She sighed, her fingers falling away, heart thudding hard in her chest. That wasn’t what he wanted now. He was still finding his footing, still holding the pieces of himself together.
She’d respect that. Even if her body was one long ache from her ribs down.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he rasped, voice like gravel and midnight.
She sighed again, softer this time. “I can control myself,” she murmured. “But don’t ask me to stop looking.”
Those dark lashes lowered, then lifted slowly, his gaze dropping half-mast. “So tell me, princess…” His voice was low, amused, rough with sleep. “Were you a ballerina in another life?”
She smiled, her chest catching on the breath. “In this one,” she said. He smiled back, like she was the only thing in the world worth waking up for.
But then he reached out, like he couldn’t help himself, and gently touched a lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek. “You still dance,” he murmured. “You move like you haven’t forgotten.”
She didn’t look away. “I didn’t forget. I just…moved on.”
There was a pensive silence between them.
His hand lowered. “What happened?”
She exhaled through her nose and tucked one leg under the other. “You want the long version?”
“I want the real one.”
She tilted her head, smiled faintly. “You sure? I’ve got layers.”
“Good,” he said. “So do I.”
Blair rested her elbow on the couch arm, one hand curling against her stomach. “I started ballet at three. My mother enrolled me because I was coordinated, graceful, and already learning to be silent and obedient. I took to it fast. By the time I was seven, I was in pre-professional classes. By ten, I was already winning competitions. By the time I was sixteen, I was in a boarding school in Toronto, training ten hours a day.”
Breakneck didn’t move, but he was locked in, watching her.
“I was obsessed. Not with the fame. Not even the art. With being good. With earning my place. My parents didn’t say it out loud, but it was clear. I was the investment. The star. The girl with the future they could brag about at galas.” She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “I had stress fractures at sixteen. A torn ligament at seventeen. I trained through all of it. Didn’t tell anyone. I iced, I wrapped, I pushed through. God forbid I fall behind or be seen as fragile.”
She looked down at her hands. “One night, I was dancing lead. Something simple. A solo variation I’d done a hundred times. I was running on fumes, sleep-deprived, underweight, and terrified to lose my spot. I did a jump I shouldn’t have even attempted and landed wrong.” She went still. “I heard the pop before I felt it.” Breakneck’s jaw flexed. “I blew my ACL, tore the meniscus, dislocated the joint. They had to carry me off the stage.”
He held eyes contact, quietly, even as her story caused concern to bloom.
“I was eighteen,” she said quietly. “I knew right then it was over. I’d trained my entire life for a single dream, and it ended on a stage floor under hot lights while my mother watched with disappointment in her eyes.” She smiled again. This one was sad. “I spent a year recovering. Rebuilding. Not just my body, but my brain. For the first time, I asked myself if I was dancing because I loved it…or because I didn’t know who I was without it.” She met his gaze again. “Turns out, it was the latter.” He shifted slightly closer. “So,” she went on, “I joined the RCMP.”
He blinked. “That’s a career pivot.”
She laughed under her breath. “Yeah. I didn’t pick it to shock anyone. I picked it because it was the first time I felt real. I didn’t need to smile through pain. I didn’t need to weigh my food or train to excess. I could protect people. I could chase down bad guys and write reports and help domestic abuse survivors. I could be strong. Not pretty. Not poised. Not marketable. Just…strong.” Breakneck’s eyes burned into hers. “I thought I’d buried it. That part of me. The one that still missed the stage. The music. The movement. The girl who loved it before it became a prison.”
She paused. “Then my little sister Emily got cast in Swan Lake. She invited me to see her debut.”
He nodded slowly. “That’s where you went.”
She nodded back. “It wrecked me and made me see clearly. Emily…she wasn’t dancing to win anyone’s approval. She was joyful. Confident. She didn’t care about perfect lines or flawless pirouettes. She just loved it.” Blair’s voice turned softer. “She looked free in a way I never was.”
He was quiet. Letting her speak.
“I realized something during that performance. I wasn’t jealous. I wasn’t bitter. I wasn’t mourning who I used to be.” She touched her chest. “I was proud. Proud of her. Proud of me. Because I survived it. I chose a different path. Maybe…maybe I became the woman I needed.” She swallowed, her throat tight. “The one I wish I’d had beside me in those dressing rooms, telling me I was enough.”
The fire crackled low between them. Breakneck reached out slowly, his fingers brushing hers.
“You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met,” he said quietly.
For the first time in a long time, she believed it.
