Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
I lya waited for Mario in the practice area, wondering what fresh surprises the younger man had in store for him.
They’d decided on Friday after an exhausting day of cardio and weights to meet up on Saturday at Circo to work on the routine again. Ilya hadn’t suggested it because he was worried about the act, however. He had little doubt that with work, they could prepare a brilliant routine for the show.
No, what worried him was Mario. He’d definitely not been himself the previous day, distant and preoccupied. It had been understandable, given his fatigue and concern for his friends. But Ilya was glad he’d kept Mario from the straps, since a performer had to be completely focused in the air, not thinking about anything but what he was doing in the moment.
There had also been the incident with the water bottle, which puzzled Ilya as much as it concerned him. Not because Mario felt anger or frustration. The emotions weren’t a surprise, and Ilya would have been upset as well if a friend was missing and he couldn’t do anything about it. The water bottle itself was flimsy plastic that Ilya could probably have destroyed as easily as Mario had. But even physical and mental stress couldn’t explain what Ilya had seen on Mario’s face in that moment: pure fury.
Mario was handsome, of course. There was still a boyish cast to his face, enhanced by the way his eyes could light up with delight at seemingly small things. Ilya had seen him frowning, annoyed, concerned, embarrassed, pensive, wary and a host of other emotions that Ilya wasn’t aware he’d registered at the time but which came willingly enough to his memory when he thought about it. Yet despite that, he couldn’t recall a single time in the last ten weeks that he’d seen Mario angry.
Maybe it had been a trick of the light, or perhaps Ilya had simply been so shocked at the loud report as the water bottle had shattered that he’d unconsciously registered things as being worse than they were. But for a fraction of a second, he thought he had seen something so stark and dangerous on Mario’s face that it had sent a shiver down his spine. It was almost as though another face, one of barely contained darkness and primitive rage, had flowed over Mario’s features, turning him into a stranger. He’d looked more like a feral animal than a man, fanged and furious. It was also bizarrely compelling, an expression of such raw intensity that Ilya had been at once attracted and repelled.
Then it disappeared so quickly, Ilya thought he must have imagined it. Whatever it had been, if it had been there at all, Ilya was certain he never wanted to see Mario look that way again.
He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he started when he heard Mario’s voice behind him.
“Looks like you’re ready.”
Ilya turned, and to his vast relief, Mario simply looked like Mario, dressed in practice garb with a towel around his neck. He still appeared a little sad and tired, but he seemed himself in a way he hadn’t been the previous day.
Summoning up a brief smile, Ilya nodded. “Did you get some rest?”
“As much as I could,” Mario said. “They still haven’t found Cole, and poor Daphne is a wreck. Neither she nor Cole have any family, so we’re taking turns staying with her.”
“No family at all?” Ilya didn’t know that about them, but he didn’t have enough free time to get to know the performers who weren’t in his department very well.
“They were both orphans,” Mario replied. “The search is in the hands of the authorities now. I hope they find him alive.” He seemed to shake off the darkness of his thoughts. “Sorry. Shall we practice? I need to focus on something else.”
Ilya inclined his head in acknowledgement, and they began going through Mario’s preferred warm-up routine. Then they moved to the straps, beginning with the first part of the routine, this time using music instead of a metronome for timing. The final score for Capriccio was finished, and Ilya had been given the full soundtrack the day before. It sounded far more polished than the version he had first heard, and he hoped Mario would find it as inspiring as he did himself.
They went through the first five minutes of the program several times, then stopped to review the video on the special wide-angle video camera Ilya had set up. He was both impressed and relieved at the progress they were making. Ilya felt like he was holding his own rather than holding Mario back.
“It’s looking much better than at first, don’t you think?”
“Definitely,” Mario agreed. He seemed to have relaxed a bit, so Ilya pointed back to the straps.
“Shall we try the first pair sequence?”
Ilya wished they could work on the first section of the routine where they would swing together, but for that they needed someone to operate the crane, and he preferred having a couple of spotters as well. So he had to content himself with going through the static lifts and turns along with a section where they spun around one another close to the ground.
After several hours, they stopped, and Ilya was glad for the chance to rest. Mario seemed to drive himself harder than normal, perhaps to work off the tension of the previous two days.
“Had enough for today?” Ilya asked. He reached for a water bottle near his phone and downed half of it while Mario sipped at his own bottle.
“Nah, I can go for a while yet,” Mario said. “In fact, I was going to ask if you’d spot me so I can fly. I feel the need to be in the air.”
“Of course.” Ilya was glad that Mario wanted to do it, since it might help him decompress.
After moving several mats into position, Mario took the straps while Ilya retrieved the remote for the crane.
Ilya looked at Mario directly. “Do you remember the sequence I ran you through the last time you flew?”
“The one that you said wouldn’t be part of Capriccio?” Mario asked. “Yeah, I loved it.”
Ilya rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, a bit embarrassed to have been caught out. “It was from my original choreography for the show, but I took it out because I didn’t think Patrick would be able to handle it, at least not by the time or the premiere. But we can put it back in, if you’re willing.”
Mario nodded eagerly. “That would be great — it’s beautiful.” Then he grinned. “Do you think you’ll be ready by the premiere?”
Ilya rolled his eyes. “Just watch me,” he said, perhaps with a little more confidence than was warranted, given he’d not done any truly difficult moves yet. But he wanted the choreography back the way he’d originally envisioned it. The way he would have done it with Derek.
He discussed the moves with Mario again, refreshing his memory, before setting up to record the sequence. Since he could also play the music, it would give them a clear idea of how it would look to an audience.
Cueing up the music just before the sequence would begin, Ilya started the crane, lifting Mario into the air. He had both straps wrapped around his right arm, hand through the loops with a coil around his bicep. As the rigging ascended, Mario inverted himself, arms behind his back. Keeping his right leg straight up along the strap, he bent his left leg, placing his left foot behind his right knee. This was the starting position, one Ilya called “The Hanged Man.” In the actual show, the routine would lead naturally into the position, and Ilya would mirror it on his own straps.
The music reached its peak, and Ilya called out the timing as he set the rigging swinging. Mario went with the arc of the straps, tumbling out of the position to where he was dangling by one hand from the loops he held. In time to the swell of the music, Mario twisted, arching his body as he soared in a wide arc, before tucking in as he swung back in the opposite direction. While moving, he had pulled in his left arm, so that when he reached the top of the backswing, he could burst out of the tuck with a strap in each hand. His arms were swept back, legs together as he dove like a hawk sighting a rabbit, and Ilya set the rigging to descend. Mario swept close to the floor before Ilya raised the rigging again, and Mario twisted and turned, somersaulting like a high diver in a moment of weightlessness at the top of the next arc, then flipping his body into another breathtaking swing, flipping around his outstretched arms.
The entire sequence was barely three minutes, but Ilya didn’t think he had taken a single breath through the entire thing. He released a long sigh as the music faded. Mario was turning on the rigging, and when Ilya partnered him, their straps would entwine like snakes while they were lowered through a trapdoor in the stage. But for now, Mario landed gracefully on the mats, his mouth turned up in a smile and his eyes bright. The shadows beneath his eyes were gone.
“Did I do that well?” Mario asked teasingly, harkening back to Ilya’s response the first time he’d performed it.
Ilya inclined his head. “I might even grant you did it very well,” he said drily, and he was rewarded by Mario’s laugh. Something eased inside him at seeing Mario happy.
“Okay, you recorded it, right?”
“Of course,” Ilya replied. He picked up the video camera, carrying it over to Mario. He flipped the screen around and stood next to Mario, feeling the warmth of their bodies overlapping. Mario’s damp arm pressed against Ilya’s, and he caught a whiff of the soap and shampoo Mario used as Mario leaned his head closer so that they could both watch on the small screen.
Ilya had to admit the routine looked almost as good on playback as it had in real life. He could pay more attention now that he wasn’t operating the rigging, but he still couldn’t find any fault with Mario’s performance.
“I can’t wait to get up there and fly with you,” he said softly. Every time he watched Mario on the straps, the ache he felt to join him grew stronger.
He set the playback to the beginning again, wanting to show Mario a possible change to the routine, when a strange sound came from overhead. Ilya barely had time to glance up before he was thrown to one side as though he’d been launched from a catapult. He instinctively tucked as he slammed into the crash mats, while metal screamed and something huge and heavy crashed to the ground hard enough to make the entire building shake.
“Mario!” Ilya screamed as he rolled to his feet, terror squeezing his heart when he saw the wreckage strewn across the mats. The big crane had fallen from the ceiling, pulling one beam and the entire rigging with it. It looked like the aftermath of a car wreck — one where no one could have survived.
He didn’t know how, but Mario had picked him up and thrown him out of the way even as everything crashed down on them — but how could he have possibly made it out of the way in time himself? Frantic, Ilya skirted the twisted hunks of metal, praying he wouldn’t find Mario’s beautiful body mangled and lifeless on the other side. “Mario!”
“I’m okay!” Mario’s voice came from behind the mass of the broken crane, and Ilya’s knees went so weak with relief that he stumbled and almost fell. Then Mario stepped into Ilya’s line of sight, looking shaken but blessedly unharmed. “What in the hell happened?”
“I don’t know,” Ilya replied. He felt off kilter, probably from shock, and he shook his head like a man who’d taken too many punches as Mario moved closer. “How did you know? How did you get out in time? You threw me….”
Mario scrubbed his hands over his face, then blew out an unsteady breath. “I heard something above us. Like something breaking. I didn’t even think — I threw you, then sort of rode the momentum backward. I almost didn’t make it, and something grazed me as I fell.” He held out his left leg to one side. There was a long scratch along his calf, blood oozing out and dripping down toward his ankle.
“Oh, shit!” Ilya didn’t swear often, but the sight of Mario bleeding jolted him, cutting through the shock of what had happened and galvanizing him into action. “Sit down, right now!”
Ilya ran for the closest of the first aid lockers that were all around the complex. He pulled it open with so much force that the metal frame of the door slammed against the wall and the safety glass inset cracked, but mercifully didn’t shatter. His hands trembled as he reached for alcohol prep pads and one of the Primapore bandages, so he forced himself to take a calming breath. Very little ever damaged his calm, but this was almost too much for him to handle.
He hurried back over to Mario, who had taken a seat on one of the crash mats. Mario looked more than a little frazzled himself, but he held still while Ilya swabbed at the cut — which was thankfully superficial — then smoothed the long bandage into place.
By the time Ilya was finished, he noticed the people who were gathering, even on a Saturday, as apparently everyone who was still in the building came rushing up to find out what had happened. The security team was there as well, talking into their radios and trying to keep people away from the wreckage.
There was a babble of voices asking questions, but Ilya waved everyone away, glaring at those who wanted to linger. They could gawk at the mess and annoy the security and maintenance people. For right now, he needed to be close to Mario.
“You could have died, saving me,” he said, his voice low as he put his hands on Mario’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you just jump away?”
Mario gaped at him in shock. “I didn’t think. I just acted.”
Ilya didn’t understand the jumble of emotions he was experiencing, but he reached out to grip Mario’s shoulders, needing the contact because the biggest thing he felt, under the relief of Mario’s survival, as well as his own, was fear. A bit of it was fear of his own death, so narrowly averted, but more was fear for Mario. Fear that Mario could have had his life cut short in that fearless, unthinking moment. And then Ilya would have lost him forever.
He wanted to shake Mario, but at the same time, he wanted to pull him closer, hold him and keep him safe. He’d lost Derek; he wouldn’t survive if he lost Mario too. He went still, staring at Mario, the realization he’d been denying for weeks bursting through the blocks he’d placed around his mind and his heart. It wasn’t just attraction to a talented, handsome young man. Nor was it admiration, or hormones, or just the friendship he’d tried to convince himself he felt. It was a moment of clarity he could no more deny than he could claim that the earth wasn’t round or that water wasn’t wet.
He was falling in love with Mario.
The worst part was that Ilya knew from the bitter experience of losing Derek that there was no way to keep anyone safe. As if the twisted metal behind them wasn’t reminder enough.
“I’m sorry. I should thank you, not berate you.” Ilya dropped his hands and turned away so Mario wouldn’t see the combination of pain and bittersweet happiness Ilya was experiencing. Happiness because he never thought he’d feel again anything close to the connection he’d had with Derek, and which he now felt certain he could, in time, have with Mario. Pain because to allow his feelings to grow put him in danger of losing it all again. A loss he knew would destroy him as well.
“No, no, it’s fine,” Mario replied quietly, leaning closer to Ilya and keeping the circle of intimacy around them that Ilya was trying to back away from. “You’re in shock. Hell, I’m in shock. We both could have died, but we’re okay. Accidents happen, right? But don’t feel you have to thank me. I’d be devastated if something had happened to you, okay? I?—”
Mario’s voice seemed to break, and Ilya snapped his gaze back to Mario’s face, alarmed. But what he saw in Mario’s eyes was his own fear, reflected as though he were staring into a mirror. He remembered Mario had claimed to have a crush on him as a teen — perhaps those feelings were still there? Or was that wishful thinking Ilya had no business considering?
“Well. That could have been tragic.”
The voice broke the moment of connection, and Ilya glanced up, annoyed but also relieved. Things were too confusing for him, too intense, and he needed space and time to process. But the annoyance was greater when he saw who was standing over them, looking down at him and Mario with an unreadable expression.
Gordon. Did the damned man dwell in the walls of the building like a cockroach?
Ilya never liked being at a disadvantage, especially not with this man, so he rose to his feet, glad he was a couple of inches taller than Gordon.
Ilya glared at Gordon as realization struck. “Isn’t building maintenance part of the responsibilities of the board, and therefore you?”
Gordon’s brow furrowed in what might have been concern, but Ilya wasn’t sure he believed it was real. “We have complete maintenance records, and all safety standards have been followed, I assure you. Everything in Circo’s power is always done to protect our real assets: the performers. I suspect a manufacturing failure. We’ll be investigating this thoroughly.”
Ilya wanted to snap and ask if the glib explanation that fell from Gordon’s lips was something he had memorized in case of an accident like this happening, but he bit down on the words and gave a curt nod. He knew his emotions were running high, and probably his paranoia as well, given what they’d just avoided. It wouldn’t do to argue with Gordon in public and strain their relationship further, not when the man could end Ilya’s tenure with Circo if he wanted. “Of course you will. I’d expect nothing less.”
Gordon nodded, and Ilya told himself it was the paranoia again that made him see a glitter of satisfaction in those blue eyes. Instead, he looked down at Mario, who was still sitting on the mat and glancing at him and Gordon with a puzzled frown.
“And how is our wunderkind?” Gordon asked.
Mario’s expression turned deadpan. “I’m fine, just a scratch.”
“Good. Maybe the two of you should take a few days off to recover.” Gordon waved toward the broken crane. “We’ll have to get that replaced, but it could take some time because we’ll need to figure out why it happened, source a new one, and have repairs made to the beams and catwalks. In fact, we’ll have to inspect all the cranes in the building.”
“As you should,” Ilya said. “You attend to the building, and Mario and I will work out what we need as far as practice. We want to make sure we’re ready for dress rehearsals. Don’t we, Mario?”
Ilya wasn’t surprised when Mario flowed to his feet and stood beside him. He got the feeling Mario didn’t like Gordon any more than he did himself. “We’ll make the aerials in Capriccio the best that Circo has ever seen.”
“You do that,” Gordon’s tone was condescending. “The investigators will be in contact with you in the next few days, and I’ll let you know when the equipment is fixed. Maybe with some luck, you’ll still be able to put together an act — but if you can’t, I’ll make sure the board knows it wasn’t your fault.”
With that, he gave them a nod and turned away, and Ilya watched as the people standing around stepped back out of his way.Beside him, Mario slumped slightly, and Ilya heard him sigh.
“Seriously, what are we going to do?” Mario’s question sounded worried. “We can’t fly without the equipment. Who knows how long it will take them to replace it?”
Ilya clenched his jaw. For whatever reason, the encounter with Gordon had given him something to focus on other than his own confused feelings. He was starting to think Gordon was pushing him to give up, taking advantage of every situation and trying to twist it toward his own end. He didn’t know what Gordon’s game was, but the more determined he seemed to get Ilya to quit Circo, the more determined Ilya was to stay.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Gordon may have the ear of the board, but he seems to forget that I have friends in this town. Some of them were let go from Circo because of that son of a bitch.” He smiled grimly. “I think the chance to piss him off and screw with his nasty little schemes will make them very, very happy.”