15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Pasha
I ’d watched the Mending Hearts Tour from the sidelines at least fifty times, not including rehearsals and the pop-up performances like the ones we’d done in the Midwest. At every one of them, Alyssa drew my gaze as though there were an invisible magnetic field around her.
She glowed, and I wanted to bask in her light.
As the weeks had progressed, I’d come to understand and appreciate the dedication she had to dancing, to precision, to putting her whole heart into each performance.
I didn’t mind when she corrected me in our sessions or demanded we give the step, turn, or lift another try.
She wanted perfection, and I wanted to give it to her.
Not every concert on the tour went well—sometimes a costume snagged, a cue was missed, darkness bathed the stage when there should have been light, or someone forgot to remind Mia of the city.
One of the dancers might stumble or forget a step, but those nights were rare.
Most of the time, the show went off without a hitch, on autopilot.
Tonight, I’d been on edge. There’d been a shift in the air. In my role, my instincts had to be trusted. So I’d been tense on the sidelines, unable to enjoy the show, waiting for whatever was coming to hit so I could react .
When I’d caught a glimpse of Alyssa just before the show, she looked stressed, out of sorts, not full of the usual calmness that emanated from her. Maybe that was all this feeling was—I hadn’t been able to talk to her, to find out what had caused her mood.
Sometimes our secret was a treasure, something shiny just for us, and other times, it was a weight, bearing down, keeping me from giving the outward support I wanted to. Her behavior made me worried about her sister and whether something unexpected had happened to her.
The final song before the encores sprang to life, and across the stage, Alyssa waited for her cue.
At the sight of her, my chest swelled with an emotion I’d avoided analyzing for the last few days.
Being around her, now that we were together, made me happy.
The tortured violence of pining for her was gone, replaced by an equally addictive euphoria.
Everywhere I turned, she was there. And everywhere she was, my happiness bloomed.
On stage, the dancers rotated around each other. I frowned. Jazz had misstepped, ending up in Alyssa’s pathway just as she entered a complicated jump-and-spin combination. Alyssa was in midair, having gone into the jump blind. They were going to collide unless one of them made a quick correction.
My heart thudded, and I held my breath, torn between storming the stage and waiting to see if they’d avoid each other at the last moment.
As she landed, Alyssa tried to sidestep Jazz, who seemed completely unaware of her mistake.
Alyssa’s cry was overpowered by the music, but the agony on her face was clear as she fell to the floor.
I didn’t wait to see if she’d get up, didn’t let one of the physiotherapists discreetly help her off stage.
I charged out like a bull and swept her off the floor and into the wings of the stage on the other side.
She curled into me, her cries of pain muffled against my shirt.
Tentacles of tenderness stretched across my chest.
As I ignored everyone crowding me, hearing the flurry of other security guards rearranging themselves backstage to compensate for my absence, I shouldered my way directly to the medical room. When I tried to set her on the bed to examine her, she clung to me.
I sank into a chair with her cradled in my arms. “What hurts?” I murmured into her hair, holding her close. She was tall and thin, and in my arms, she felt as light as an injured bird.
“My—my ankle.” She took a deep breath and pressed her face against my neck.
The skin-to-skin contact was a gift. Desire and protectiveness stirred in me. I’d carry her to the ends of the earth, shield her from any harm, take her pain, gladly.
The door behind us popped open, and the physiotherapist Mia kept on staff entered. Her name eluded me for a moment.
Emika. Japanese ancestry, if I was remembering our one conversation correctly. She was older, had a sturdy build and kind, dark eyes.
“Let’s take a look,” she said, nodding for me to put Alyssa on the bed.
I rose from the chair and eased her onto the cotton sheet, concern creasing my brow. Alyssa’s face was pinched with pain, and her breathing was labored, but no tears fell.
“Just a little twist.” Alyssa ran her fingers along the side of her ankle.
Emika laughed. “You’d be surprised how often I hear little from performers when the word they should be using is big .
” She cradled Alyssa’s foot with the shoe still on.
“I have ice in the other room. I’ll go grab it.
We’re going to want to send you for X-rays as a precaution.
You’ve had ankle issues in the past, right? ”
“What dancer hasn’t had some issue or other?” Alyssa glared at her.
“I’ll be right back.” A smile touched the edges of her mouth.
As soon as the door closed, Alyssa said, “It’s nothing. I mean, it’s sore, but it’s going to be fine. I overreacted.” She could barely get the words out through her clenched jaw.
“You don’t have to pretend with me.” I ran a hand along the side of her face and then kissed her temple.
The door popped open, and I sprang back, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my jeans.
A spike of annoyance made me ball my hands into fists.
At times like this, I wanted to be able to comfort her without wondering how it would look, whether people wouldn’t just suspect the truth but would know it.
Emika eyed us and set the ice packs on the bench beside Alyssa. “You can go,” she said to me as she eased Alyssa’s shoe off her foot. “I’ll find someone to transport her to the hospital after I’ve had a chance to look her over.”
“No.” The radio attached to my hip beeped. The show had finished. “I’ll take her. I have to rearrange security, but I’ll be back in a few minutes to take her.”
I yanked the radio off my hip. My earpiece was full of chatter from the other security guards, who were ferrying Mia to the backstage area to meet the VIP fans.
I stepped out into the hallway and gave instructions to the other guards about which areas they were covering and their primary focus for the next few hours.
Then, I sent a text to Mia through my watch to let her know where I was going.
Slipping back into the room, I was surprised to see Alyssa putting weight on her foot. Her face was white, and her eyes were glassy. The ankle was swollen, and a purple-blue bruise was blossoming on the side. “ See?” she said. “I don’t need a hospital. Some ice. Some rest. Good as new.”
“It’s policy—Mia’s policy—to have, at a minimum, X-rays for any injuries where a broken bone is a possibility. The trip to the hospital wasn’t a suggestion or a request. It’s an order,” Emika said.
She didn’t need to tell me twice. I swept Alyssa up.
“Thank you,” I said to Emika as they left.
Whether or not Alyssa liked it, I wasn’t having her walk to the car to prove some nonexistent point.
She’d hurt herself, and she wasn’t a doctor or an X-ray machine. Her career was dependent on her health.
As I headed toward the car, one of the other bodyguards let me know that Mia would come to the hospital as soon as the fan event was over. I’d rather she didn’t, but I understood why she would.
“I have to be able to dance,” Alyssa whispered, her brown eyes tinged with panic. “If I can’t dance, I can’t pay my bills.”
“If you’re injured, you’re injured.”
“I won’t be able to help you anymore.”
“You can still help. I’ll just have to dance it alone.”
She rested her head on my shoulder and sighed. “That’ll take too long, be too slow. Maybe Mia can find more time in her schedule.”
I knew Mia’s schedule for the next few weeks.
As things ramped up for the end of the tour and the wedding, she had even less time than normal.
“Maybe.” There was no point in creating more stress for Alyssa when it was possible her ankle would be fine.
The immediate bruising and swelling, though, made me think otherwise.
In the car, she was so quiet I wanted to ask what she was thinking, but I wasn’t sure how to comfort her. Maybe something else would take her mind off her ankle, the predicament if she couldn’t dance for a while. “How is your sister?”
Alyssa released a harsh-sounding laugh. “A traitor.”
“Doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s not, but there isn’t much I can do about it. She’s Team Kevin, who is her boyfriend, above everyone else. Whatever he says or does is the gold standard.”
“Did you get in a fight?”
“Not really. Kinda. I don’t know. Kevin made her call me to talk about taking Ricky back once the tour is done.”
“Ricky? The one who stole from you?”
“That’s the one. Ridiculous, right?”
Except the way she said it, the tone of voice she used, made me think she’d considered forgiving him—might even be considering it now, in the car while she was with me. Disbelief and frustration bubbled to the surface. It was inconceivable that she could consider forgiving him.
Underneath those emotions, pushing the others out of the way, was jealousy, so intense, so unexpected it rendered me speechless.
She deserved so much better than a man who cheated on her, stole from her, and then asked her sister’s asshole boyfriend to feel her out for a reconciliation.
He didn’t even have the guts to turn up and apologize in person.
At the hospital, as the doctors and nurses ran tests on her ankle, I couldn’t concentrate on anything but the bomb she’d dropped in the car. After so many weeks of being in her inner circle, I’d thought I knew her, was coming to understand her, but now I was at a loss.
Did she want a man who hurt her? Did she enjoy the pain?