“I built this studio from the ground up. I wanted you to have somewhere to dance. That’s all you wanted baby, remember? You said you just wanted to dance. And now you can do that. Here.” I gesture to the studio that I put together. There’s still plenty of empty space, but the wall across from us is covered with floor to ceiling mirrors, capturing every moment in them. There's a bar for stretches on the wall caddy corner to it, and astereo plug-in tucked away into the corner out of the way. For small decorations, I printed off and framed different professional pictures I found of Raiden online. Him at the Super Bowl. The concert he performed at in Tokyo. But there’s also pictures of him from his younger dancer days–him in his school uniform as he performs at halftime.
But the biggest picture, framed after I reached out to an artist who specializes in enlarging photos without destroying the quality, is me and Raiden at our senior prom together. The two of us, embraced as we sway on the dance floor, lost in our own world.
“Jericho…” Raiden wraps me in his arms and holds me tightly to him, his arms squeezing around me as he sways to the music that only he can hear in his head. “This is amazing. I– I don’t honestly know what to say.”
“Say you’ll live with me. Say you’ll be here, teaching your dance classes. Say we’ll grow old in this house together and sit on the back porch watching our dogs and our kids play together in the grass. Just say yes.”
“Yes! Yes, what the fuck, of course! I never want to be without you. I– I honestly didn’t know if I was going to have to go back to my parents’ house after today, but I’m glad to know you want to keep me around.” His chuckle is wet and he wipes his face against my shoulder, wiping his tears away. “I love you, Jericho. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Our joy rings out loud and true in this building where I can picture our future.
And right on cue, a crack of thunder rolls outside, completing the moment.
45
RAIDEN
“Are you ready for this, tiny dancer?” Jericho asks me, his voice quiet in the hallway filled with people standing around waiting. The marble floors and dark oak doors are intimidating as I stare at them, imagining what other people are enduring on the other side. I attempt to swallow past the lump in my throat that’s been stuck in there since I learned about this court date. I thought the worst of it was already done before I moved home. I filed the divorce papers like I was supposed to.
I thought I did everything right. But to know I didn’t, and that even in my weakest moments I was being preyed upon for not bending to the will of a horrible man, it was as if someone had taken a jackhammer to my heart and soul. The only thing that held me together was Jericho. He held me in his arms as I shed tears over a past life that I thought I was rid of. He tucked my head on his shoulder and his blonde hair tickled my nose too many times to count as we discussed what we could expect to happen today.
Am I ready to confront my abuser, in front of all my friends and family so they can see how truly pathetic I was while I wasunder Josh’s thumb? No, of course I’m not ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever be truly ready to confront that trauma. Especially with a crowd. Their judging faces, wondering why I didn’t leave at the first sign of trouble. Wondering how I went back to him after everything he did to me when we were nothing more than teenagers.
I don’t have the answer and I wish I did. I wish I had a reason and a justification for what I did, but I don’t. I wish I could have gone back to that moment in high school, when Jericho asked me about that party. I should have told him no. I should have told him that I want to be with him, not surrounded by shitty people. There were plenty of times I could have spoken up and told Jericho how I truly felt and saved us both a lot of heartbreak.
But that’s the shitty thing about life: if everything worked out how you wanted it to, there would be no issues for anyone. And that’s unrealistic, even for me.
Even so, my palms are sweaty and I have to wipe them on my black Tom Ford pants to help myself feel in control. Jericho reaches for my hand and I let him, no matter how gross it probably feels from his perspective. He’s never cared about me being less than perfect, and if anything, he’s blind to my flaws. Or maybe what he tells me is the truth, he doesn’t see anything wrong with me. He thinks I’m perfect, even if perfect is a far-fetched idea.
I nod my head at his question, attempting to be as perfect as I can for him.
His touch grounds me in the best way. His hand in mine tells meI’m here, you’re safe, I won’t let him hurt you.The same things he’s reassured me of since day one, but I was too young too fucking naive to understand what he meant. To understand the true lengths he would go to for me.
Now I do, though. Jericho wasn’t meant to replace Josh, and Josh wasn’t meant to replace Jericho. Jericho was my first loveand my true love, and how fuckingluckyam I to be able to claim he’s both. I would rather have my heart broken a million times over if it meant I got to live a fraction of my life happy with him. I’ve fucked up, many times, but even still he stands beside me with his head held high. I take a little bit of his confidence for myself, squaring my shoulders as we walk into the courtroom.
It quiets down as the two of us walk in, the loud murmurs we could hear coming from beyond the heavy wooden doors are silent now and our footsteps are impossibly loud against the marble flooring.
Our families are on the right, sitting with their backs straight and facing ahead to where the judge’s bench is. The judge isn’t here yet, and the empty space freaks me out. My spine stiffens and my body is rigid, so Jericho keeps his hand tightly secured in mine as we walk to take our seats beside my lawyer.
Originally, Jericho wasn’t going to be able to sit up here with me. It was deemed that only the twoinvolvedcould be past the public barrier. After a long, in-depth description about the mind games Josh tends to play with me, and our history, my lawyer found a way for Jericho to be by my side.
I risk a glance behind me, taking in our support system. Behind us are my parents, Jericho’s parents, Connor, Hollis, Ace, Elijah, Noah, Sophie, with little Damon sitting on the end, wearing his best collared shirt and his hair is braided back in a ponytail, like how I usually keep mine.
I smile, despite the dread building in my gut.
Heisn’t here yet, the table to the left of us shows no sign of Josh. Only a lawyer in a fancy suit, with his black briefcase opened on the table with papers strewn about.
I swallow down the bubbling nausea and sit in my seat right beside Mr. Matthis. “Hi,” I say, my voice shaking as I turn to face him. Jericho’s hand is on my leg, the weight anchors meand I rest my hand on top of his, squeezing to show my appreciation.
“How are you doing?” His voice is neutral, not at all concerned. As if we’re having a matcha latte while our boyfriends are playing golf instead of me having to face my soon-to-be-ex-husband.
“Could be better, but at least I’m not dead,” I tell him, genuinely meaning it. I can practically hear Jericho’s eye roll, but that’s fine. He doesn’t like that I make jokes about being dead, but I could actually be dead and I think that would be worse for him. He’ll have to deal with the dark humor until I learn another way to cope.
“Nope, you’re not dead, but you are about to be a free man. And a whole lot richer.”
I don’t care about the money. I’ve seen the articles online, all of them claiming the same thing. Money, money, money. It’s always about the money. The truth is, Josh could leave me broke. He could take every cent I have, but as long as he lets me have my freedom, I couldn’t care less about the money. There’s no monetary value I can put on knowing that at the end of this court session, I will no longer have any ties to the man who has tried to ruin my life over and over again. It wasn’t enough that he couldn’t have me, but to pull life-saving measures away from me because he didn’t want anyone else to have me? That should be a crime.
The clock ticks in the courtroom, the silence is an eerie omen and I can’t relax into my seat no matter how hard I try.
