“Cool,” I mutter. “That’s fine. Being stranded in a parking lot is a vibe.”
Stella’s internal clock runs on… well… I’m not sure it runs on anything but Stella Time. She’ll be here. There’s just no telling when. I check my reflection in the black screen of my phone. Frizzy hair. Shiny nose. Flushed cheeks. Basically glowing, but like, medically. An incoming message lights up the device.
Mom.
I finally texted her the other day while Gabby and Stella were at Martha’s shower. I didn’t mention the ankle. Still haven’t.
Ridiculous, really. They’re going to find out eventually. It’s not like I can avoid them the whole trip.
Though… part of me wants to try.
I scan the message—her usual chirpy tone, happy, happy, happy, begging no one will notice how happy she’s not. I fire back an equally cheery, equally fake reply and drop my phone into my bag.
My chest feels tight. My ankle hurts. My brain buzzes.
What if I can't rehab this ankle? What if I'm trapped here, in Stillwater Bay, living on Stella's couch? Or worse, swallowing my pride and moving back into my parents’ house? What if Dad was right and I should have gone to college instead of pursuing dance?
That question totally justifies my attempt at self-rehabilitation.
I can’t lose this tour.
Without it, my future looks bleak at best.
You know what? It’s too hot to wait outside. I crutch my way back into the gym and head for the locker room to wash my face and tame the frizz. I round the corner when?—
WHAM.
A body slams into mine from the side, and for aterrifying second, I wobble, dropping a crutch as I instinctively put my injured foot down. It throbs in protest, and I quickly lift it off the floor as my bag drops off my shoulder, intensifying the wobble.
A hand grabs my arm and keeps me from face-planting into the tile. “Shit! Sorry! I didn’t see you…”
I blink up at a guy—tall, broad, sweaty in a running tank.
Handsome. Dark hair, a little shaggy. Strong jaw. Kind, gray eyes…
“Lucy?” He cocks his head in question, his lips parting in surprise and suddenly, his face clicks.
My jaw drops as my eyes go wide. “Bennett?”
His name spills out on a laugh. I haven’t seen him in years, but somehow his face is still filed away under “safe,” despite the changes age has brought. My old best friend’s familiarity is somewhat disorienting.
Bennett looks horrified. “Holy shit, Iliterallyjust ran into you.”
“You did,” I say, wincing as my ankle throbs again. “Hi.”
He bends to retrieve the crutch I dropped, gathering my bag and my phone that flew out of it, then steadies me, one hand on my shoulder as I tuck my crutch under my arm while he rubs the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. His hair’s shorter and he’s taller than I remember. Like, way taller. There’s something familiar in the sharp line of his jaw. Not quite the same as Dr. Kincaid’s, but enough to spark a flicker of recognition.
“I told Nash I wanted to run into you whileyou were here,” Bennett says with a grin that feels like middle school days at the beach, “but I didn’t mean literally. I feel like such an ass.”
Surreal. The hot doctor I haven’t stopped thinking about was talking about me to my childhood friend. Life is really weird sometimes.
I laugh, breathless. “I’m fine, Bennett. Just rattled. Between you and that kid in the Audi, I’m starting to think I have a bullseye painted on my forehead.” I swipe at it with a grin. “I don’t right?”
“None that I can see.” He chuckles, shaking his head, then recoils, eyes narrowing. “Okay, hold up though. What exactly are you doing here, of all places?”
I lift my chin and prepare for a lecture. So far, approximately zero people who’ve heard my plan have approved of it. Not Stella. Not Gabby. Not even Trish, though she was the most supportive. Probably because she’s the only one who understands the stakes. The dance world is hard and second chances are rare. This is make it or break it time.
And I intend to make it.
