***
Adam had always wanted the dance school to be successful—his parents had put everything into it after retiring from professional dancing—so he'd trained to teach there. The trade-off for helping his parents, was not being able to afford to move into his own place, but he was fairly cool with the situation; it wasn't like they set a curfew or demanded to know what he was doing. He was free to come and go as he liked and didn't have to pay rent or bills, which made up for not getting a great wage for teaching for them. Although, after the conversation with his dad, he wondered if he should be chipping in somehow. Maybe he could offer to pay for the weekly shopping or take over one of the bills.
He headed straight up to his room, grabbing the A4 envelope that had arrived that morning on his way up the stairs. He'd recognised the handwriting, which is why he hadn't opened it earlier, when he’d been in front of his parents. His room hadn't changed much from when he'd been in high school, except he'd taken down the embarrassing posters of bands and replaced them with pictures of famous ballets. The faded carpet was worn and in need of replacement and the red walls could have done with brightening up, but neither thing bothered him enough to fork out the cash to get it done. All the furniture was pretty much the same, including the desk he'd done his homework at. About the only change was that he'd upgraded his bed to a double. Not that he needed the space, because he never brought guys home. There was something seriously uncomfortable about being with a guy when his parents were in the house, especially if they were in their bedroom, which was directly beneath his room; it didn't help set the mood at all.
He sat down at his desk and carefully tore open the envelope. Inside, he found a programme for a ballet ofBeauty and the Beast, with a Post-it note stuck on the front:
—I'm moving up. Any chance you could come catch one of the shows? Mason.
Adam's chest quivered with excitement as he leafed through the programme until he found the cast list. He scanned the characters until he found Mason's name. He was dancing the Beast's manservant and he was also listed as the understudy for the Prince. He found himself grinning on Mason's behalf. It was about time his friend rose up from chorus parts.
They'd trained together and, when Luc had turned into a prize prick, Mason had become his closest friend. Then they'd become more. Much more. They'd shared the same dream of becoming professional dancers and had auditioned together for several companies. They'd even managed to get into the same touring company, Emotion In Motion, which Mason still danced for. But then Adam had realised his parents needed him to help with the dance school, so he'd kissed Mason goodbye and set both his dream and his lover aside.
Their break-up had been amicable and they kept in touch. Adam hoped they would always be friends, but they'd both known they couldn't make a long-distance relationship work. Especially not with Mason's gruelling schedule during the week and the weekend hours Adam had to put in at the dance studio.
Adam turned to the back page of the programme and scanned the tour dates. There were a couple that he might be able to make if his parents could let him off teaching for a night. He'd have to travel and stay overnight in a hotel, but neither of those points were problematic. He booted up his computer and then fired off an email to Mason, assuring him he'd make a show if he could. He really wanted to catch up with him and see his friend dance again.
Yet being pleased for Mason made his heart ache with regret. He looked around his room, at the pictures of famous male dancers and the ballets they'd been in. The hours he spent dancing alone in the studio couldn't make up for the thrill of being on stage, dancing for an audience. It was what he'd hungered for. Part of him still did.
Not that he didn't enjoy teaching. There was joy to be found in that, too. But it wasn't the same. Nothing could compete with being on stage. He'd never done it professionally, but he'd taken part in enough dance festivals to have experienced the adrenaline rush as he danced. He remembered the way his heart rate would spike when the audience applauded or cheered him and how nervous he'd been when waiting for the judge to announce the winners. He'd kept all his medals and trophies, though they hadn't been on show in a long time. His dad had never really liked the idea of any of his students doing festivals, let alone his son, so eventually Adam had stopped entering them.
With a sigh, he added the dates of the shows he might be able to make to his calendar, with a question mark beside each entry. Then he added the programme to the pile in the bottom drawer of his desk: all the shows Mason had been in since he'd joined his company, three years earlier. All the shows Adam could have been in, if he'd been selfish, like Luc, who hadn't given a shit about anyone but himself. Luc had left and barely been in contact with them since. He sent cards for each of their birthdays and called at Christmas, but that was about it. He'd broken their parents’ hearts, yet he was the one they'd turned to. They'd spoken to Luc about the state the dance school was in before they'd spoken to him and that stung.
Adam really wasn't looking forward to seeing Luc again. But if he could help their parents turn the school around, he'd grit his teeth and bear his presence. Hopefully, it wouldn't be for long and then Luc would fuck off back to his high-powered job and his glitzy lifestyle. Adam didn't need his stepbrother back in his life. Didn't want him back in his life. But for his parents' happiness? He'd put up with anything.
Chapter Three
Luc
Luc had gotten rid of his car when he moved into the city centre, so he had to take the train to get to his parents. Parking was too expensive and he was within walking distance of pretty much everything he needed. He hadn't been sure how long to pack for. A week? A month? He'd eventually packed a couple of weeks' worth of clothes in a large suitcase. If he stayed longer, he was pretty sure he'd be able to do laundry at his parents' house.
He'd explained the situation to Adrianna and she'd told him to telecommute on the days he could. The days he couldn't she'd chalk up as annual leave, reminding him yet again that he didn't take enough of it anyway. She'd been very cool about the whole thing, for which he'd been incredibly grateful.
His parents were waiting for him on the other side of the ticket barrier as his train arrived. He hadn't been home since he'd moved out four years ago. His parents had visited him every few months and they'd talked on the phone sporadically. Communication had never been his strong point, but he'd made sure not to lose touch completely. He hadn't wanted to become distant from his family, but it had been easier than facing his feelings for Adam.
He was glad his stepbrother wasn't with them. He wasn't ready to come face to face with him yet; even the thought of it made him sweat.
"Good trip?" His mum asked, as she hugged him tightly.
"Long. I'm tired now. And hungry. I could murder some of your homemade lasagne," Luc grinned.
His dad took the suitcase from him. "Adam said he'd throw a cottage pie together for us."
"I could cook lasagne for tomorrow's lunch, though," his mum said quickly.
Christ. Did she think he'd be disappointed? He'd only be trying to cut through some of the palpable tension between them. He had forgotten that they ate big at lunchtime, rather than dinnertime, though. Probably because dancing—even if it was only teaching dancing—on a full stomach was a bad idea.
"Cottage pie sounds great. I guess Adam finally learned how to cook, huh?"
The last time he'd been home, just before his finals, Adam's idea of cooking had been heating up beans on the stove and burning toast.
"He pulls his weight." His dad gestured towards the exit. "The car's this way."
Luc's mum engaged him in small talk, whilst his dad drove them all home. He wasn't surprised that his dad was mostly silent. That had been one of his first impressions of Ken, even before he'd started seeing his mum, that he was the strong, silent type. Totally different than his biological father, who had yelled at his mum pretty much every night until she'd eventually had enough and walked out, taking five-year-old Luc with her.
"I've done some research," Luc told her. "I made a list of all the other dance schools in the area and checked out their websites to get a feel for what sort of ethos they're trying to put across. Then I grouped them into schools that focus purely on exam work, like yourselves; those that focus on festivals and shows; those that focus on technique but don't worry about exams and then ones that do a mix of exam, festivals, and shows."
"Wow," his mum said, her eyes growing wide. "That's a lot."
