MAY
JUNE
JULY
31
JOLIE
The weeks of rehearsal become a blur of blisters, ice baths, physical therapy, and—of course—missing my favorite Frost. Before I know it, spring’s turned into summer. While there’s been no word from Jax since he went into hibernation, I do as he asked: continue to believe.
After two long flights—that thankfully didn’t get delayed—and an Uber ride, we reach our hotel in Sydney. Lark contacted them ahead of time, so our rooms are across from one another. We drag our luggage down the hallway until we make it to the rooms, setting our alarms on our phones to grab some food in a few hours. We all need to catch up on some much-needed sleep. Despite all my efforts, I didn’t get much rest on the flights with all the excitement of the trip.
Tomorrow, we jump right into rehearsals and the soloist showcase. Lark, Delilah, and I tacked on extra days at the end of the trip to sightsee and visit Australia’s Hotham Alpine Resort before we return to DC. Delilah’s really into skiing and wants to do the trip up thanks to a big bonus she got at her job. She’s even treating us to box seats at the theater for the night we aren’t performing after Lark told her how my mom and I had alwaysplanned to attend the Ballet World Summit. The night before we left, she gave me an envelope with the tickets inside and I sobbed.
Lark and I could care less about skiing. She just wants to do something nice for Delilah since she trekked all this way and took time off from work. I’ll be there to keep Lark company and…there might be an unfounded hope wriggling at the back of my mind that I’ll get to see Jax.
Even if there’s no snow on the ground, it is technically winter in Australia. Jax said they worked year-round, all in different regions. He hoped to be allowed back to my world after hibernation. Was Australia’s winter enough to warrant the Frosts’ attention?
It might be a long shot, but I can’t help my excitement over the prospect of seeing him. Wouldn’t it be kismet for us to both be here? If he is out of hibernation, how close would I need to be for him to sense me?
I’d hoped I’d see his rabbit friend again before spring ended, but I never managed to run into him. I even had a note that I carried with me everywhere, just in case, telling Jax about my trip to Australia. Then maybe he could have planned to be here too.
As much as I wanted to tell him about his family in the note, I left that off. Not that it mattered since he never read it, but I figured it’d be best to tell him about it in person. While he doesn’t remember everything about his mortal life, I’d want to know my family is still out there if I were in his shoes.
I lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, still in my grungy travel clothes. My body’s exhausted. The effort it would take to hunt through my suitcase for pajamas is more than I’m willing to commit to, so I curl up with the covers and fantasize about a future that seems much too far out of reach, maintaining my belief in the impossible.
But hasn’t everything been just that since Jax came into my life—impossibility made reality?
A few hours later,we groggily grab dinner, so thrown by jet lag that we barely speak. Instead, we stare at our waters and food as they arrive at the table. I’m not even hungry. Nerves bubble up in my belly, riding on a tide of nausea. In less than twenty-four hours I’ll be performing. In an unfamiliar city on an unfamiliar stage. It doesn’t help that so much is at stake with my position at Ballet Potomac riding on tomorrow night’s performance.
This is my biggest meal before then, so despite my lack of hunger, I ordered a soup, sandwich, and a salad, figuring anything extra I can store in the hotel fridge. The last thing I want is to be starving before the showcase. After I eat my soup, I nudge at my salad with my fork between bites, finally deciding to box up the rest and take it with me.
The sun hangs low as we walk back to the hotel. I snap some photos with Sydney’s cityscape as we stroll, the theater and surrounding buildings illuminated under the hazy glow of streetlights.
“Get over there and let me take a picture of you.”
When I don’t move at her request, Lark nudges me forward and spins me by the shoulders to face her and Delilah. I force my best smile as she snaps pictures from different angles.
“Now, one facing toward the sign. Reach up and point your other foot behind you,” Lark directs, kneeling low to capture whatever it is she’s envisioning.
Bright-white lights beam down from the marquee, Ballet World Summit in big, block letters.
My chest pinches. I stare up at the illumination and hold my pose as my chin wobbles. Despite the bustle of people on the street and Lark and Delilah being right here, I feel utterly alone. There’s an empty space beside me that’s awaiting someone who’ll never fill it.
The person whom I most wish was here to see this with me isn’t.
I’m in Sydney without Mom, making this core memory that we should have been sharing, but instead she’s gone. Just when I think I’m starting to pull myself together, I’m struck again by the harsh reality of her loss.
Lark doesn’t say a word, just ends the mini photoshoot and pulls me into a hug. She holds me, letting me sob against her shoulder. Delilah reaches from behind her and places a firm hand on my back, patting it a few times.
“I love you guys,” I sniffle out. I don’t know what I’d do without them here with me on this trip. Delilah grabs a tissue from her Redhots fanny pack and hands it to me. Once I’ve wiped away my tears and snot, we head up to our rooms. I shower, then stretch, running through the variation a few times with music, then again in silence, waiting for sleep to pull me under. Tomorrow will be here before I know it, and everything needs to be perfect. Not just for me, but for the woman I wish was here to witness it firsthand.
Morning comes much too soon,and I wake with a shiver.
“Jax?” Popping up out of bed, I swing my legs over the side, gaze darting around the room for him or his wolf.
I stand up quickly, legs wobbling under me at the abrupt shift in my position. The thin carpet creaks beneath my feet with each step toward the window. Pulling the curtains to the sides, I search for any sign of him.
