Chapter Twenty Eight #2
‘It’s terrible. The acts weren’t this bad in practice. What am I going to do?’ she signs in a panic. I still her fretting fingers and force her to mimic a deep breath with me.
‘No, it’s not terrible. Just… not great,’ I sign back with a wince. ‘Why don’t you get up there and dance? You’re an incredible dancer.’
Addy’s shoulders sag, her smile barely flickering before the dog in its ruffled collar bounds between us, dragging its owner behind a tangle of leashes.
‘I can’t compete. I’m the organizer,’ she signs once the chaos has passed. Her bottom lip wobbles, and tears shine in her eyes. Addy doesn’t do “less than perfect.” To her, anything short of excellence is failure.
‘Okay, breathe’, I sign, resting a hand on her arm. ‘Everyone’s having fun, and no one’s going to hold you responsible for a few off-key performances. Just save your best act for last, so everyone goes home smiling, okay?’
Addy exhales shakily, then leans in to hug me, her arms looping around my neck. I rub her back until she steadies.
‘You’re right,’ she signs finally, a real smile breaking through. ‘I do have a huge surprise planned for after the show. I can’t wait for you to see it!’ I raise a curious brow, but I don’t ask for more information. I’m just glad to see her spark returning.
‘Sounds good,’ I sign with a wink. “Now I have to hit the bathroom before Rhys comes hunting for me.”
Heading deeper into the locker room, my gaze catches on Clay’s locker.
It’s spotless now, but I can still see what it used to look like burned into my memory.
I still can’t believe Rhys’ hacker hasn’t been able to dig up anything.
Still, with each day that passes, I think Rhys was right to not go to the police.
I don’t want to run the risk of having our business splashed on the front covers of every paper.
So much for laying low and staying visible.
I know there’s a small private bathroom past the showers, so I continue on in that direction.
The door’s closed, and when I test it, it feels locked.
I lean against the wall, giving it a minute.
I know Rhys. If I take too long, he’ll probably insist on supervising.
He hasn’t crossed that line yet, but the man’s getting close.
I smile, remembering our afternoon together. Making progress with the king of self-destruction is like scaling a mountain barefoot. It takes patience and blood, but standing at the top with him, finally getting through to him, that’s a high no substance could ever match.
The door opens suddenly, and I find myself staring into a pair of cold blue eyes.
Klara. Her over-foundationed face twists in disgust, her fake lashes fluttering like they might fly off.
She blocks the doorway, refusing to move.
We’ve already danced this dance before. I know she hits like a toddler and hates losing.
So she sticks to glaring, her stare sharp enough to cut glass.
“He was mine first, you know,” she mouths. I roll my eyes. Not this again. Her gaze drifts down me and back up with that ‘what do you have that I don’t?’ look, and I can’t help but pity her.
“Green’s not a good color on you,” I say flatly, attempting to step around her, but she mirrors me like a bratty twin. Her perfectly manicured brows pinch together.
“I’m not wearing green,” she replies, utterly confused.
I shouldn’t burst out laughing in her face, but I can’t help it.
I’m all for girls standing together and raising each other up, but she can’t be that dim-witted, surely?
Pushing past her, not taking no for an answer, I slam the door before Klara can say anything else.
She needs to move on. In an ideal world, she could find someone who can show her her worth, but I understand that Mr. Kavanagh and Mr. Waversea have other plans for their children.
Ones that will see them both trapped in misery for the rest of their lives.
One problem at a time. I move further into the small bathroom, eyeing the oval mirror hanging above the basin and small window of frosted glass above it. Quickly taking care of business, I wash my hands and study my reflection in the mirror above the sink.
What do I have that she doesn’t?
Sure, Klara has the looks and the confidence many men would die for, but she’s also got the warmth of a viper.
I’m not exactly a catch either. I got my dark hair and green eyes from Dad, my hermit tendencies from Mom.
Hardly the kind of girl who winds up with not one, but two dangerously protective, model-tier men orbiting her.
I smile at myself, ever-so-slightly, at that thought.
Mom would probably high-five me. She’s the one who filled her bookshelf with paperbacks covered in shirtless men, after all.
She’s also the reason I love stories, the kind that remind you passion and pandemonium can coexist. Running my hands over my hair, I adjust my sweater, and head to the door.
Unlocking the latch, I twist the handle, but it doesn’t budge. Frowning, I try several more times before banging my fist on the wood.
“Hey! This isn’t funny!” I yell, figuring Klara’s standing on the other side, laughing her ass off.
Yes, ha ha good one. I can appreciate a good joke too, but I don’t want to miss Addy’s big surprise.
Shoving my shoulder against the door, I lock and unlock it just in case the bolt got stuck.
The door isn’t shifting at all, so I stop wasting my efforts.
It’s fine. Rhys knows where I am, and he’ll be here soon anyway.
Standing back, I cross my arms. Seconds turn into minutes, my patience wearing thin enough for me to braid my hair over my shoulder, unravel it and do the same over the other side.
Silence wraps around me, strangely thick and heavy for a change.
Once the boys realize I’m stuck, they’ll activate their mics and we can at least have a conversation through the door.
For now though, there’s just a stillness I’m usually comfortable with, but right now is making me twitchy.
What the hell is taking him so long?