Chapter Forty-Three
Presley
July
Life with Rygaard has been nothing short of amazing.
Ever since he took me out to that nice restaurant, and showed me who was boss later that night, I’ve been on my best behavior.
No talking back. Doing what he says like a good girl. And every morning and night, he rewards me in the best way.
I’ve kept up regular lunch dates with Agatha, and slowly, we’ve begun to rebuild our friendship. She smiles more these days, and I know it’s because of a man, though she won’t tell me who he is.
I haven’t seen much of Rafe, and probably never will. He's forgiven me for stealing from him, but there's no way he'll ever forget. Honestly, I wouldn’t forgive me either. I put him through hell and never even apologized.
Thankfully, Ry and I found a compromise about work, and now I have a part-time job at the old studio where I used to dance.
Madame Dupanchane was thrilled when I finally reached out.
"My sweet girl. I’m so happy to see you blossoming like the delicate rose you were always meant to be. I hate that life showed you a darkness I wish on no one, but alas... you made it out."
"Madame, will you tell me your story? When you’re ready, of course."
"I've been ready for years, darling. Let’s chat over coffee and croissants."
That was nearly a week ago, though it feels like a lifetime.
Madame Dupanchane shared some of her own heartbreak: abandoned by her husband, pregnant and alone, she made the agonizing decision to give the child up for adoption. Even after more than twenty years, it still haunts her.
I’d love to ask if she’s ever tried to find her child, but it doesn’t feel like my place.
Better to let old ghosts lie.
Grabbing my purse, keys, and mace, Rygaard’s idea, of course, I head out.
At first, it pissed me off that he wanted me carrying it everywhere, but when he broke down how much danger could still be out there... well, it made sense.
Still, I’m pretty sure Keifer’s long gone by now. Wanted for murder. Surely he’s not still lurking.
Still… ‘Anything’s possible, Presley. Don’t underestimate him.’ I hear Rygaard’s voice so clearly in my mind I almost feel his breath against my ear.
Maybe I just miss him.
"Time to head out. No spooky thoughts," I mutter.
Instead of taking the BMW i8 Coupe Rygaard swears is mine, even though I never actually get to drive it, I set off on foot.
It’s a decent walk into town, but I could use the exercise, plus, I want to visit my old friend at the Korean market.
AirPods in, I lose myself in the music. Song after song, every track a banger.
Eventually, I can’t help it, my feet start shuffling, my hips swaying.Michael Jackson’s “Somebody’s Watching Me” comes on, and I have to laugh at the irony.
But then… A chill creeps down my spine.
I freeze.
Pulling out one earbud, I glance over my shoulder.
Nothing.
No shadows.
No footsteps.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
Still, I pocket the other earbud. Better safe than sorry. Head high, I walk briskly until the blessed sight of the old gas station comes into view.
I pick up the pace and push open the door.
"Welcome! Welcome! Come in, have a looksie around," Roman, the owner, calls from the back without looking up.
Smiling, I make a beeline for the ice cream cooler, mint chocolate chip, obviously, then snag a few cups of topokki and chicken noodles.
As I head toward the counter, the bell over the door jingles.
And that’s when I hear it. "Where is she?" That voice.
Keifer.
My hands go numb, ice cream and noodles crashing to the ground as fear roots me in place.
"Where is who?" Roman’s voice is calm.
"Don’t fucking play with me, Ro. I know she’s here. I followed her.”
Oh God.
I wasn’t imagining it.
He was following me.
"I-I don’t know who you’re talking about, man. I didn’t see anyone come in. I was in the back, "
Smack! The sound of a slap, loud and sickening.
"Next time, it'll be a knife to your gut," Keifer growls.
There’s a scuffle, something crashing to the floor, then Roman’s voice, cold and lethal:
"You dare lay a filthy hand on the holder of a tenth-degree black belt in karate?" My heart leaps.
Roman? A black belt?
"I told you, I didn’t see anyone. Leave. Now. Or I will kill you."
"Get the fuck off me!" Keifer snarls.
"Get the fuck out of my store, trash.”
I peek around the corner just in time to see Roman hurl Keifer’s body out the door and slam it shut.
He pulls down the metal security gate with a screech.
Still trembling, I step into view.
Roman’s head snaps up, his face softening when he sees me. "Roman, I-I’m sorry," I stammer, tears slipping down my cheeks. "I didn’t know he was following me, "
"Shh." Roman gathers me into his arms, rubbing slow circles on my back. "He can’t hurt you here, Little Bird."
"Roman, he hit you, I, "
"It’s okay." He pulls back, giving me a small smile. "It was only a matter of time before he showed up. Your Rygaard gave me a heads-up." My heart skips.
"Wait, what?"
"Yeah. He and I... We’re a little chummy now. Share a mutual love for you." He winks, making my cheeks flush.
Roman leads me to the back room.
"Let’s have a drink. You need a minute."
We talk for what feels like hours, though it’s only about thirty minutes.
Roman calls in a favor, a buddy on the force sends two cops: one patrols the streets, the other stands guard at the gas station.
Roman personally drives me to Madame’s studio. Standing at the entrance, he pulls me into a fierce hug.
"This is where I leave you. Just know, you’re never alone. I’m only a call away." He presses something into my palm, his number, scrawled on a slip of paper. "Use it. Anytime." Tears threaten again. "You’re stronger than yesterday, Presley. You’ve got this."
And just like that, he’s gone.
I text him quickly, begging him not to tell Rygaard what happened.
If Rygaard finds out Keifer’s still lurking, I’ll be under lock and key for real. At least I'm still taking self-defense classes.
If Keifer had tried anything, he would’ve found out just how much I’ve learned.
I shake my head, muttering under my breath. Why can't Keifer just leave me the hell alone?
We were never friends. Although, there was a fragment of time when I thought we were… But, he used me.
Abused me.
And worst of all…
I let him.
But I’m done carrying that shame.
Done .
As I reach Madame’s office, I hear her voice, urgent: "You need to tell her." I freeze.
She’s talking to someone, but when I peek in, she’s alone, holding a framed photo.
Weird.
Maybe she's just talking to herself.
I bump the door, and it creaks open. "Sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt."
Madame quickly sets the frame down, smoothing her skirt. "Oh, it’s nothing. Just reviewing the schedule."
"Do you need me to work more?"
"Not at all. You’ve got better things to do than live here." She smiles warmly and guides me down the hall.
Stepping into the old studio, nostalgia punches me in the chest, the smell of salt, echoes of crying students, Madame’s sharp voice... all still here.
"Have you thought about picking up where you left off?" The question slams into me.
"I’m sorry, what?"
"Have you thought about dancing again?"
I stammer. "I-I’m too old, "
"You’re never too old to chase your dream, darling girl," she says, cupping my cheek with gentle fingers.
Then she turns and walks away.
I watch her go, heart thudding.
Maybe…
Maybe it’s not too late after all.
Smiling, I stash my things, crank up my music, and get to work, cleaning, dancing a little, letting the music pull me back to life.