60. Amelia
Chapter 60
Amelia
I 've performed so many nights now, you'd think I'd have a handle on my nerves, but opening night always comes with the same tight knot in my stomach. There's just something about stepping onto a stage in a new city that makes my stomach flutter. But no amount of butterflies compares to the pressure of knowing that in two nights, Mom and David will be sitting in the audience. My mom isn't coming to watch me dance but to drape herself in my success like a designer gown, stealing every sliver of spotlight she can. While David's just a puppet, dragged along like some sad, silent accessory, existing solely for appearances.
I miss my mom.
I don't miss the now—I miss the then.
It's been so long since the woman who raised me in a cramped two-bedroom apartment seemed real that I sometimes wonder if I hallucinated my entire childhood. Back then, life wasn't perfect, but it was ours. My mom treasured bedtime stories, sitting cross-legged on the couch, eating dinner on our laps, the TV flickering with some cheesy movie.
However,thatwoman is dead and buried under designer clothes. Slowly, over years of cocktail parties, lavish dinners, and country club memberships, she's been replaced by someone else—a money-fueled, image-obsessed fucking monster who wouldn't dream of something so mundane now. That mom, the one who once tucked me in at night and kissed my forehead, doesn't exist anymore.
There's no resurrection story here. No magical moment where she'll wake up and remember who she used to be. That version of her is gone, cremated in the flames of her own ambition, and all the wishing in the world won't bring her back.
But here's the thing about loss—sometimes it leads you straight into salvation. If she hadn't morphed into this Stepford nightmare, if David hadn't dragged us into his world of wealth and pretension, I never would have found Tobias.
The past is gone. The future is mine. And maybe it hurts to let go, but I'd trade the ghosts of what was for the chance at what could be with Tobias every single time.
The music starts, and my muscles are already screaming. Thirteen hours of rehearsal will do that to you, but nobody out there in those plush velvet seats wants to see the ugly truth behind the beauty. They don't want to know about the bleeding toes or the ibuprofen we pop like candy.
We hover in the wings like hungry ghosts, waiting for our cue. My part's nothing special. A few seconds of choreographed movement on stage right, mirroring Marcus on my left, our bodies filling the space like human wallpaper. But it honestly feels like I'm flying every single time.
Some nights, when my hips are burning and my feet feel like they're dancing on broken glass, I wonder if this is what addiction feels like. Because even with the small role, I can't imagine doing anything else.
Two hours later, I'm peeling off my costume. I've yanked my hair out of its performance-perfect bun and scrubbed away the stage makeup that made me look less human and more like a porcelain doll. The mirror shows the truth—dark circles under my eyes, a bruise blooming on my hip from a bad landing, and the permanent calluses on my feet that no amount of pedicures will ever fix.
Throwingmy bag over my shoulder, Idrag myself onto the waiting bus. Harper collapses beside me, and neither of us speaks; there's no need to. We're living the same dream, chasing the same high, and destroying our bodies for those precious moments under the lights.
It's not the glamorous life people imagine when they think of ballet. There's no sugar plum fairy bullshit here—just blood, sweat, and the kind of dedication that borders onmadness. But when those stage lights hit, I remember why I've spent most of my life working my ass off for it.
The drive to the hotel doesn't take long, but it also feels like forever. Honestly, I can't wait to collapse into bed. Nobody warns you how mentally exhausting life on the road can be—constantly moving, never staying anywhere longer than a week, living out of a suitcase that somehow gets heavier even though you're sure you're losing things along the way.
Physically, I'm fine. My body's used to the grind. But my brain? It's tired. As much as I love the tour, I miss my bed.
After dropping Harper off at her and Logan's room down the hall, I shuffle to mine, ready to pass out for a solid eight hours. But when I reach into my bag, my key is nowhere to be found.
"What the…" I mutter under my breath, dropping my bag to the ground. I dig through it again, pulling out random items like a frantic raccoon—still nothing.
With a groan that comes from deep in my soul, I grab my bag and drag myself back down the hall to Harper and Logan's room. When I knock, they both open the door, smiling at me like a pair of creepy-assclowns.
"Can I come in and use the phone?" I ask, already exhausted by the effort of standing."I need someone to come unlock my door."
"Where's your key?" Logan asks, still grinning at me.
My eyes narrow, suspicion bubbling up as I take in the matching smirks plastered on their faces. "What are you doing right now?"
"Us? Nothing," Logan says, feigning innocence, but the sparkle in his eyes says he's full of shit.
"Where did you last have your key?" Harper chimes in, all too casual.
"It was in my bag, where it always is." I huff, crossing my arms. "You two are being weirdly annoying right now with those faces."
Harper's practically vibrating with contained excitement. "Maybe you should check your room."
"Why the fu—" My words die in my throat as realization dawns. My eyes widen. "No way. Is he…?"
"Better go knock on that door, Amelia," Harper says, already shoving me toward it.
I don't wait for more. I'm running down that hallway like my ass is on fire, my heart trying to punch its way out of my chest. The door appears in front of me, and I'm pounding on it like a crazy person.
"Jesus, Firefly." Tobias's voice comes from the other side as the door swings open. "You trying to break it down?"
The moment I see him, I launch myself into his arms,andmy legs wrap around his waist.
"You came," I breathe out, my hands framing his face, memorizing him all over again. "You actually fucking came."
"I told you, baby, if you need me, I'm here."
His fingers tangle in my hair, yanking my head back just enough to expose my throat, and then his mouth is on mine. It's not gentle. It's not sweet. It's pure desperation, all tongue and teeth and promises. I whimper into his mouth, and he swallows the sound like he's starving for it.
"I can't believe you're here," I whisper breathlessly between kisses.
"I'm here," he murmurs against my lips, walking us toward the bed and laying me down with a gentleness that contradicts the hunger in his eyes.
His thigh nudges mine apart, and I feel the hard length of him press against me as he grinds into me, his lips finding the sensitive curve of my throat,and when he inhales against my skin, the sound he makes is almost primitive.
"God, you smell like heaven." He groans, his teeth grazing my pulse point. "I've been going crazy without you."
"You're here, baby," I repeat, still unable to believe it.
"You've said that already." He chuckles softly, his lips grazing my collarbone.
I'm already fighting with my clothes, desperate to feel his skin on mine. He helps, practically ripping my leggings off and taking my underwear with them. When he looks at me, his hand drags through his hair, his jaw ticks, and his chest rises and falls like he's barely holding himself together.
His hands move to his belt, unbuckling it with ease, and I sit up on my knees, turning to face him. My fingers find the hem of his T-shirt, tugging it up as I press soft kisses against his skin.
As my mouth moves across his chest, my hands follow, instinctively reaching out to touch him. But tonight, something's different. My hands follow their own path across his chest and suddenly stop, finding unfamiliar territory—rough edges where there should be smooth skin. My brow furrows as I look down, and my heart stutters when I see it—a tiny, intricately designed firefly.
He takes my hand, guiding it to rest against his chest, right over his heart. "I wanted to take a piece of you everywhere with me."
My fingers trace the tiny firefly, the fresh ink still slightly raised under my touch. Without thinking, I lean in and press a kiss to the tattoo, sealing it with the kind of reverence that comes from knowing you've been given a piece of someone's soul.
My hand slides lower, finding him hard and ready, and his whole body jerks at my touch. His eyes close, those stupidly long lashes fanning against his cheeks, and the sound he makes shoots straight through me.
"I need you, baby," I beg, my voice trembling with desperation.
Tobias's gaze darkens, his hands already working to strip the last of his clothes. He drags his fingers over me, teasing me until I'm arching off the bed.
"I promise you, Mills," he murmurs, his voice rough and raw, "I'll spend the rest of the night eating your pussy until you're too fucked-out to remember your own name, but right now I need to be inside you."
He doesn't wait for a response—he doesn't need one. The need between us is a living, breathing thing. His mouth claims my breast, teeth scraping my nipple as he lines up and pushes in.One long, brutal stroke, and he's home, stretching me wide and making me feel owned—making me whole.
"Fuck, I'm not gonna last," he grits out, his forehead pressed to mine. "My cock's been starving for you."
"Just fuck me. Kiss me. Fill me with your cum." My nails rake down his back, marking him. "I need to feel you, Tobias—your body, everything."
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, and he starts to move. His forehead stays pressed to mine as our bodies collide, and the sound of skin meeting skin echoes in the room.
"I've missed you." His voice shatters, each word punctuated by a thrust that threatens to break me apart. "Missed this tight pussy… Fuck, I love you."
His pace turns savage, the kind of rough perfection that'll leave bruises I'll press tomorrow just to feel him again. It's when his hand lowers between us, fingers finding my clit and rubbing circles that steal my breath, that's when everything detonates. My orgasm violently slams into me, my body convulses beneath him, and my fingers claw at his skin.
He follows seconds later with a sound that's more animal than human, his hips jackhammering as he empties himself inside me. His grip is bruising as he holds me down, cock pulsing as he marks me from the inside out, filling me until I'm overflowing with him.
My head rests on his chest, and I absentmindedly trace patterns over his skin, memorizing every inch of him, while his hand lazily strokes my back, grounding me in the quiet intimacy of the moment.
"You looked beautiful when you danced tonight."
I shift, propping myself up on his chest to meet his gaze. "You were there?"
"Of course I was." He catches my chin and presses a kiss to the tip of my nose, causing my heart to swell. "I’ve never felt that proud in my entire life. And even though I hate what it means for us, you made the right decision to do this. You belong up on that stage."
I drop my head back to his chest, releasing a shaky breath. "The touring is killing me. And now they're talking about international shows in a couple of years. Which means…"
"Flying," he finishes gently.
"Even thinking about stepping on a plane makes me feel nauseous," I admit, the feargrippingme just from saying it out loud. "What happened to my dad was unbelievably tragic, and I know it’s rare, but I can’t get past it."
His hand moves to the back of my neck, his thumb stroking soothing circles against my skin. "Whathappened to your dad was awful, but it was a freak accident. It doesn’t mean it’s going to happen to you."
"My head knows that," I whisper, "but the fear is still there."
"Then let’s focus on the now," he says, shifting slightly so he can look at me. "Is the dream still New York?"
"It’ll always be New York," I say without hesitation.
"So this is just part of the journey." The conviction in his voice makes me want to believe every word he's saying. "You're building your name, baby. And when New York calls—because it will—you'll be ready."
"What about you?" I ask, my voice quieter now.
"Don't insult me by asking that." His fingers thread through my hair, tilting my face to meet his eyes. "I need two things in this life: you and a space to create. One of those is nonnegotiable, and the other?" A soft laugh rumbles through his chest. "I can build a studio anywhere. When New York happens,ithappens for us both. Simple as that."
I surge up, catching his mouth with mine, trying to pour everything I feel for this beautiful man into the kiss. When I pull back, my voice shakes. "You'd really follow me?"
"Firefly," he whispers, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us. "I'd follow you straight into hell if that's where you were headed."