looked in my eyes. He’d seen the pain that throbbed inside my soul. Without having to utter a single word to him, he had known. When you’re ready…he said to me.

I shuddered. Would I ever be ready?

As if on cue, my cellphone chirped in my pants. I pulled it out and my breath caught as Tom’s name popped up on my text screen.

Tom:Hey beautiful, wondering if you got home safe.

Tears pooled at the corners of my eyes as all the anguish melted away. I smiled and before I knew it, I was crying and laughing at the same time. It’s like he knew when I needed him. I wiped my tears before replying, a wet grin etching across my face.

Me:Yeah. Sorry for not texting earlier.

Tom:Miss you :(

Tom:My bed is cold without you.

Tom:Hugging your pillow.

Tom: Smells like you.

Me:Aw, I miss you, too.

Tom::)

It was a simple smiley face. But what I saw in my mind was his brilliant smile, the one that brought utter joy to my soul as it sewed up my torn heart back together.

Me: Tom…

Tom:Yes?

Me:I love you. So much.

Tom:I love you, too, baby girl. More than you know.

I couldn’t believe I’d just uttered those three words over a text message. After such a short amount of time. It was crazy but it was true. I just hated that I hadn’t told him in person. Still, to see him type the words back filled me with so much joy and relief, I held the phone tight against my chest. He brought such peace to my life; I couldn’t imagine myself without him. Jen was right. Tom needed to know the truth.

He deserved it.

* * *

Later that morning, I strolled quietly into the office a bit early, trying to stay under the radar as much as possible. I left my door slightly ajar, and had just placed my cappuccino on my desk, and was sorting through my emails, when there was a slight tap on my door. Before I could answer, Alexei walked in.

“Got a second?” he asked.

I looked up from my desk wearily.

Alexei crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. “We need to talk.”

I pointed to the brown leather chair in front of my desk. “Okay, have a seat.”

“In my office.” He walked away, obviously expecting me to follow after him like an obedient little puppy.

He was waiting for me at the entrance to his large corner office and directed me to enter and sit. Closing the door slowly, he strolled to his desk in his most arrogant stride and sat down. With his back to me, he reclined in his black leather chair, his hands folded behind his raven-haired head while he stared out the window at Times Square. I waited a whole minute in silence, watching him regard the city like he was admiring a Van Gough at the Met.

“You had something you wanted to talk to me about?” I asked, not being able to conceal the tone of annoyance in my voice.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it, you know. New York City. The city that never sleeps. So many people out there, pursuing their dreams.”

Is he kidding me?

“Get to the point, Alexei. I have actual work I need to get done.’”

He spun around on his chair and arrowed his gaze into mine. “Have a good weekend with your boyfriend, Miss Hart?” he asked, a forced grin smeared on his face.

I blinked hard. Who the hell did he think he was, asking me about my personal life and pretending he had the right to form an opinion about it? “Excuse me?” The miff riding my voice couldn’t have been more obvious than the ire flashing in my eyes.

Unwavering, his obsidian-colored eyes showed no interest in my reaction. He wasn’t fooling me. I could feel the heat of the choler simmering beneath his frigid stare. He leaned forward and dug his spiny gaze deeper into mine. “You heard me. The reason you didn’t show up to work on Friday.” Every word he spoke was frosted with ice. He didn’t care about my actual trip; he was pissed I hadn’t been in the office when he had his hissy fit.

“Personal. Leave. Of. Absence,” I barked at him, my upper lip curling at the corner. I think I may have snarled.

He sucked in a deep breath and leaned back on his chair, never once taking his eyes off me. He glared at me for a few silent moments, perhaps realizing I wasn’t easy prey.

I glowered back with similar bile. He wasn’t going to intimidate me.

Resting his hands on his desk, he cocked his head to the side, and with a flat tone asked, “Miss Hart, do you like working here?”

I tilted my head slightly and slit my eyes. If I knew anything about the slithering vermin, it was that things were never how they appeared. His seemingly unthreatening question wrapped in passivity sounded precisely like the minacious sound of a coiled rattlesnake.

I heeded the warning and ignored his question. “Can we please get to the reason you asked me to your office?”

He raked his hands through his thick, black hair. Normally he’d have it tied at the nape, but today he’d left it resting right atop of his shoulders. His eyes matched the darkness of his mane, and he pinned me with their chilled distaste. There was no depth to them; two solid marbles made of coal against the pale white of his skin.

“Do you know what it’s like to be up on that stage?” The steel in his voice scraped against my skin. “The music moves through your veins like it is part of your blood. Your muscles, every single one, responds absent of thought. Your soul carries you across the dance floor. Freed. Dancing is living, Miss Hart, don’t you agree?”

Blood drained away from my face. He spoke as if he knew about my past, knowing his words could pierce my soul with the sorrowful reminder of my failed career. Perhaps it was my indignation at his slimy intentions, or maybe it was my guilty conviction about the rubble I’d left in my wake, but my body felt cold, rendering me unable to move or speak. The only sound in the room was the raggedness of my breath.

A baleful smile slowly traced across his chapped lips; he’d received the reaction he wanted. He narrowed his eyes. “But you do, don’t you? You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

There was no need for words. My eyes told him everything he needed to know. He had my full attention, and finally, he was in control.

“I know about you, Miss Hart,” he whispered, accompanied by an overly dramatic wink. “Rebecca let me in on your little secret.”

The harpy. Should have known.

Leaning back on his chair and planting his crossed feet up on his desk, his fingers pressed against each other, forming a tent. “The Juilliard dropout. I couldn’t believe it,” he mocked with a surly laugh. “You used to have dreams. Big dreams. What happened?”

No doubt he’d already been made privy to that information. The effing ogress betrayed my trust. I had to think hard about my reply. A million options jostled for first place. One included me walking up to him, grabbing his wooden name plaque, and smashing it across his face. I leaned forward in my chair and eyed the small wooden block sitting on his desk for a good moment before peering up at him. It took every ounce of my body not to follow through with it. This guy was a bona fide jerk and he was trying to get a rise out of me. He was close to getting a full dose of my unhinged dark side.

A deranged, batshitcrazy feline tried to claw her way out of my mental cage, but that was exactly what he’d hoped for.

Nah, Alexei. Not gonna give you the pleasure.

I sat firmly, and grimly uttered, “Have a nice day.” And with that, I pushed up from my chair and attempted to walk away.

“Sit. Back. Down. Sara.” His angry tone stopped me in my tracks. As much as I wanted to fight it, he struck a chord of fear down my spine. I clenched my jaw in anger, but did as he commanded.

Dammit.

I need a stronger backbone.

His stone-cold gaze pushed me hard against my seat. His intent was clear. I was not leaving until he said I could. With a slight tilt of his head, he urged me to answer his last question.

I tried to chill my exterior, hoping to hide the unnerving tremors shivering inside. There was no way I was going to give him a single gram of my vulnerability. “Spinal injury,” I replied coolly.

He shook his head. “Ah yes, the accident. What a shame.” He shrugged with a blank affect, as if he were referring to a fender bender where I’d merely busted the bumper on my car.

This time I couldn’t hide the pained disgust curdling in my gut. “Are you serious?”

He sucked in a deep breath and rolled his eyes. “I know. You had raw talent. At least that’s what my colleagues said. A real future, it seemed. A career full of promise you were forced to abandon. Pity,” he sighed with feigned sadness.

It was Alexei. I knew he was cruel and volatile. Taking his bullshit and intolerance was a daily occurrence. I’d grown accustomed to it; sometimes his outbursts were so comedic I had no choice but to laugh them off. This, though, was a personal attack beyond anything he’d ever done. He’d pried open my ribcage, stuck a grenade in my chest cavity, then closed me back up before it exploded, shredding me open and spilling my guts all over his office. I could see my innards sliding off the glass on the windows behind him.

Yes. It was a gory metaphor, but that’s how I felt—exposed and destroyed. Not only had he dug up my past and ridiculed me, but he’d also mocked the suffering I endured for the loss of my dance career. He didn’t even acknowledge that the biggest tragedy had been my mother’s death. He swept that fact under the carpet as if dropping out of Juilliard had been the only thing that mattered, reducing my mom to mere collateral damage.

“I lost my mother in that car accident, you heartless prick.” I pushed up off my chair and charged toward his desk. “How dare you sit there and act like you have any right to talk to me about my life?”

He leaned back on his leather chair and smiled. “Heartless prick?” he scoffed. “I’ve been called worse.”

“What the hell is wrong with you? Why do you even care about my past?”

He pushed off his chair so quickly I lurched back as he spat his venom. “I don’t give a fuck about your past, Miss Hart. What I do care about is the shit you pulled off last Friday. I know Rebecca hired you because she knew about your past as a Juilliard dropout. She didn’t care you couldn’t dance anymore, she cared you had the knowledge and intuition for finding true talent. You may not be a great dancer any more, but I know you can spot one when you see one. Yet with mere weeks until this performance you left me with mediocre—”

“So that’s what this is really all about, the fact you weren’t happy with the dancers I sent you? I know how to do my job, Alexei. There was nothing wrong with those dancers, but no one is ever good enough for you. Trust me, if this show fails, it won’t be because of me.”

“If this show fails? You better pray it doesn’t. I’ve seen the way you look at my dancers. You think I don’t notice when you sneak into the back of the studio to watch us rehearse? I know now why you took this job.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because I want you to understand very clearly that I’m not going to let you ruin my career. You want to keep nursing your pathetic wounds on my stage, then you better find me qualified dancers or I swear I will get your ass fired so quickly you won’t know what hit you. I’m well connected. I’ll make sure you never find another job working at a dance company, not even as a fucking clerk.”

“You have no right to threaten me. You are not my boss.”

“That, Miss Hart, is a matter of technicality.”

I said nothing. Rebecca was just a puppet and he held the strings.

“Are we clear?” he demanded.

Turning on my heel and walking away, I didn’t bother to offer a reply.

“Do you think your mother would be proud of what you’ve done with your life?” the flippant asshole rasped behind me as I reached for the door knob.

A cold sheet of ice wrapped around my body. For a split second, I stood frozen in place, my fingers clasping the knob.

I should have swung around and dashed to clamp my hands around his throat. The slimy bastard surely deserved more than a verbal lambaste. What good would it have done? Demons had an upper hand. They were immortal and everlasting evil. They thrived on punishment, and he’d bask in the glory of owing the reason for my fury.

I took a deep breath, opened the door, and walked away, wanting to slam the door shut behind me, but choosing to not let an ounce of defiant anger seep out of my pores. That rage would be better served elsewhere.

Once out of his office, I let the wrath broiling me from the inside erupt. I stormed down the hall, zeroing in on one particular target. That deceitful, back-stabbing, soulless husk was not going to get away without receiving a few lashes down her back. I barged through her door, not giving a damn if she was in there alone. She looked up from her computer screen, startled and confused.

“Sara, what’s gotten into you?”

“Really?” I roared. “You’re gonna pretend you don’t know?”

Leaning back on her chair, she rolled her eyes and sighed. “Oh. That,” she said casually.

My eyes bulged. “That? Sharing my personal life with a bloodsucking leech in an effort to crush my heart and belittle my life choices is a that? You have some fucking nerve, woman.”

“Oh, Sara, sit down. And stop seething,” she uttered dispassionately. “You are practically foaming at the mouth, darling.” She was wholly unperturbed by the torrent of animosity gushing from my body and rushing to stampede her. Were it not for the roots of reason planting me on the floor, I would have jumped across her desk and squashed her puny head like a grape.

“Come on now, there’s no need to have a conniption,” she quipped, a sardonic smile twitching at the side of her mouth.

“A conniption?” I uttered, unamused. The roots of reason were slowly getting chopped away by the axe of lunacy. Soon, I would lose all restraint.

“Look, Sara. He demanded I fire you. I was merely trying to protect you.”

I blinked fast and shook my head, stumped at her reasoning. “How did telling him about Juilliard and the accident help me keep my job?”

She folded her hands over each other on her desk and regarded me with restrained contemp. “Sara, I may not like you, but regardless of how I feel…” She swallowed hard before proceeding, the words painful to utter, it seemed. “…honestly, pretty simply, I couldn’t afford to lose you, not when the show is merely weeks away. I had to give him something to make him rethink his impulsive decision. Telling him you used to be a dancer at Juilliard and that you have an unmatched eye for catching talent did the trick.”

“The trick? You mean you gave him the ammunition he needed to threaten me. Next time, don’t do me any favors.”

She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “You ungrateful little bitch. You should be thanking me for not putting your ass out on the street. How dare you walk into my office and speak to me like this!”

“How dare I? With the same vile, unapologetic predilection you have toward being a loathsome hag!”

She straightened in her chair, ready to spew wickedness through her mouth, but I stopped her before she had a chance to part her lips. “Hush, Rebecca. I’m done hearing you talk. I will find those dancers, but I am not doing it for you or him. I am doing it for the dancers who have already given their blood, sweat, and tears for this thankless company.” I stalked closer. “If you or Alexei ever try to threaten me again, you can go ahead and find those precious dancers your fucking self.”

I turned away and yanked open the door then marched out. My heels echoed down the hall as I stomped back to my office, my heart pumping flaming blood through my veins. As I slammed the door shut behind me and reached my desk, my rage finally began to simmer down.

The whole morning replayed inside my head. From the moment Alexei stepped foot inside my office to the instant I barged out of Rebecca’s—the entire thing seemed like a script out of a movie. After several minutes, when I was done cooking my brain in my own stew, I had the time to ponder about the actual thoughts causing my head to spin. Alexei’s last words wouldn’t stop orbiting around my brain.

Would my mom be proud of what I’d chosen to do with my life?

That, as he insinuated, was my true torment.