One fucking week to finish my work, maybe stretching it a few more days to see Jolie as much as I can. I’m so close, sofuckingclose, to her finally seeing me. Even feeling her run her fingers through my coat was a comfort. Anytime we are seen in our earthside forms, it usually sends mortals and wildlife skittering away. Easier to get our work done in the quiet. But my fearless mate invited me into her bed to warm her feet and scratch my ears. Just because she’s beginning to accept my wolf, though, doesn’t mean she’s willing to accept the rest of me.
Of us.
I want to tell her about the bond, but how do you explain the unexplainable? The time isn’t right yet, but it’s melting away right before my eyes. Once spring comes, I won’t be able to reach her for months. Even if I insist on delivering another winter, I’ll be limited to that region experiencing the season. She seems so relieved she’ll be able to call on me. Now that will only be for a number of days, not weeks.
“Hey.” I’m elbowed in the ribs and brought back to the present, flavored ice dripping on my pants. Aneira’s eyes soften with my attention, voice lowering, trying to reassure me. “Everything is going to work out. Fate’s on your side.”
Sure doesn’t feel like it.
When I don’t respond, weighing how I should handle my final days earthside, she adds, “Now, I got you caught up and covered for you. It’s time for you to tell me about your mate.”
I can’t deny the smile that graces her lips. It pulls one from my own.
For the next hour, I tell her everything from the beginning, including what I discovered during my visit with Fate. After she’s gotten the full update, I wait for her to tell me to be patient, that one day things will come together for us. That trying to get Jolie to see me is crazy and goes against what we stand for as Frosts. That I cannot break the cardinal rule we’ve been brought up to honor dutifully.
Instead, she just grins and asks, “When do I get to meet her?”
21
JOLIE
My tights, leotard, and hair were all uncomfortable, as if too tight for my body, and no matter how well I did in class or rehearsal, nothing felt right.
Mistress Maral even highlighted me to demonstrate the adagio combination in front of the class. Normally, that would’ve had me grinning from ear to ear.
Not today.
It’s the anniversary of the accident. One year since I saw my mom.
Today, ballet was a chilling reminder of all I’ve lost. It seems unfair to dance, leap, and spin without her here. But I know that’s not what she would’ve wanted for me. Always my biggest fan. So, today I danced for my mother. In a way, I’ve danced for her every day since I walked through Ballet Potomac’s doors.
“She’d be so proud,” Lark reminds me back at the apartment after we’ve both showered and rinsed off a long day of dancing. I know she’s trying to comfort me, but it doesn’t lessen the ache sinking heavy in my chest. Pizza sits on the counter, chicken with peppers and mushrooms. A favorite that my mom and I used to split every Friday night.
I grab the movies I’d set aside, ones we’d loved to watch together, and Delilah picks outCenter Stage, popping it into the DVD player. By about halfway through, Lark’s snores echo in the background. It doesn’t surprise me. She has to be exhausted from the grueling days of rehearsals. This week involves lots of late nights in preparation for the pre-performance showcase for the Institute’s patrons, a way to get more money out of the benefactors and an exclusive opportunity for newspapers and magazine reviewers to preview the Institute’s show and get the word out before opening night. Despite the fact that she can’t hang through the entire movie, it means a lot that the two of them carved out time to spend with me.
When the credits roll, I wave goodnight to Delilah who’s guiding a half-asleep Lark into her room. There’s still one more movie set aside, and since I’m still emotionally wired from the day, I grab it and head toward my room.
With each step, my lip wobbles. Tears rim my eyes. As soon as I’m in my room, I plop on the bed and pull up my phone, listening to the last voice message Mom left me. One I can’t bring myself to erase. She’d asked me to call her back when I was done with rehearsals, asking if I wanted to go out for brunch on Sunday. There’s nothing profound tucked within her words, but the comfort of her voice makes it one of my most treasured possessions. Luckily, my voice messages saved to the cloud, otherwise it would have been lost along with my phone at the bottom of that lake.
By the time I replay the message a third time, tears are streaming down my cheeks. My hand shakes as I push the disc into the tiny TV in my room, one with a built-in DVD player, then climb into bed. Reaching over to grab the remote from the nightstand, I glance at the mostly empty bed and bite my lip.
I could text Blake. Rehearsals are done for the day, unless he stayed even later to rehearse the pas de deux with Nina. Withstepping into her first role as a principal, I could see being easily overwhelmed. Soloist life was hard enough, and each promotion came with its own set of sacrifices. It was the price of greatness. A trade every ballerina would make with a smile on their face and bloody blisters beneath their tights.
I haven’t heard from him since he ran out of my room. He knows what today is and hasn’t bothered to text or call me, but I’m not sure I can hold it against him. Time and routines are thrown off during dress rehearsal week. Regardless, I still thought I’d hearsomething. It’s disappointing, but I’m also grateful not to have to talk about his awkward and terrifying send-off. I have no idea how I’ll play off the fact that there was a giant wolf in my bedroom. Guess I’ll find out when I see him after the showcase.
I glance down, finding my hand hovering over the scar—mark—between my breasts.
Jax did say that if I called to him, he’d come.
What the heck am I doing? I’m pretty sure summoning otherworldly beings to your bedroom is the stuff of horror movies.
I drop my hand into my lap, then snatch the remote and press Play.
Now that the house is quiet and I’m shrouded in darkness—aside from the light coming from the TV—the loneliness brings an unsettling level of silence. I could ask Lark to stay in the room with me, but Delilah’s here… Plus, she’s so busy with rehearsals, I wouldn’t want to wake her up just to keep me company. Not that I haven’t done that plenty of times. After the accident, she’d insisted on staying with me for weeks.
It’s taken me so long to put myself back together and I don’t want her pity, another acknowledgment of how broken I still am. She knows. I need to pretend I’m okay, even if I’m far from it.There’s something about other people seeing the ugly shards of my losses that makes me feel like I’ll shatter beyond repair.
Knowing Lark, she’d just help me collect the pieces.
