Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Theo
“Fucking sell out asshole,” I hear whispered behind me.
It’s one of the many angry comments I hear throughout the night as I stand backstage at The Cobalt for Marley’s final performance of the season.
I can feel the glares. The dozens of pissed-off reactions when they see me posted backstage.
The looks and insults don’t bother me. They never do. If anything, it’s a welcomed distraction from this heavy grief in my chest.
What does bother me are the judgments cast on Marley. Her small attempts at engaging with other dancers or staff are blown off, all because she brought me here with her. While she doesn’t seem to be outwardly bothered, I can’t help but hate this for her.
In their eyes, she’s sided with the devil. I’m worried I’ve tarnished her reputation by association. It would make sense that I ruin something for someone again. It feels like everything I do crumbles beneath my fingertips.
From the dark wings of the stage, I watch the curtains rise. The low hum of the audience fades as the lights hit center stage, and like that, it all begins.
I’ve sat through meetings with world leaders and investors who move markets, but nothing has ever made my chest feel like this. Like I’m holding my breath, watching something sacred unfold.
They move as one. Every dancer is fluid and sharp, the hours of rehearsals evident in each step. It’s all mesmerizing and beautiful, but it’s her I can’t stop watching.
Marley stands behind the curtain on the opposite wing, her posture straight, watching the show as she awaits her cue. There’s pride in her face. Sadness too.
She thinks this is it, the end of an era at this theater. Ever since that day in my car, she’s worn a brave face, never once showing the turmoil I know has to be churning beneath the surface. She’s held it together better than anyone I know, drawing a clean line between business and personal.
I don’t want that for her though. I don’t want her to feel like she has to pretend she’s in one piece when she’s breaking inside. I want her to know she can fall apart, and I’ll still be there to catch every single piece. It’s what she’s already done for me.
When she glances across the stage and her eyes meet mine, she lifts a hand in a small wave. A feeling in my chest sparks to life.
In that split second, I know—every risk, every fight with the board, every sleepless night—it’ll all be worth it.
After her performance, I wait in the dim backstage hallway. Dancers and backstage crew pass by, most of them barely sparing me a glance. I’m used to feeling like the most hated man in the room, but tonight, it stings more than usual.
I want to stop them. Tell them I’m fixing it.
That if I have anything to do with it, this theater will still be standing in one year, ten years—hell, fifty.
This isn’t some passion project I’ll forget about when the next shiny investment comes along.
I want this place to matter and become something that outlives all of us.
A door creaks open, then clicks shut behind her.
Marley steps out, wearing loose sweats rolled at the hips and a thin black tank that makes it really fucking hard to focus on anything noble.
She doesn’t head toward me like I expect. Instead, she glances over her shoulder and tilts her head toward the stairwell in the opposite direction.
“Follow me,” she says softly.
I trail behind her, up the low-lit stairwell, the steps creaking with every step.
It feels like we’re walking into the set of a horror film, with walls aged, paint peeling, everything echoing a little too loud.
At the top, she pushes through a heavy metal door that groans on its hinges.
It swings open, and we step out into the night.
It’s pitch-black, except for the yellow glow of a single buzzing sconce.
“You showed me your special rooftop spot,” she says, smiling with her lips red as a cherry. “So, I wanted to show you mine.”
The city stretches out in front of us, glittering under the dark sky. A plane blinks across the horizon, and the wail of a siren rings out in the night. Out here, on the edge of everything, the buildings aren’t as tall, but the air feels clearer, like the city is exhaling.
The rooftop is old and forgotten, yet there’s something remarkable about it. Like it’s the one place in the world where you can take a full breath, and actually feel it fill your lungs. Similar to my patio, but with a hint of grunge.
She settles onto a cement ledge, leaning her chin against the rail directly in front of us, scanning the quiet street below.
“I can see why you like it up here,” I murmur, sitting beside her. “It’s peaceful.”
When I look over, her eyes are quickly filling with tears. She swipes at them like they’re tiny little intruders that don’t belong there.
Moving closer, I pull her gently between my legs, wrapping my arms around her. “You were beautiful out there tonight,” I whisper, pressing my lips to her hair.
I could’ve watched her for hours. Not just because she was beautiful, but because she danced like it mattered, like her whole heart was in every step.
My comment causes her tears to spill over, a steady stream down her face.
“Damn it, I’m sorry.” She lifts her eyes to the sky like gravity is the traitor in this situation.
“I’ll do anything for you. Anything to fix it,” I murmur against the temple of her head.
“You can’t. Not this,” she breathes.
I pull her closer, press a kiss to the side of her head, and whisper, “I think it’s about time I tell you something.”
Her breathing stills, as she looks up at me, confused. She’s clearly waiting for the worst to drop from my mouth.
“I’m going to save The Cobalt, Marley. One way or another, it’s staying right where it is.”
“Theo.” She shakes her head. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” I cut in gently. “But not just for me. Or even for the city. It’s for what this place means to you.”
She goes quiet, watching me like she’s not sure whether to kiss me or kill me.
“I know the numbers say it’s a loss. But I have an idea. Something that could actually work. And maybe, something you’d want to be part of.”
Her brow lifts, intrigued. “Well, you do know I’m always up for anything.”
“Then hear me out. What if we started a nonprofit to preserve The Cobalt? Community-based, art-focused. And what if you ran it?”
She blinks.
“As artistic director,” I continue. “You’re the only person I’d trust with it.
You know this world. You care. And if you wanted, it could give you everything you love: dance, performance, the space to create.
You’d run it. I’d step back, and it would be its own independent project.
Essentially, the theater would be yours, with Prescott Investment and grants funding it all. ”
Her mouth falls open. No words. Only shock radiating off her like heat.
“I don’t know what to say,” she breathes. “I’m not sure if I really deserve something of this magnitude.”
With one finger, I tilt her chin to meet my eyes. “Let there be one thing clear, love. You deserve the fucking world. And to clarify, this isn’t about selfishly tying you to me. None of this is dependent on us. It’s about finally giving you something you don’t have to lose.”
Saving the theater won’t be cheap. It won’t be easy. And the board will hate every second of it. Yet, none of that seems to matter when I look at her, eyes wide with a mixture of hope and shock as she processes everything I’ve sprung on her.
“You’d really do that for me?” she asks.
“I’d do anything for you. Fucking anything you ask, and it’s yours.”
She looks at me, searching my eyes to see if perhaps this was all one big joke. When she sees I’m dead serious, she tucks her knees to her chest and asks, “What about me being your assistant? Would I do both jobs?”
“Well, if you decide being artistic director is what you want to do, then I’m sure you’ll be busy enough with running the theater. So, we would no longer be working together.”
Her brow furrows. “But I like working with you.”
My heart stops for her right then and there. “You’re hands down the first person to ever say that.” I chuckle. “And I’d miss you too. But hopefully, I’d still see you. A lot. As my girlfriend?”
She smiles ruefully. “Theo Prescott. Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”
I smile back, feeling totally out of my depth with her and this. “I am. I thought since we wouldn’t be working directly together, we could try and give us a real shot. If you wanted to, of course.”
Pushing off the ledge, she leaps into my arms. I fall back on the cement, laughing, as she sits on top of me, staring down at me with a playful gleam on her face. “You know what I think?”
“What?” I ask, already getting hard beneath her.
She grinds her hips into mine. “I think we should go back and consummate this relationship.”
Technically, I’m pretty sure that only applies to marriage. With the way she’s moving against me, though, I’m not about to argue semantics.
Lifting her easily, I stand and make a very public show of getting the hell out of here. She giggles into my neck, her laugh tucked into my ear like it was made to live there.
I think I could get used to this.
A life with her. Her breath warm and happy on my skin. Putting a smile on her face and giving her everything she wants.
And if giving her everything starts with getting her out of this building and into my bed—well, I’m more than up for the task.