“If that’s true, maybe it’s time you started to act like it.”
Russ Calder makes a face I can’t unravel and that appears to be the end of the conversation. I turn my back to the man and follow Lucy out of the bakery. Despite my utter dislike for the man, I can’t deny that he asked good questions—hard questions, rude questions—but important ones about what comes next for Lucy.
I thought it would be as simple as rehabbing her ankle and getting back to work.
But what if there’s nothing in Los Angeles for her to go back to?
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Lucy
Go figure, after that disastrous date with my parents, I didn’t sleep very well. Dad’s questions about my future spun and spun and spun until I was dizzy with it all. I know this time with Nash is a stolen moment. A pause in the chaos. Never meant to be permanent. This is a bubble, about to pop, and this time with him will become a memory—perhaps one of the best of my life—but always meant to end.
As if that wasn’t heavy enough to carry around, I’m embarrassed that Nash saw a version of me I thought I’d outgrown. The one that turns into a golden retriever around my dad, eager for scraps of his approval, spinning everything that’s ever happened into a desperate plea for validation.
I hate it.
It’s gross.
But the worst part?
Dad asked the very questions I’ve been avoiding. When do I go back to Los Angeles? What is there to go back for? If I stay here, where would I stay? With Nash? Would he want that? How would I support myself? I have no marketable skills other than dancing…
I push into a sitting position with a groan, head pounding as the mattress shifts beneath me. It’s time to stop avoiding those questions.
But first? Coffee.
I check my phone and something sharp rises in my belly when I see a text from Dad, but then I open it and that sharp shifts to something I can’t name.
Just want to say sorry for coming on so strong yesterday. Neither of you deserved it.
I read the message four times and still don’t know what to do with it, so I shove my phone in my pocket and amble into the kitchen. There’s a sticky note on the pot informing me Nash will be working late tonight, reminding me to do my exercises, and to have a great day. I pull it off with a sigh, thumb tracing the words. Something about the gesture makes me sad. Maybe because part of me knows this is all coming to an end.
As I’m pouring coffee, my phone rings. My stomach drops when I see the screen.
Terrence.
My agent.
Surely, he’s calling about Trish leaving the tour. I’m certain life changing news waits on the other end of this conversation. But for the better? Or worse?
I answer, cradling the steaming cup of coffee as I pace into the living room.
“How’s the ankle?” Terrence asks, voice tight and bright, like he can’t wait to make my day.
“Feels great.” My nerves kick in and I can’t tell if I’m excited or worried. Either way, I’m pacing. Back to the kitchen, around the counter, into the living room once again. “I’m cleared for movement, just no leaps or turns yet, but that feels close.”
“How close?”
I open my mouth to tell him I could probably be back to full strength in a week, then surprise myself by saying, “I don’t really know. I want to ask my physical therapist about that.” The statement shocks the pacing right out of me and I stand, staring at my reflection in the window.
“Let me just cut to the chase here,” Terrence says. “Because basically a miracle fell into your lap. The dancer who took your spot with Sandro René is leaving the tour and apparently there’s been a lot of injury and all the alternates are already performing. They called to see how fast you could be ready. They want you back, Lucy.”
“That’s amazing,” I say, forcing excitement into my voice.
“Stuff like this doesn’t happen. If that ankle is even close to ready, take the job. Work with the med team onthe tour, whatever you need to do because someone is seriously looking over you right now.”
Nash’s face flashes through my mind. I’ve never felt more looked over in my life than I have with him, though I know that’s not what Terrence meant.
