“Didn’t I tell you you’re the goddess of flowers?” He smirks. “So, how about a walk?”
“Fine,” I say, even as trepidation rolls through me. This probably isn’t a good idea, but I can’t say no to spending time with this man.
The air is warm but lighter, like we’re finally leaving summer behind. The trees in the park soften the city’s constant hum. Here, the sounds come from joggers as they pass, from the laughter and conversations of people enjoying the day. I even hear the faint strum of a guitar.
Above us, the clouds are stretched thin, and something in the way the air presses against my skin tells me rain isn’t far off. Giddiness rises inside me. I’ve been craving thunderstorms for weeks.
We don’t touch, and we keep several inches of space between our bodies. He hums under his breath, a melody I don’t think I’ve heard before. Is it something new?
Before I can ask, he grabs my hand, and with a quick tug, he twirls me under his arm. It’s playful and so achingly normal, it steals my breath.
I laugh as he twirls me again. When he eases me to a stop, he puts a hand on my hip to steady me, pulling me closer.
His eyes glimmer with warmth. “God, you should still be dancing.”
“I dance for myself,” I say quietly. “I quit ballet for a reason.”
“Why, Ry? You mentioned being under a lot of pressure, the competition, but is there more?”
I take a deep breath. He was so open with me about his struggles after Owen’s death. I can do the same for him, can’t I? Exhaling, I meet his eye and tell him everything. I stick with the short version, though. I don’t want to remember all the details.
“It was an endless competition,” I tell him. “Fake smiles everywhere while everyone hid knives behind their backs. The whispers, the gossip, the mean-girl club—it was worse than high school. The pressure was so intense that at one point, I cried myself to sleep every fucking night. Nastya was the only person I could trust, but then she got injured.”
Hayden squeezes my hand.
“I was never enough. We lived under a magnifying glass, all our flaws and insecurities constantly pointed out. I fell in love with ballet when I was a little girl, but it was tearing me apart. Then, a new ballet master took over. He didn’t think I had enough talent for the big parts. He offered to train me, as a favor.” My voice cracks. “I said no. Then, I was given a smaller part, followed by an even smaller one. I was so depressed. I lived with it, I danced through it, but I was dying on the inside. I was ready to end it all, as you already know.” I sniffle, holding back my tears. “After that day, when Nastya showed up and I decided I wasn’t ready to leave this Earth, I decided to quit. No matter how much I loved dancing and being on stage, it wasn’t worth losing myself.”
Hayden tugs me closer and buries his face in my neck. “You’re thestrongest person I know,” he whispers. “I’m so proud of you.” He rears back. “Does this ballet master still?—”
“No. Last I heard, he was in Berlin. He’s probably looking for favorites there.” I sigh. “There are so many incredible, talented people in ballet who respect their dancers, but, like everywhere, bad apples exist. I was just unfortunate enough to be surrounded by them.”
He kisses my forehead. “Thank you for opening up to me. It means more than you know.”
34
ride me, baby
HAYDEN
I thoughtit would be weird to sit at the piano after so long. Instead, my fingers buzz, my heart thrumming to the rhythm of the music I’m playing.
But I can’t get it right. No matter how many times I try, nothing sounds like the melody that came to me in the doctor’s office.
It was loud and clear after we heard the baby’s heartbeat.
I’ve never experienced anything like that in my life.
Listening to the staccato beat was an out-of-body experience. The wave of tenderness that washed over me left me in awe. Riley is growing a life inside her belly, a life we created together. I swear, I already love this baby more than anything in the world.
The melody came the moment Dr. Bell turned off the Doppler. I listened to her instructions, putting up a barrier in my mind so I didn’t miss a thing. But as soon as we left the clinic, it hit me again. It’s nothing like the songs I’ve written for Sabotage, but I want to get it right. This is the first melody since Owen’s death.
The symbolism isn’t lost on me. Owen’s life ended, and I couldn’t write music. I hear my baby’s heartbeat, a sign of new life, and after seven long months, the desire to write returns.
It’s almost like Owen is telling me it’s time to move on.
If it’s true,I hear you, man.
There isn’t a day I don’t miss him, especially now, as we prepare for the album’s release. But over the last few weeks, I’ve felt lighter, more at ease. I no longer want to spend all day hiding beneath the covers, and I’m not tempted to rot on the couch anymore.
