Chapter 5
5
HONOR
PRESENT
“ W ow, thank God Sophie is banging our dad, right?”
I wince as I help Leni onto my roommate’s bed, her leg—wrapped in an elaborate brace—extending awkwardly over the edge. “Don’t be gross.” I drop her tote bag on the mattress beside her, cold with exhaustion.
Normally, I would be a lot rougher on my sister over a comment like that, but her chalky skin and the flat, dull quality of her eyes scares me a little. Even when we were young kids, Leni threw herself headfirst into life, following her dreams without apology. I always kind of envied her for it. Who wouldn’t be a little jealous of their beautiful, talented younger sister?
“You’re going to be okay,” I say for about the thirteenth time today alone. “Just wait, with the physical therapy, you’ll be back in New York in no time.”
Leni lets out a hard, humorless laugh as she leans forward to adjust Sophie’s pillows behind her back. “Sure.”
“I’m being serious!” I insist, my throat tight. “The doctor said you’ll make a full recovery with some work?—”
“ Some work? ” she spits, glowering up at me. “This was a career-ending injury, Honor. It will take six months before I’m able to walk without a cane, never mind resume professional training. Best case scenario, I could be back from my little hiatus when I’m twenty-four . That’s assuming I make a full recovery, which is almost impossible.”
After spending about fifty percent of my childhood doing homework in the waiting area of my sister’s dance studio, I know more than my fair share about ballet. Professional dancers’ careers peak in their mid-twenties and are usually over by the time they hit thirty. Taking several years off in the middle of that is unheard of. I’m trying to stay positive for her sake, but admittedly the prognosis for Leni’s career is grim.
I wince. “Len, I’m so sorry.”
My sister scoffs. “Then stop pretending everything is going to be just fine. My tendon was shredded . My career is over. Fake optimism is just rubbing salt in the wound.”
It takes a lot to keep my expression neutral, or to not take her vicious, bitter tone too seriously. Nothing I say is right, but I can’t blame her for lashing out. Only four days ago, Leni was preparing for the biggest performance of her life, living her dream in New York City. Now, she’s crashing in Sophie’s bedroom, and can’t even walk to the bathroom without crutches.
I stare at the floor, hugging myself. “I’m so sorry, Len.”
Leni’s lips flatten, but she won’t look at me. “Just go. Don’t worry, I have my first appointment with the therapist ,” she spits the word like it’s something foul, “Dad hired in the morning, and he said he would get me an apartment while I figure stuff out. I won’t be your problem for long.”
“You can stay as long as you want?—”
Leni snatches her phone off the bed beside her and turns her attention to the screen, lips pulled flat. “Get out, Honor. Seriously. I can’t do this right now.”
My shoulders are heavy as I back out of the room, closing the door behind me with a quiet thud. The air in the apartment is cold and stale, evidence of my and Sophie’s absence over the last few days.
When we knew she would be discharged soon, Dad wanted Leni to come back to his house to recover, since going back to her tiny apartment in New York (shared with three other dancers) was out of the question. Unfortunately, he chose to propose this just as Sophie reentered the room, bearing a tray laden with coffee for all of us. The look he gave her was so gooey, anyone would think she’d returned from a month-long voyage, not a fifteen-minute foray to the hospital cafeteria.
I don’t pretend to know what my sister is thinking most of the time. We’re very different people, and always have been. In that moment, however, when I caught sight of Leni’s pained expression, I had a burst of sisterly intuition. Nobody wants to have a front-row seat to somebody else’s happiness when they’re miserable.
Luckily for Len, I am also relatively miserable, and she doesn’t need to worry about me rubbing her face in my contentment. So, here we are. Sophie, staying with Dad—both of whom had a very difficult time pretending they weren’t happy about this arrangement—and Leni staying with me. Indefinitely.
For lack of anything better to do, I trudge back down the hall to the living room and collapse on the couch, hollowed out with exhaustion. Strong, smart, fearless Leni has always been the one giving me support and reminding me everything will turn out just fine. Now, my little sister is having her first major life crisis, her first experience of true grief, and I have no idea what to say to help her.
I’ve never felt so helpless.
Pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes, I let my head drop back against the couch, forcing myself to take long, even breaths through my nose.
This will pass.
I won’t always be this lonely.
Len is going to recover and find a new path.
Julian Ballard isn’t going to haunt me forever.
It occurs to me that my well-practiced anxiety spiral mantra seems to be getting longer and longer as, slowly, I lift my head. My hands drop back into my lap as I stare unseeingly out the big sliding glass door at the back of the apartment. Things have been so stressful over the last few days, I haven’t had time to dwell on my last conversation with Julian. He texted me a few times, but despite writing a reply to each, I never pressed send.
Was he hurt I didn’t want to video chat with him?
A lump rises in my throat at the thought. Despite his wealth, I suspect there aren’t a lot of people who care about Julian Ballard for something other than his money. Either they’re wildly intimidated—like I was before we met—or opportunistic, and trying to use their association with him for their gain. Including his own daughter.
How could I have dated someone like that for two years ?
I pull my knees up to my chest as my eyes begin to burn. Meeting her father eclipsed it so thoroughly that in the months since our breakup, I haven’t thought a lot about my ex-girlfriend. My relationship with Riley was never great, but just like with my lackluster job, I pushed forward anyway. Now, all I’m left with is the lesson that working hard at a relationship doesn’t make it right, and a heartache for a lonely billionaire I can’t have.
I miss him. So much. Too much.
It’s like those few days in California woke something up in me, and it isn’t going back to sleep. This friendship, relationship, whatever it is, won’t end well. I’ll likely hate myself for it someday, but after a few days of attempting to put distance between us, I know it’s a lost cause. The thought of cutting it out of my life—cutting him out of my life—is too painful for words.
For better or worse, I want him.
My hand trembles as I take out my phone, and the moment I press the tiny “call” button on Julian Ballard’s contact, I’m gripped by the sudden, overpowering impulse to fling the thing across the room. Maybe he’s angry with me for ghosting him and won’t even pick up. Even so, I bring the phone to my ear, and my chest is tight as it rings once, twice, then—“ Honor .”
Just hearing him say my name is enough to demolish the willpower I was using to keep my emotions in check. It’s overwhelming, the sadness and relief that hit me all at once, so powerful I can barely breathe. My hand covers my mouth as I struggle to get it together enough to reply.
God, why did he have to be Riley’s dad? Why couldn’t he have been anyone else?
“Hi,” I say at last, and my voice wavers. “I’m sorry I didn’t… that I was out of touch.”
“It’s okay,” he replies in a rush, and something deep inside me warms as I realize he’s as nervous as I am right now. “I’m glad you called. Are you, I mean , do you need anything?”
“No.” I swallow. “No. I don’t need anything.” I hate that he thinks I would only call him because I wanted something from him, not that I want him . We’ve talked on the phone so many times, had conversations that ranged from sad to funny and everything in between.
So, why does it feel so different now?
In the kitchen, our ice maker clicks, and outside on the street, a car honks noisily. Routine, everyday sounds suddenly seem foreign as every cell in my body focuses on the speaker of the phone in my hand. Waiting.
Julian exhales heavily, and I imagine him in my mind’s eye, dragging his hand through his almost black hair, brow furrowed, serious, and intense in his concern. “Are you okay?”
“Kind of,” I admit with a weak laugh. “The day we last talked, my sister hurt herself pretty badly. She needed surgery. Now she’s staying with me to avoid the Dad and Sophie lovefest.”
“Fuck,” he curses quietly, sounding genuinely horrified. “Is she going to be okay? This is the ballerina, right? Lenora?”
I can’t have mentioned Leni’s full name more than once, and he still remembered. Sighing, I play with the ends of my hair, trying to vent some of my restlessness. “She tore a tendon during warm ups for her show. Just a freak thing. The doctors said it was likely caused by overtraining.” I drop my voice in the unlikely event Leni crawled out of bed to press her ear against the bottom of Sophie’s bedroom door to listen. “She probably won’t dance again. At least not professionally.”
I know Len is going to recover physically, but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her so broken. The image of my fierce, brave little sister staring at that icy window will probably stay with me until the day I die.
Julian seems to know what I’m not saying. “She’s lucky to have you,” he tells me gravely.
I sniff, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand as the truth comes out in a rush. “I don’t know what to say to her. Everything that comes out of my mouth seems to be wrong.”
He sighs. “It is wrong, but nothing you say is going to be right, either. Not now. I can only assume, to reach that level in a very competitive, physically demanding industry, she must have loved it very much. Losing your life’s work at such a young age… I can’t imagine. She’s devastated, Honor. All you can do is be there for her and keep the door open for when she’s ready to talk.”
It’s good advice, but there’s something in his tone that draws my attention away from my own problems. “Is everything okay? With you?”
There’s a long pause. “I had a fight. With Riley.”
I wince. As if I needed a reminder that I’m speaking to the father of my ex-girlfriend. Or that I wish he was here so I could curl up in his lap and have him hold me. “I’m not sure I have any good advice for you. You kind of kicked my butt at the whole comfort thing.”
He laughs quietly. “You’ve helped more than you know. Besides, I’m not sure there’s anything that could be said to help this. She’s determined to think the worst of me, and I’m tired of trying to change her mind. I’ll make sure she knows I’m there for her if she ever needs me, or if she ever needs to talk, but beyond that...” His words trail off miserably, and the undercurrent of pain in his voice makes my heart ache so much worse than it ever did when I was the one affected by Riley’s callous, cruel attitude.
“I’m sorry.” I hug my knees to my chest, staring out the window now. The sky is gray, and a few fluffy snowflakes are drifting down, a quiet reminder of the storm that tied the two of us together for those three days. “You’re a really good person, Julian. One of the best. I’d like to think Riley knows that too. She just might need to grow up a little to realize it.”
My whole chest aches, and as Julian lets out a shaky breath, I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted to hug anyone more than I do right now. “I’m not that good a person, Honor.”
His voice is low and thick with warning. It spreads heat up my spine and makes my clit throb. It’s easy to imagine him hovering over me, his bare skin brushing against mine, murmuring quiet praise as he reaches between us, guiding his—“Are you okay?” I whisper, because I need to steer the conversation back into less dangerous territory. Territory which doesn’t lead to me imagining Julian Ballard pressing me into the mattress, his—nope. No way.
“Was it just because of your sister getting hurt that you didn’t call?”
This was the question I knew he would ask, just like I knew I wouldn’t be able to lie to him. “No,” I admit, my eyes burning. “No, that’s not the only reason.”
He doesn’t say anything, seeming to sense I need a moment to gather my thoughts. Finally, I swallow, pulling my knees tighter against my chest. “I like you,” I admit with a watery laugh. “More than I should. In a way… In a way I shouldn’t. I know we don’t talk about what happened in California, and maybe it meant nothing to you?—”
“It didn’t mean nothing to me, Honor.”
A single, hot tear falls down my cheek, and I don’t bother to brush it away. “Nothing is going to happen, though. It can’t. And I get it, really I do, but I guess I thought if I just stopped talking to you, I would stop feeling this way.”
I’m not sure I’ve ever had a conversation like this—no, I know I haven’t. None of my relationships have amounted to even a shadow of the space Julian takes up in my life. Never have I felt so much for someone or wanted to be close to them this badly.
Wiping a few fresh tears away, I keep going. “It’s so stupid, but I keep seeing ads for Valentine’s Day specials and hearts all over the place. Sophie is in a relationship now, and all my coworkers are talking about their plans, and it just sucks. It sucks so bad. I just want somebody to love me and buy me a stupid stuffed animal and flowers, but instead, I’m hung up on someone who can’t, who’ll never…” My words falter, because I can’t even say the words out loud, can’t acknowledge this man is never going to love me the way I wish he would.
Julian makes a soft, wounded noise. “Honor, baby?—”
“Please don’t call me that.” I let out a little sob. “Please. I’m mixed up enough as it is.”
He’s quiet for a few seconds, and all I can hear is the sound of blood rushing in my ears and the rumble of traffic outside. Then, Julian clears his throat. “I should go.”
Taken off guard by the abrupt dismissal, I sit up straighter, my stomach twisting. “I’m sorry. That was way too much?—”
“It wasn’t,” he assures me hurriedly. “I just realized I need to do something. Right now.”