Still, Heather had never known the kind bone-deep fatigue she felt as she pushed her luggage cart into the arrivals hall at LaGuardia, her muscles tight and aching, her head throbbing. She’d sleptthrough most of her flight from Sydney to Los Angeles, jerking awake only occasionally to remember how hard the last week had been. Five performances, eleven pairs of pointe shoes, dozens of curtain calls, and zero calls from Marcus.
The morning after closing night, she’d packed her suitcase and pushed the keys to the little Kirribilli house through the mail slot. Twenty-four hours later, a Taylor Swift song warbled over the airport’s tinny PA system, the upbeat tune sounding ominous to Heather’s exhausted ears.Welcome to New York, it’s been waiting for you.
She spotted Carly immediately, leaning against the railing and holding a sign that read HEATHERFUCKINGHAYS. Heather smiled despite herself, especially when she noticed the wide berth people made around her—people who were all holding signs without profanity on them. But then Heather got closer and got a better look at Carly’s face. Her eyes were pink and puffy, and it looked like she hadn’t brushed her orange-red curls in at least a day. Her usually glowing skin was ashen, and the smile she gave Heather when their eyes met was strained and unconvincing.
“Welcome home,” she croaked when Heather wheeled her cart around the railing and pulled her into a hug.
“I missed you so much.” Heather squeezed her friend tight. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here on the bus to get me.”
“Yes, I did. But we’re splitting a cab back.” Carly pulled away, and Heather studied her. She looked even worse up close, and for a moment Heather forgot her own troubles.
“Honey, did something happen?”
Carly shook her head, and her eyes watered. “I’ll tell you later.”
Heather crossed her arms stubbornly. “Tell me now. Or we’re taking the bus home.”
Carly sighed and closed her eyes. “Mr. K fired me last week.”
“What?Why?”
“He said I’d been disruptive in rehearsals, which is code for ‘Samuel and Brett disrupted rehearsals by talking shit about me.’ But I know the real reason is Jack.”
“What do you mean?”
“He figured out I was the one who told you about him and Melissa. I mean, he knows I’ve always hated him, so it probably wasn’t hard to figure out. But the night the video went viral, he came over to my place at 2:00AM, drunk and angry, yelling about ‘how dare she leave me for that nobody,’ and threatened to get me fired. I told him to fuck off or I’d call the police, and he punched the intercom box—which the building manager wants me to pay to fix, by the way. And I guess the next morning he went to Mr.K and gave him a choice: him or me.”
Heather let out a shaky breath, remembering Jack’s vile late-night voicemail. She’d had no idea he’d take his rage out on Carly, as well.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
Carly gave her a sad smile. “You were down there conquering the world. And becoming a viral sensation. I thought you’d worry about me.”
“Of course I’d worry about you! Carly, you’re my best friend, it’s my job to worry about you.” When Carly’s smile faltered and her lip trembled, Heather stopped. “I’m sorry. I feel like this is my fault.”
“None of this is your fault. He cheated, got caught cheating, and then got angry about getting caught. For the hundredth time, you did nothing wrong.”
Heather let out a grim laugh. “Except break company policy in front of the entire internet. I screwed everything up, Carly, but I didn’t realize it would come back to hurt you, as well.”
“You didn’t screw everything up. That review was incredible. No wonder Jack was furious. You went over there and showed everyone you were always a brilliant dancer, and you never needed him at all.”
Heather’s eyes watered as Carly’s words washed over her, and the tears she’d been suppressing since she left the Kirribilli house spilled down her cheeks. Carly hugged her and rubbed her back, sniffling, and they stood there, holding each other and crying as carts and suitcases rolled around them.
“What are we going to do?” Carly asked, pulling away and wiping her face.
Heather sighed and looked at the sign Carly had made for her. “You know what your parents always say.”
“There’s no problem money can’t solve?”
“No, the other one. Everything looks better after a good night’s sleep. Let’s go home, order dumplings, and sleep. Tomorrow we’ll make a plan. Okay?”
“Okay.” Carly nodded, and together they pushed Heather’s cart out of the terminal and toward the cab rank.
Marcus jolted awake from the pounding on his door, liquid splashing across his shirt as he started. He looked around his apartment, bleary-eyed and confused as the sharp smell of whisky met his nostrils. Outside the drawn blinds, it was morning. He must have fallen asleep mid-drink hours ago.
There were five more rapid, insistent pounds on the door.
“’Kay, ’kay, I’m coming, m’coming,” he mumbled, wiping his wet hand on his already damp shirt and setting his glass on the coffee table. Marcus rose from the couch and the room spun around him. Carefully, head throbbing, he padded to the front door and leant his forehead against it.
