He leaned over and cracked the door to hear better. Goose bumps rose on his arms when she hit the high notes. God, she was amazing. How could a girl like this not be accepted into NYU?
She made it halfway through the song, then stopped. For a moment, he thought it was a pause for the chorus to sing…until he heard her crying.
He pulled open the door. It squeaked, and Faith drew in a sharp breath. “Cade?”
Knight in shining armor. Right. He plodded up the stairs at the side of the stage, wincing at how loud his cleats rang against the metal steps, and pulled back the curtain. “Not exactly.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle. “What are you doing here? And where’s Cade?”
“Cade and I are friends. He called to say you were having a rough day and asked…” A self-deprecating smile spread across his face. “Told me I needed to come over and check on you. He’s out doing some work on the AV system.”
Faith avoided his gaze, staring at spot on the stage floor. “Oh.”
Kyle stepped up onto the stage. The scarred wooden floor creaked under his cleats, and he was painfully aware that he’d shown up here in baseball pants and a tight Under Armour sleeveless shirt, having left his practice jersey in the car. Maybe he should’ve changed.
Then again, Faith was wearing a leotard covered by a fluffy skirt that went past her knees and ballet shoes. He nodded at the skirt. “You have some interesting workout clothes.”
She blushed. “And you’re wearing cleats in a theater. I think we’re even.”
“Yeah.” He crossed the stage, stopping a few feet away from her. “So what’s going on?”
Faith shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
“I know that’s not true. Cade wouldn’t have called if it was nothing.” He took a step toward her. “Want to talk about it? We’re the only ones here.”
Her lower lip trembled, and she clenched her hands together. “I…”
She burst into tears and covered her face. Kyle cleared the distance between them in one big step and wrapped his arms around her. She stood stiff against him, but he rubbed her back in slow circles until she relaxed enough to cry on his shoulder.
“Tell me what to do,” he whispered into her hair. “Tell me and I’ll do it. Even if you want me to go.”
“I don’t want you to go.” Her voice vibrated against his collarbone, and chills raced down his back.
“I’m not going anywhere, then.”
They stood together, center stage, and while Faith finished crying, Kyle breathed in her scent: sweat, citrus, chalk she used to fix the floor when she danced. This girl was inside his head. Could he tell her the truth?
Just the thought made his hands shake. He gave her a final pat and let her go. She sniffed for another few seconds and wiped her eyes. “Thank you. For coming.”
“I’d do anything for you,” he said, hating the tiny tremor in his voice. Some knight he was, terrified of a damsel in distress. “Anything.”
She peered up at him, her expression shy. “Can you dance in the musical?”
He laughed. “I could, but I’m not sure the cast would like that.”
“Josh can’t lift me. He says I’m too heavy.” Tears welled up over her eyelashes again. “NYU rejected me. Do you think that’s why? That I’m too heavy? Or too tall? Or is it my voice? My dancing?”
“Faith, it’s none of those things. I’ve seen you dance, and now I’ve heard you sing.” He reached for her arms, gripping them tightly. “It’s like professional sports—sometimes the break comes because of luck. You are a great singer, a beautiful dancer, and you sure as hell aren’t too heavy.” He shook his head in disgust. “This Josh needs to do some weight training if he can’t lift you, especially if you’re doing half the work by jumping first.”
She nodded, blinking back tears, but looked too choked up to say anything.
Not good enough.
He released her arms and moved five steps back. “Is that lift we tried the other night the hardest one?”
She shook her head. “There’s a more difficult one.”
“Tell me what to do.”
Her eyes flew open wide. “You want to dance with me? Wait. What about the other day? You pushed me away, Kyle. Why are you here?”
The words were on the tip of his tongue: I’m scared. I want to be with you but I don’t know how. I’m not good enough for you. I’m a liar, even to myself.
He sighed. “You need me.”
The answer wasn’t adequate, he knew that, and her frustrated expression confirmed his fears. She squared her shoulders, though. “This one requires more work on your part.”
Relieved she’d stopped crying, he flexed his biceps. “I think I can handle it.”
Her face went scarlet, and she gave him a quick smile. “I’m telling you—we need you on this stage.”
He grinned. “Not gonna happen. Now, about this lift.”