I turn sharply, ready to rip him a new one, but I freeze at the leather he’s holding up, the one I tore off and threw on the floor seven years ago today.
“You are going to put this back on,” he demands, and I open my mouth to tell him he’s fucking crazy, but he quickly continues, “And you are going to go for a ride, for a whole year.”
I frown, “You want me to go nomad?”
Dad nods and confirms, “I think it’ll be the best thing for you, to get out of town and try and find yourself again. Find the man you were before we lost your sister. Going nomad means you are still apart of the club, you just need a breather. In a year, you are going to come home and accept your responsibilities back, you are going to become Pres while your brothers will already have a year under their belts waiting for you. Today, Trick, Knuckles,Crusher, Crash, and Blaze will be taking their places as officer brothers. I’ll keep your seat warm for when you return.”
I shake my head instantly denying him because no, it isn’t happening, and before he can snap at me, two soft hands cup my stubbled jaw. I lock eyes with my mother, and her tears fall, most likely seeing the vacantness I have going on right now. I swear I almost fucking break with the pain that radiates from her.
“Please, Bellamy,” she chokes, “Please do this, I’m begging you, don’t let me watch you get locked up again, don’t let me lose another child.”
Fuck.
Chapter 4
Drew – Age Twenty-Three
I take a deep breath as I get into my stance. I begin the routine I’m practicing for a show next week, a show I’m taking part in to help raise funds for the underprivileged kids that I work with every day. I allow the music to fill me, to center me. Even as I hear the door open and close, I keep my eyes shut and maintain my composure as I get myself ready to follow the notes.
As soon as I hear the slightest change in the tune, I open my eyes. I lock on my form in the wall mirror, noticing my parents' figures near the back wall and I bounce up onto my tiptoes and gracefully move to my left.
Moving my arms above me to in front of me, I spin once, twice, three times, then gently bend forward. I slowly move my left leg behind me, a serene look on my face as I let the music help me disappear from reality.
Ballet, even after all this time, is my everything. After four years at the Ballet of the Arts Academy and competing in many shows, even winning a few competitions, I’ve decided to hang up my slippers so to speak professionally. After a lengthy conversation with my parents, I have turned down the offer to compete next month at the prestigious world’s invitational competition.
My studio, which I rented out last year, needs me more right now than another medal around my neck. I already have several upstairs hanging on my wall.
I spin on the spot and keep my leg bent at the perfect angle, following the melody in the background.
I have achieved more than I ever thought I would within the ballet community, including dancing on Broadway for six months, which was a dream come true. That made my parents proud, though renting this space on my own and bringing in kids from the streets also helped with how proud they are. I love the fact that I teach young people, which keeps the income coming so I can keep this place, along with the apartment upstairs, and continue helping others.
Helping to get kids off the streets and gain scholarships within the ballet community brings me more peace than dancing professionally ever did. While winning another medal would be an honor, watching the kids I teach reach their goals, or find new ones, and want more from life is more rewarding to me.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still dance, like I am now. I’ll still help hold shows that bring in thousands, knowing my professional background would bring in the crowds, but my main focus currently is teaching.
From three-year-olds and adults who pay me a substantial amount to keep this place open, to underprivileged kids and teens, for whom I secure sponsorships to help them get into dance schools and find a purpose.
I’m living my dream. I just—I guess I feel like a little something is missing. I just don’t know what.
The music slowly fades, and I breathe heavy, and I spin to a stop, and I can feel the sweat building at my lower spine underneath my leotard, and my mom cheers, “What a show,” making me huff out a chuckle.
After Elizabeth was kicked out of school, Dad put her in an all-girls Catholic school as punishment for screwing my ex-boyfriend, with whom she happens to be on and off again. Mom did as she promised and came to my show, sitting front and center with my father. She cried her heart out as she watched me perform Beauty and the Beast. She watched me live my passion, and since then, she has been to every show, even encouraging her church friends to buy tickets because it is always for a good cause. I hate the cynical part of me because I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop where she’s concerned.
I don’t trust her, even after all this time.
“I swear, Mom,” I laugh as I shake my head to ride my thoughts and turn towards her, and Dad and Mom grins widely while Dad is trying to hold in his laughter.
“I don’t even know why I come to your shows, sweetheart. I should just come here and get a backstage view,” she continues, and Dad’s laughter escapes.
Six years, and I feel like I have a mom but again the trust isn’t there all the way. She does sometimes fall for Elizabeth’s crocodile tears, just like she did a month after the cops escorted her to the principal’s office, while Drake was dragged down to the precinct and charged with statutory rape. She realized her daughter played on her emotions. But she’s there for me now, which, as far as I’m concerned, is all that matters and I’m learning to forgive her.
“You still need to come to the shows, Mom, every cent counts,” I state, trying to be serious, but Mom waves her hand at me andsays, “Oh, I’ll still buy a ticket, but coming here is just easier than fighting those big crowds because you know, you are this big Broadway star and all that…”
I laugh this time, and Mom grins wider.
Broadway star, my ass, I did six months.
“I am far from a Broadway star, mother dearest,” I say with sass as I grab my large shirt and put it on.
