Chapter 29 #2
Her expression didn't crumble. Instead, the mortification that flashed in her eyes was quickly banked, replaced by a sharp, self-directed professionalism.
A flush still climbed her neck, a tell-tale sign of her embarrassment, but her spine remained straight.
She took a deliberate step back, creating a clean, physical line between them.
"No," she said, her voice firm, though a little tight.
"Don't say that. It's not all your fault.
I misread the situation. I let my own...
hopes...get in the way of good judgment.
" She gave a short, sharp shake of her head, as if angry at herself.
"I'm sorry, Breakneck. That was out of line. It won't happen again."
She met his gaze directly, her own clear and steady despite the crestfallen disappointment he could see swimming in their depths.
She wasn't a woman who would crumble from a rejection.
She was a sailor who had made a tactical error and was now assessing the damage.
She owned her part in it completely, which only made him feel like more of an asshole.
The easy camaraderie they'd shared was now irrevocably changed.
The smell of burned powder lingered in the air, sharp and familiar, grounding in a way Ayla needed now. She stripped the mag from her weapon and set it aside, hands steady, even though her pulse wasn’t.
She told herself she had been riding the adrenaline. That the closeness meant nothing.
But Breakneck stood beside her like gravity had shifted. Solid. Calm. Focused. He always seemed to be absorbing the world at a deeper frequency, like everything around him mattered more than it should. Today, especially today, he’d felt different. More open than before.
His energy and his apology were beautiful on him, and the fact was that she couldn’t really fault him. She had been seduced by him in so many ways, but most especially by the way he handled himself. She’d get over it, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell.
He’d been so sweet to her, and this didn’t change anything. She’d seen him like this before, when she’d broken down after the RPG incident. He’d listened. Really listened weith a steady presence and quiet understanding. He hadn’t tried to fix her. He’d just been there.
Men rarely acted like that.
She glanced at him again, taking in the way his shoulders stayed loose even when his eyes were sharp, the way his hands remained at his sides. There was something gentle under all that lethal capability, something that made her chest ache in a way she didn’t quite understand.
His hesitation when she’d told him he was different hit her square in the heart. He hadn’t been deflecting. He wasn’t playing coy. He just didn’t see what she saw, and that made her heart ache differently for him.
Still, she smiled. Because what was the alternative? Pretend she didn’t feel this pull? Pretend the air between them hadn’t been shifting for weeks? Pretend that she hadn’t kissed him?
She swallowed, heat flooding her face as reality rushed in. She’d built it all in her head.
She forced a breath, squared her shoulders. “Whoever it is you’ve been preoccupied with, she’s lucky,” she said. Just stating the truth.
He looked away, his face contorting. “Maybe not.”
There was agony in his voice. That almost made it worse.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I didn’t mean to—”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he cut in quickly. “You took a chance and that’s courageous. I respect that.”
She smiled because it was easier than crying.
“Guess I’m still calibrating,” she said lightly. “Bad data.”
He huffed a small breath, grateful for the deflection. “Happens to the best of us.”
She stepped back, putting space where her heart needed it most. The ache was sharp, but clean. Some regret because Kelly was the type of man who deserved someone good.
As she walked away, she let herself feel it fully. Just the quiet, aching truth. He wasn’t meant for her, and she would never make that mistake again with another Tier 1 operator. She should have been smarter, and next time she would be.
The air in Vancouver felt too soft.
The moisture curled against her skin the second she stepped off the plane. Salt and eucalyptus and the faint trace of stage makeup.
Blair didn’t believe in ghosts.
But this city had a way of pressing old versions of herself back to the surface.
She hadn’t wanted to leave Breakneck like that. God knew what he must be carrying right now. But she couldn’t let her little sister down, and she sensed he needed space to breathe. Ayla. Her. The weight she’d seen in his eyes when he’d refused to touch her on the studio floor.
She’d walked in on something she didn’t understand. She refused to let her mind turn it into something it wasn’t.
She believed in him. No…she trusted him.
He hadn’t responded to her the way he had only to turn around and kiss another woman. That wasn’t who he was.
That certainty scared her.
The last time she’d trusted like this, she’d been wrong.
Darrow’s polished admiration had turned out to be projection and control wrapped in a pressed uniform. She had mistaken intensity for devotion. Mistaken attention for truth.
But Kelly Gatlin had tried to warn her away. He’d drawn lines. He’d hesitated. He’d refused to take advantage when she’d been plastered to him. He’d covered her hand in the dark like she was something precious and fierce all at once.
She hadn’t imagined that.
Still, when she’d seen him with Ayla, something had flickered. Not doubt in him. Doubt in herself. A sharp flash of fear that maybe she was slipping again. Wanting too much. Ignoring red flags she was too hopeful to see.
That was the old pattern, and she wasn’t going back there.
She hauled her bag off the carousel and squared her shoulders.
He would have her trust until he proved he didn’t deserve it, and when she got back, she would talk to him.
She was here for her sister, Emily, with the long legs and perfect feet and the kind of turnout that coaches used to salivate over. Emily, who’d survived the same pressure Blair had, but somehow danced lighter beneath it.
Your dad is outside at the curb. The text from her mother popped up, and she wheeled her bag toward the exit to the pickup area. She would soon be home, in the room she had when she’d been a girl.
Her dad got out and helped with the bag.
“Hi, Daddy. It’s good to see you.”
“You too, honey.” The drive was short, and she was soon at her parents’ palatial mansion, the house she’d grown up in. She braced herself as she stepped inside the foyer.
“Blair,” her mother said, smiling with practiced warmth. “You look…softer.”
The words sliced with precision. A microaggression dressed as a compliment.
Blair just nodded. “Hi, Mom.”
“Your hair’s grown out.” Her mother’s eyes flicked over her. “Less severe than when you were in law enforcement.”
Still am, Blair thought, but didn’t say. There was no point. Her mother didn’t ask about her work. Never had. Never would.
To her, Blair would always be the failure. The disappointment in pointe shoes. The one who’d had to be carried offstage and never walked back.
She hugged her sister, Allison, next, stiff but polite, and ignored the familiar sense of being simultaneously seen and erased.
Ally had been the dutiful daughter and joined their dad in his law firm.
They didn’t ask where she’d come from. They didn’t ask about Kamloops or deployments or compound raids. They didn’t ask about anything at all.
Emily ran into the foyer. “I’m so glad you’re here! Come on, you have to help me pick out the outfit I’ll wear to the performance,” she said with bright-eyed enthusiasm.
“Is there a boy?” Blair said with a teasing smile.
“No…maybe…he should be so lucky.” Emily grinned and hugged her like she meant it.
Up in her room, she closed the door and sighed.
Nothing had changed. It was like her room had been frozen in time.
All the awards, the performance pictures and programs, her toe shoes hanging off the edge of her canopy bed.
She wasn’t this girl anymore, or the woman who had joined the RCMP.
She was no longer the woman Darrow had groomed and betrayed.
She was no longer under his thumb. She had moved past all that.
What she wanted to be was whole. Free in her own skin, embracing all the authenticity that was buried for so long.
She didn’t have to be perfect to be worthy. Control wasn’t safety. Authenticity was strength. She could want and still remain herself.
She looked into the gilt mirror at her face, her eyes assessing and shrewd. What she wanted was Breakneck, regardless of what she’d seen. It was all about how she felt about him, and that was too strong to ignore.
Two hours later, the backstage area smelled like rosin and nerves.
Familiar and exciting. She missed this so much, but it was something she’d had to let go.
Curtains whispered with movement, pointe shoes tapped lightly on the floor, and whispered instructions floated between dancers like old ghosts rehearsing their lines.
Blair stood off to the side, her arms crossed loosely, as she watched her sister warm up at the barre. Emily moved with practiced precision, but there was a tightness in her form, something off in the rhythm of her breath.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said softly. “I knew you’d come. You promised.”
Blair gave a small smile. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Emily hesitated. Her chin tilted, just slightly. A tiny breach in composure. “I’m nervous.”
Blair’s smile faded, replaced with something quieter. “That’s normal.”
“I’m not sure it is.” Emily looked down, voice dropping. “I’ve been pushing hard. Maybe too hard. I think I overdid it. I—” She swallowed. “I’m worried I might not make it through the full piece.”