Fifteen seasons come and go, but we never say goodbye.
Not truly.
Every moment we’ve had together I hoard away, collecting them in my journal until it’s filled, replaced, filled again. Our love captured between the pages for no one but myself.
Lark joined Ballet Potomac as a soloist with a guaranteed track to principal. We promoted side by side two years later. I indoctrinated her to ice baths, and she continues to provide me with solstice survival kits. We watch hockey with Delilah, and Jax goes to every Redhots game he can when he’s earthside.
Despite the distance, our love continues to grow. Even when he’s away and unreachable, I can feel him. He’s the whisper of the wind, the cold settled in my bones, the flakes that fall outside. The sun can be shining, the windows clear and untouched, and the flowers in bloom, and he’s still here with me.
Always with me.
He’s the silver-glowing scar spun at my sternum, cradled between the neckline of a feathered corset. The patter of my pointe shoes when I run to my spot, adjusting my headpiece onelast time before springing onto the tips of my toes. The caress of fog as the scenery opens and reveals me to the audience.
My steps slow and falter, carrying me across the stage in a series of beautiful extensions. Desperate sways and arches. He’s the breeze that kisses my skin when I take that final tragic leap into an unforgiving pond. The one who’d truly follow me there.
Already has.
He’s the roar of applause when the sea of swans part and Vincent leads me to the front. The warmth of the spotlight as I curtsy, and curtsy, and curtsy, savoring every moment until the thick velvet curtain drops on closing night.
He’s the standing ovation earned from a dream built on borrowed time.
This last year as principal has been incredible, but my leg throbs as I cart three overstuffed bouquets of roses toward my dressing room.
“I don’t want you to retire,” Lark says, pulling off her black-feathered headpiece and setting it on the vanity. “I’m really going to miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too, Lark.” I hand her one of my bouquets. “I’m just grateful we got to dance together again. I’m grateful for it all.”
We finish getting out of our costumes, go out for celebratory drinks with the company, and cheers to all our hard work before we dance our way home. It’s a beautiful night. A stunning finale. Everything I could ask for.
After Lark tucks herself into bed, I wait for the gentle sounds of her breathing to filter under the door before I head for the balcony, admiring the autumn leaves carried along the breeze. Wrapping my arms around myself, I recall my mother’s words and wonder the truth of them.
She’s everywhere. Always.
“Fate,”I rasp out to no one but the moonlight.
And I wait.
And wait.
And wait.
When a hand grips my shoulder, I spin around, half expecting to find Lark awake and ready to drag me back into the apartment.
Instead, a woman in a striking rainbow-hued dress is there. Rose gold locks billow around her, colorful streaks embedded in them. She reaches for me, her outstretched palm shimmering beneath the moonlight.
“You’re beautiful,” I say, a bit stunned. I imagined Fate to be older, less…vibrant. But the woman before me is timeless, a walking dream, one I could never conjure up on my own. “You know why I’ve called you?”
She nods but says nothing. Betrays nothing.
My legs are numb, fingers quivering as they grip my sides. I don’t know where I’m going. What will happen. Regardless, there’s one thing I’m certain of: Dance may be the love of my life, but Jax is the love of my existence.
That courage propels me forward. I slip my hand into hers and whisper so softly that my words could be mistaken for the breeze.
“It’s time.”
And with a featherlight brush of Fate’s lips against my temple, the cold comforts me in its chilling embrace.
47
