“Bric,” Chella says, still calm in her chair. “Sit back down. I’m not finished yet.”
I sit. Because it’s Chella. I miss her. And Rochelle. And Smith and Quin, of course. But especially Adley. God, I miss that little pumpkin. I’m trying not to think about it too much. And this fight with Nadia and Luc’s death have pretty much taken over my world right now, so it’s been easier to put it behind me.
But holy fuck, I miss that little pumpkin. I don’t want to think about those little chubby cheeks and those fat little hands. I can’t even picture her gummy smile without that empty hole in my chest aching. I wonder if she got a tooth yet?
Please, no. I will die if I miss the sprouting of her first tooth.
“It’s next weekend. Rochelle and Quin are having a little get-together at their house and we want you to come. It will be fun, Bric. I promise. We miss you. You need to come.”
“But Nadia, Chella. I don’t want to bring her. I really don’t. I’m done with it. I just want to put everything about her behind me.”
“I like her,” Chella says. “She’s interesting. A ballerina, right? Remember when you gave me that sculpture after we first met? I took her to see it at my house. Told her that you paid for the whole installation outside the Mountain Ballet Theatre. She was impressed. And she wants a chance to make it up to you.”
“She said that?” I ask, picturing her and Chella talking about me on Chella’s patio as they look at that sculpture. It pisses me off. I told her not to fucking talk about me.
But then I soften, thinking about Chella. Things were good back then. Even though Rochelle hadn’t come home yet and I didn’t even know about Adley. Things were good. I still had Smith and Quin was still talking to me. Chella and I were just beginning to think about the Tea Room last winter. It was good back then and it can be good again.
Chella nods. “She did. She said that. She said she did something hurtful to you and she needs a second chance to set things right. Even if you don’t end up together, she said she needs an opportunity to make it right.”
“Those were her words?” I ask, an evil idea springing to mind.
“Her exact words,” Chella confirms.
“Let me think about it,” I say, because I need a little time to get this plan with Nadia in place. One more mind fuck to set things right. With any luck, Nadia will be a bad mistake in the past by the time next weekend rolls around.
“OK,” Chella says, standing up. “But I’m going to tell Rochelle that you’re coming. Adley is about to get a tooth. You don’t want to miss seeing that, right?”
I frown. “No,” I say. “I don’t.”
“Then it’s settled. You’re coming.” Chella is happy when I meet her at the door. She places both her hands on my cheeks and says, “I miss you, ya know. We all miss you. And I know it’s been rough for you, Bric. But we love you. You need to come back to us.”
She kisses me on the cheek and turns away before I can say anything to ruin her proclamation.
Chapter Twenty-Eight - Nadia
I just stare at my phone for a few seconds, barely able to breathe. But then I snap out of it and tab accept. “Hello?”
“Stay out of my life, Nadia.”
Not really what I was expecting from him. But it’s a call, so there’s that. “I’m sorry,” I say. Short and sweet. Just like Jordan coached me the other day. He knows Bric far better than I do, so I took notes and I’m sticking to them.
“Accepted. Now, can I count on you to leave me alone? No more showing up at the Tea Room asking about my friends. No more—”
“Bric,” I say, cutting him off. “Please. Can I meet you for dinner or something? I just want to talk to you. That’s all. I need a few moments of your time and then I promise, I’ll go away.”
“Dinner and a short talk are two completely different things.”
“A snack?” I say, trying to laugh. I don’t feel like laughing, but this whole thing is nerve-racking. Jordan’s plan is so… out there. “I’m in the studio right now. There are three dozen other dancers in here with me. Not my first choice of place to have a conversation. I’ll be happy with coffee. Or a burrito from the food truck outside the ballet. Something. Anything.”
He sighs. “When?”
“Tonight?” I ask. “After I get off work? I have to stay late tonight for an extra rehearsal. So I don’t get off until six. The dinner truck is fine, OK? Just… I need a few minutes of face-to-face with you. I’m sorry, I really am. I want you to know that.”
“If that’s all you have to say then—”
“It’s not,” I say, before he can finish. “I have more than just that. But it’s the kind of thing…” I turn away from the other dancers in the studio so they can’t hear me. “It’s got to do with the game.”
“The game is over, Nadia. I made that pretty clear last weekend.”
“I know,” I say. “It’s over. But I need to talk to you about something. It’s important.”
“Five minutes,” he says. “Outside the ballet at six.”
“Good—” But I get hang-up beeps because he just ended the call.
Dick.
“Everything OK?” Michael asks. Like me, he’s just here to watch the principals dance their parts so we know what’s going on.
“Fine,” I say, plastering on my forced smile and then turning away to watch the stars of the show. “It will be, anyway.”
“Go get ’em, girl,” Michael says, pushing me on the shoulder. “Those two men you have are hot as fuck.”
Yes, I think in my head. They are definitely good-looking men. But their minds… ugly, ugly places, those minds.
I get out late. Which figures. This is the ballet, after all. You’re not supposed to have a life outside dance. I sit all day watching everyone else go through their parts and then finally, at quarter after five, they want me to go through my steps with Romeo.
When we’re dismissed, I take off my shoes, stuff my feet into some flats, and grab my pack and coat. It’s dark outside and I’m sure that Bric has gotten impatient and left.
But then I see him standing over by the dinner truck, watching me as I hurry across the street in a rush.
“Sorry,” I say. “I got—”
“Save the excuses, Nadia,” he says, his tone sharp and dismissive. “Just get to the point.”
There’s other dancers hanging around, so I give them a nervous look, indicating that we need privacy. “My car is over there,” he sighs. “If you’d prefer to talk there.”
“Perfect,” I say. And it is. For my plan to work I need to be in that car, right? With him, alone, on my way to… wherever he chooses.
We walk over and I let him open the passenger door for me. At least he hasn’t forgotten his manners. When he dropped me off last weekend he didn’t bother with manners. So progress? Maybe?
When we’re settled inside he says, “Should I take you home? Or do you have plans tonight?”