Chapter 24 ADRIAN
ADRIAN
The same woman who once gave me the finger in the middle of a hockey game when I skated past her in the stands is pale. Her eyes are heavy and dark, glancing down to where I’m holding her in my arms, as if she can’t believe what’s happened.
She’s probably processing the reality of it, the way her brows are knitting together slowly. All of a sudden, Sonya stumbles back a step like she’s realized how pressed against my chest she is.
She shakes her head when I try to reach for her again. Fuck.
“I need to go,” she says, her voice rising with panic.
“No.”
Sonya lifts her gaze and attempts to hide a flinch. Her cheeks flush as she takes a second step back.
She’s not just devastated, but also humiliated.
The realization tears through me, rocking me back on my feet.
My hands go up and I show my open palms to her, desperate to prove that she’s safe with me. Fuck, fuck, fuck. How do I prove that she doesn’t have to be embarrassed? That I’d rather gnaw off my arm than see her hurting like this?
“It’s going to be okay, darling,” I promise, my voice rough, thick with determination.
A weak, bitter sound slips from her. “Don’t.”
I forgot how well I know her. She doesn’t want reassurance right now.
“What do you need?” I ask quietly. Anything she asks for is hers.
Sonya swallows hard. “Leave.”
My throat tightens. “Sorry, darling. That’s the one thing I can’t do.”
I refuse to walk away from her. Not when she’s clutching her stomach like that.
Slowly I try approaching again, but she shrinks back. Her eyes look off into the distance, going dull.
My stomach drops.
She’s retreating deep in a shell, going somewhere nobody can reach her. Now I’m curling and uncurling my suddenly useless hands, desperate to carry her away so nothing hurts her ever again.
She wouldn’t want that. I don’t even think I’m allowed to hug her again. So, what’s left to keep her talking, to keep her communicating with me, so she tells me what she needs?
My words.
It’s what I’ve always used in the past, any time I’d tried to provoke a reaction in Sonya. But fuck, I don’t want to push her again like that. All I want is to know what’s going on inside her head, to hear her out and figure out what’s wrong.
Instead, I’m smirking like none of this has torn me into pieces, feeling like the biggest bastard there is. “You’re exhausted. Let’s find a place for you to sit down… We can use my lap, baby.”
The words slipped out of me. I wanted to be comforting, not…
But it’s too late. There it is.
A kindle of annoyance, sparking in her expression…then spreading. Sonya swears.
“I don’t get it,” she mutters darkly. “How the hell are you here?”
“I never left. I was parked in the lot.”
Her mouth twists. “Why?”
“I had a phone call come in from Coach Forrester. I thought I shouldn’t drive distracted, so I stayed back and took it. I’m glad I did—”
“I’m not,” Sonya grits out, sounding more and more like herself. Her arms cross. “Because you saw me—like that—”
“What happened?” I ask slowly, tucking my hands into my pockets so she doesn’t see them shake. “Why did you have a panic attack?”
Her scrunched features scream denial. Note to self: Don’t call it a panic attack.
Sonya scrubs at her eyes, tipping her head down. “Even if that’s what happened, what does it matter? I have to figure out how I’m going to impress Bob Pepita on my own since Madame Kozlova doesn’t want me.”
I step closer, unable to help myself. Without thinking about it, my hand finds her wrist. “What do you mean she doesn’t want you?”
“She fired me—”
My thumb starts rubbing circles.
“Stop that,” she hisses.
“Nope.”
Her mouth flattens as she clenches her jaw. “Why don’t you ever listen? Or do what I expect you to do? Why are you…such a thorn in my side?”
“Tell me how it’s possible you got fired, darling.”
Sonya closes her eyes. “I don’t know. I guess they’re afraid I’m going to hurt someone with my dancing. Like I’m doing it on purpose. Screwing up. Falling. Why would I do that? This place is my home. I’ve spent more time here than at my apartment.”
My heart quietly cleaves into pieces. How could anyone not want Sonya? It doesn’t make sense to me.
She swallows, continuing. “Madame Kozlova was supposed to believe in me. She knows that I’m mentally the strongest ballerina she’s ever met. That she never has to worry about me, because I never let her down.”
A light breeze ruffles Sonya’s hair as she opens her eyes again. Black pupils drenched with misery.
Her pain sticks to me. I can’t fucking stand it. I hate it so much.
“And now? After two mistakes she wants to—” Sonya tugs at her hair. “I’m strong-willed, headstrong, independent. All those things. That’s me. But it’s not enough? I’m not good enough? Now w-what?”
She wheezes.
I let go of her wrist and cover the back of her neck with my hand, squeezing lightly. “Breathe, baby.”
Sonya shudders. Then inhales sharply.
“Not.” She huffs. “Your. Baby.”
The dread in my stomach doesn’t erase but slightly lifts hearing the bite in her words. “It shouldn’t surprise me that you’re stubborn even when you hyperventilate, but it does.”
“Not nearly stubborn enough.” Sonya looks at her hands.
They’re trembling.
My teeth grind. Never mind—undefined, unrelenting pain stabs me behind the ribcage. Especially when she tries to make them into fists and fails.
“I don’t want to feel like this,” mumbles Sonya. “I can’t stand it. I hate it so much. I want…” Her voice drifts.
“What do you want?” I ask softly.
“To get mad.”
“Yeah?”
“I’d prefer it. Any day.”
“Okay.” I offer her my hand. “If that’s what you need, I’m going to make it happen.”