Wren stared at the floor, a hot knot in her throat, and shook her head.Be sensible, Wren, and remember.It was betrayal wrapped up in different packaging. Her father always ran toward whatever shiny new priority caught his eye. Then Alex, after what she thought was an emotional shift between them, had taken her dance—her creation, her heartbeat—and handed it to someone else, garnering praise and accolades, writing her out of the story. And Kyro? He’d betrayed her by using their surface-level attraction to generate clicks and likes.
A father she loved, a man she adored, a guy she liked—three very different men, all managing to bruise her in their own unique ways.
So why on earth would she believe love stayed? No, she’d learned her lesson the hard way. People loved you, right up until they didn’t. They chose you, right up until something easier or shinier or louder came along. It was better to keep her distance, keep her walls high, and build a life where no one could drop-kick her heart again.
And that meant keeping Alex—and all men—at a distance. It was safer that way.
“Wren!”
Wren spun around and, on seeing the lanky girl standing in the doorway, opened her arms, grinning broadly. Hayes’s daughter, Hadley, stood there, a shy smile on her face. Wren hadn’t seen her since her fly-in, fly-out visit at Christmastime, and it seemed like she’d grown an inch since then. “Hadley! You came!”
Hadley ran into her arms, and Wren hugged her tight, wrapping herself around the girl she’d known since she was a baby. Hayes and his then-girlfriend had fallen pregnant when he was nineteen, and when Cheryl said she wasn’t interested in being a mom, Hayes stepped up and raised their daughter.
Hadley pulled back and pushed her fingers through her hair. She’d inherited her mom’s ethereal looks and pale blondehair but also her father’s dark eyes.
Wren couldn’t resist and tucked a strand of Hadley’s hair behind her ear. She’d started teaching Hadley basic dance moves when she was three, and she was now a really good dancer. “I’m so glad you’re joining the class, Hads. It’s going to be so much fun.” She hoped. She also hoped that Hadley would continue dancing with the new instructor. Not that she really believed that Luna would let her off the hook…
But she could pretend.
The door opened again and a crowd of kids pushed their way through the door, mostly girls, but three, no, five boys. Wren smiled her welcome, said hello, and received a brief “Hi” back. Then the kids looked around to suss out who else was there.
More kids entered the studio, and Wren welcomed them. Checking her watch, she saw it was time to start and clapped her hands together. When nobody responded, she raised her fingers to her lips and released the loud, high-pitched whistle Hayes had taught her and Poppy when they were kids.
It immediately quietened the room. She introduced herself, told them that she was a temporary teacher and that she hoped they’d have fun.
Walking over to where she’d set up her phone and her favorite dance playlist, she half turned and grinned at them over her shoulder. She pulled up Kyro’s latest mega hit, “Gotcha”—he might be a dick, but his music was fantastic—as she knew all the kids would know and love it. Its catchy, opening riff filled every corner of the room, and many of the kids whooped. The beat pummeled her system, and she had to physically resist dropping into the choreography she’d created for this song. It was still one of her finest pieces of work, hella intricate and complicated, but she wasn’t here to show off. It had also given her confidence that she could succeed without Alex…
“Just dance,” she shouted, bending her knees and shimmying her shoulders. “Dance like no one is looking!”
Feeling a draft behind her, Wren turned to see the door to the studio open and the white face of a red-headed, furious-looking boy standing in the doorway. An overly ripped man stood behind him, equally enraged, his hand on his shoulder, tugging him back. Dane towered over both of them, and he jerked his head, silently telling her to come out.
Wren looked back, saw that the kids were having fun, and stepped into the hallway, forcing the boy and his father to step back. Dane moved behind her and pulled the door shut.
“Privacy,” he said, keeping his explanation brief.
Wren didn’t bother pointing out that it would be difficult to hear anything over “Gotcha.” Instead, she just lifted her eyebrows, her eyes bouncing from the boy’s sulkiness to his father’s irritation. She looked at Dane. “What’s going on?”
Dane pushed one shoulder into the wall. “Wren, meet Colt. He wants to join your dance class. Penn, his father, thinks it’s pointless, feminine, and a waste of Colt’s time.”
Wren briefly closed her eyes. She didn’t have the time and energy for this shit. Gathering her patience, she caught Penn’s annoyed green eyes.
“How did you get involved?” she asked Dane. He didn’t seem the type to mess with a father-son dynamic.
“I gave Colt one of your pamphlets, but his father objected,” Dane briefly explained.
“What’s the problem?” she asked Penn, her voice cool.
“The problem is that I don’t want my son wasting his time on this shit. He can play baseball, swim, or learn martial arts for God’s sake. Why dance?”
God save her from men with a 1950s mindset.
“He needs to focus on real activities. Sports. Activities suitable for boys.”
Ah. There it was. The old song. Same tired chorus.
“But dance is athletic. Balance, coordination, endurance—” she began.
“—sexual move, hip thrusts, spins,” he interrupted. “Prancing around like a fa?—”
