Page 31

The theater is dimly lit, trimmed with tiny fairy lights. Rustic round tables are placed sporadically around the dance floor. While the dance floor has tables, tonight it’s left open so club attendees can dance and party. This has become like a second home to me, or a third, I should say. I started my singing lessons here about twelve years ago and have spent more nights here than not since. Singing, rehearsing, performing. Dean and I have also become close. He started working in the kitchen at thirteen, and inherited the place when Mr. Jabinsky passed away a month ago. He always watches rehearsals from behind the counter, then waves me over and offers me something to eat or drink. We have dinner, just the two of us, no less than twice a week. I’ve come to really enjoy his company. He’s easy to talk to with his casual and outgoing nature. His unwavering eye contact can be a little intense at first, but it’s nice to feel seen.

When we turn the corner to the bar, my throat closes and my stomach twists. Morgan’s here, and Cain’s just brushed her hand off his arm. My sliver of hope that everything she said last night wasn’t true is obliterated.

I’ll stay for drinks, then go. If I turn around and leave now, everyone will notice, and Pru will throw a fit.

Cain gives me a once-over glance before turning to his brother, Cal, and continuing his conversation. He’s playing with the ring on his chain with his left hand. High protocol, of course. Can’t have anyone knowing that we sneak around with each other. My chest aches. Are broken hearts a real thing? Because mine feels like it’s shattering. Letting go of Pru I take a seat at the other end of the natural wood bar while she joins in the conversation with Cain and Cal.

Dean brushes the back of his fingers along Dahlia’s cheek, who is sitting behind the counter, then slides along the bar, stopping in front of me with the widest grin. He leans in with that intense eye contact. His eyes are warm, deep brown; his inky-black hair is long and an absolute mess, the strands sticking out in different directions in clumps. And, as always, he’s not wearing a shirt under his apron, showing off his scars and tattoos that pop against his skin that looks as if it rarely sees sunlight.

“Drink for you tonight, Zvyozdochka?”

“Yes, make it a strong one, please.” His eyes go wide, and he tilts his head to the side as he leans back to grab a few things. “A thousand times I have asked you that question, and a thousand times you say, “No, thank you.” What’s going on?” I smile, but it’s so faint I am not even convincing myself.

“It’s nothing.” He hands me a drink, and I gulp half of it down before wincing. It’s one of those fruity drinks that normally tastes too good to be alcoholic. He took my request for strength seriously.

“’Nothing’ doesn’t make a non-drinker take down alcohol like a seasoned alcoholic.” He nods in Pru’s direction and then leans forward, elbows on the counter, and hands forming a steeple at his chin.

“It’s just nothing that I can talk about.” I take the rest of the drink in two big sips and shake my head with another wince.

“That’s no good.” Dean takes my glass and goes ahead with making another one. “You shouldn’t have anything that you can’t talk about. That shit will eat you alive.” I take the drink and a much smaller sip. Dean leans forward so he’s inches from me and locks me in with his crazy eye contact. “You can talk to me about anything, you know?”

“I wish that were true…” I watch the cherries spin in the burnt orange liquid as I swirl the drink around before taking another sip. Then Dean nudges my chin up with his thumb and forefinger knuckle so that I meet his gaze again.

“It is true.” He frowns, a wrinkle forming between his brow, and that’s when I realize I’m frowning too. “Does it have anything to do with that prick over there?” He softly whispers, nodding in Cain’s direction, “Want me to make him leave?” I shake my head and take another sip.

“No, I won’t be staying for dinner.” He tucks my hair behind my ears and grabs a drink for himself. “I want to slip out quietly, okay?”

“Sure thing.”

Sneaking a glance at the group, I see Cain brush away Morgan’s hand again and whisper in her ear. I throw back the rest of my drink in one go. Which probably wasn’t a good idea. I feel warm, and the room appears to be moving. I set the glass down, and Cain narrows his eyes at it. Crap, I’m looking at him. I broke protocol. I need to get out of here before I do something crazy, like confess my feelings for him.

Shaking my head, I grip onto my self-control through my foggy brain. We have an arrangement, a dynamic. You’re not his girlfriend. You’re nothing, so act like you’re nothing.

You’re nothing. So act like you’re nothing.

Uncle’s words play on repeat until I have replaced the nausea and aching in my chest with the black hole that I wish would stay. I like it better when I feel absolutely nothing, rather than the crippling sadness that has plagued me for years.

“Thanks for the drinks, I’ll see you later. I think I need to go sleep this off.” I rise and wobble, grabbing onto the bar to steady myself for a beat. Dean chuckles, rounds the bar, and trots to my side.

“Food's in the oven, guys; take it out in ten.” Dean slips his arm around my shoulder, keeping me steady as we walk.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to walk you home,” he says, looking down at me with a grin.

“But you have company.” My heart jolts when I look over my shoulder and see that everyone is watching us. Including Cain. “You love company.”

“Not as much as I love you.”

My heart swells. And I’m in real danger of tearing up. Stupid alcohol, lowering my inhibitions. I didn’t know how much I needed to hear those words, to hear that I am loved, until he just said it. The only person I remember telling me that they loved me was my mom. And well, she hasn’t spoken in years. I don’t even know how aware she is of my presence half of the time.

With one more glance over my shoulder, I catch Cain still watching me, eyes narrowed on Dean’s hand that’s holding me tight to his side.

Cain would never hold me like this in public. Cain would never tell me that he loved me.

Because he doesn’t…

That thought brings the ache back. Maybe it’s for the best that our arrangement is over.