Page 126 of Dancing in the Dark

“I fink we should always sleep in a pillow fort, Fifi!” Mia sprints along the hall and dumps a pile of bears on her dad’s legs. “Oh, my gosh. This has been the best night ever!”

As I come through the mouth of the hallway, she spins and peers up at me in wonder. “I hope you be my dad’s girlfriend forever. And look!” She moves into a plié, her arms elegantly held in place. “If I promise to work very hard and make my jeté even better, will you promise to be my dad’s girlfriend forever?”

“No.”

Devastation sparks in her eyes in an instant. Her posture falls. Her feet straighten.

Shaking my head, I set my things down, then I come back and take her hands between mine. “I don’t want you to dance for me, remember? Or your dad. Or Cato. Or anybody else, no matter what they promise to give you in exchange.”

“But—”

“But I’m gonna keep being your dad’s girlfriend because I want to be. Because I love him. And because I love you too. Because, you know how when I go to the roof to dance and my belly feels good?”

Shaky, she nods.

“Well, when I come here and spend time with you and your dad, my belly feels good then, too. So I’ll keep doing that, even if you never dance again. And hopefully, if you want to work on your jeté, you’ll do it… because you want to.”

“Will you keep teaching me?” Her jaw trembles. “If I’m practicing for me and no one else, will you still help?”

“Yep.” I bring our hands up and stroke her tired cheeks with the pads of my thumbs. “I promise. Now, can you pretty please go to the bathroom and pee until every teeny tiny little bit is all out?” I swat her butt and send her scrambling forward with a giggle. “Get it all, baby. Then maybe you’ll sleep all the way till the sun comes up tomorrow.”

48

FLETCH

I dream of vacationing on a yacht in the middle of the ocean. Of lying on a deck chair with a beer in one hand, a pair of sunglasses shielding my eyes from the sun, and the best view in the world a mere twenty feet away.

My girls. Dancing. Laughing. So fucking happy, it makes everything else pale in comparison.

I know this is a dream, and I know all dreams must eventually end, but for right this second, I luxuriate in the sun’s rays on my exposed chest. On the sound of laughter wafting on the breeze. I brush a hand over my nose, wiping away a tickle I can’t quite satisfy, and as Sera and Mia spin, spin, spin in place, I hold on to this moment and know it could be real if I just…

Don’t fuck everything up.

If I save enough money.

Pay enough attention.

Juggle everything perfectly, and never, ever, stumble.

Easy. Totally doable. Not stressful at all.

My nose tickles again, an itch I can’t seem to scratch, but as I bring my hand up and clumsily smack myself in the face, my dream world flickers away and, in its place, the real world pops into existence.

But… different.

I blink, blink, blink the dregs of sleep from my eyes, then I lift my head and find the reason for my twitching nose. Mia sprawls belly to belly on top of me, her hair in my nostrils, her arms splayed wide, and her legs flopped open. She’s become a starfish, which is probably why my dream-self’s chest was warm, too.

She sleeps soundly, her cheeks puffy, her lips parted, and a line of dribble soaking into my shirt. The hand I thought held a beer a moment ago holds something else. Something a million times better.

My heart jumps with an aching thud as I follow the line of my arm and find Sera’s hand wrapped around mine. Our fingers twined. She sleeps on her side, her knees pulled high, and her other hand, the one not attached to me, rests between her thighs.

Pillows are everywhere. Care Bears stare at me. Copeland City traffic hums on the other side of my living room window, but I don’t see a single car or bus pass by, because a sheet lays whimsically above us. The middle dips a little, gravity pulling it closer, which means as I twist my head to the side, I spy two stools creating one wall of a fort I never built. On the other side… a broom, a tall washing basket, and Mia’s horse-stick thing, the kind children run around with and pretend they’re riding a stallion of their own.

I don’t remember building a pillow fort last night. In fact, I remember nothing beyond arriving home and sitting down. My fight with Archer. My determination to close a case red tape keeps open. My anger… fuck, my anger.

Carefully, I lay my free hand over the small of Mia’s back and tilt a little to the left, relieving the pressure of sleeping on the floor from that side of my back. My shoulder. My ass. Then I go the other way and swallow my groan.

I look around in silence for some kind of clue for how I got here, and I hope beyond all hope that I didn’t drop those chainsaws I’ve been juggling by doing something as stupid as falling asleep on the couch and forcing Sera to shoulder my responsibilities.