Chapter 27
CHAPTER 27
“O kay ladies, now we’re going to finish with your favorites: calf stretches.”
Good-natured groans filled the studio. This adult ballet class consisted mostly of women in their forties and over, some of them had danced when they were younger, but some were raw beginners, which meant a range of exercises suitable for all. Fortunately, everyone here could do this last exercise, which began the cooldown component of their class.
“Please take your position at the barre, and remember, this is good for your calves.”
She pressed play on the music, and the first sixteen beats began as they rose and lowered on their left leg. The barre wobbled a little as some of the ladies used it to hoist themselves up rather than let their feet and ankles do the work.
“Don’t forget this exercise is targeting your calves, so there’s no need to grip the barre so hard. Some of you who are more experienced should see if you can do it by holding on with just one finger.”
After counting to sixteen, they swapped feet, and did the same again. By now, some of the women liked to complain, but she encouraged them on. The biggest challenge was this next part, when they’d be doing thirty-two calf raises on already fatigued muscles.
She swallowed a smile as the usual ones complained, her mind flicking back to when she’d danced in France, when their teachers would work them so hard she’d sob for hours at home, with feet that were blistered so much she used to soak them in methylated spirits to harden her blisters into calluses. Now that was pain.
The music concluded, which saw a bunch of relieved sighs, then they stretched, doing a roll down until their hands were flat on the floor for the supple ones, or ankles or knees depending on their flexibility. Then the class concluded with the traditional side curtsy, followed by the other side, then they were released.
Bailey chatted briefly, but with a new client consultation coming up soon, she didn’t change from her pointe shoes, or linger as she might normally, instead gently encouraging them to move on by getting out the spray bottle of disinfectant and wiping down the barre, the cleaning seeming to remind the lingerers to go.
She cleaned, wondering about her next client. S. Zampa hadn’t filled out much information, just their age and that they were female, but had booked for a consult. She hoped it wouldn’t take long. Luc was due to get home from his road trip soon and she couldn’t wait to see him. She had her outfit picked out, and was due to the hair salon as soon as this was done. Tonight was going to be special. She was finally going to say those three words she knew he needed to hear.
Now that school had returned, and their classes were up and running, she and Poppy were working harder than ever. It wasn’t just the teaching either, but coming up with new content they shared on Bailey’s YouTube channel. The sharing of Dance Off videos had run its course, so to capitalize on their subscribers they’d decided to release one new instructional video on a particular style of dance each week. Sometimes it was a full dance, sometimes it was just a sequence from a particular style, but seeing there were so many styles to choose from with everything from ballet to tango, tap and jazz, it meant they had content for years to come. And the five-minute videos were pretty raw, especially in contrast to the Dance Off professional videos, but people seemed to enjoy them, and enjoy the interactions between her and Poppy, even though many of the comments asked to see more of Luc and Bailey dancing together.
Turning off comments on her Instagram had helped stop some of the more lewd suggestions, and she’d increased the privacy settings around her social media. Their glossy new website wasn’t shy about featuring Bailey’s Dance Off connections. All of this was exactly what Coco said she should be doing, but chasing likes and shares and subscribers and such things felt a little artificial. Especially when all she really wanted in her world was God, time with Luc, and dancing.
“Are you all good here?” Poppy asked, as she shut the door to the office.
Bailey nodded. “I just have one more potential client who’s running late.”
“Want me to stay?”
“You have to get ready for your date, right?”
Poppy grinned, and did a little twirl. “I do, but I’m happy to wait.”
Their safety system saw both of them stay at the studio until the last class was done, allowing for safe passage to their vehicles, especially during Winnipeg’s early dark nights. But this client was a woman, and Poppy had a date for the first time in forever, so who was she to hold her up? “It’s okay. This is just an initial consult, not a dance, so I’ll be fine. I’ll be home soon, anyway.”
“Okay, well, be safe,” Poppy warned.
Bailey nodded, and held up her phone. “I’ve got the app ready to be activated. But don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Now have fun!”
“He seems really nice,” Poppy gushed.
“You be safe, too.”
Poppy saluted and departed, and the studio fell silent.
Bailey stretched, swaying, closing her eyes as she waited for the client. She’d give Ms. Zampa ten more minutes, then she’d need to leave. It was already ten past their agreed-upon start time. She smiled, remembering the times when Luc would come to rehearse, and everything felt so strange. Now, he was like her favorite sweater, comfy, his arms around her like a cozy blanket, sure and strong, able to withstand the winds and chills of life. Hugging him was her favorite thing, apart from kissing, of course. Or dancing like they used to, his body close to hers, his gaze intense, like he wanted to—
Nope. She wouldn’t think like that. She needed to see him, to say in person what tears had stopped her saying on the phone. She couldn’t wait to see him tonight.
“Ahem.”
“Oh!” Her eyes flew open, then she stumbled slightly. “Can… can I help you?”
The man wasn’t her client. And she had the funniest feeling she’d seen him somewhere before.
He smiled, then she recognized him. The man at the rink all those weeks ago. When Luc had taken her skating and she’d wondered about the dynamic between the two men. What was he doing here?
She picked up her phone, checked the time. “I’m sorry, but I have an appointment with someone.”
“I think you’ll find that person is me.”
“You? Are you…” she squinted at the screen. “Are you S. Zampa?”
He nodded.
Funny. She didn’t recall that name at all. And, “You don’t look like a woman to me.”
“I’m glad you can tell the difference.”
His smile took on an edge that made her insides roil. That’s right. Luc had said this man had been involved in some immoral things. He advanced, and she fought the temptation to back away. She’d taught some surly teens hip-hop back in the day, and she’d learned it never paid to let them see her intimidated. But what she’d give for some of Luc’s size and heft about now.
She arched an eyebrow. “I think you need to leave.”
“I think,” he drew closer still, “you need to dance with me.”
That was it. She stabbed her phone’s emergency button, and lifted her chin. “I need you to leave.”
“No. I made an appointment. I’m going to get what I came for.”
“Which is?”
“You.”
Chills rippled up her spine as he reached to touch her. She drew back. “You need to keep your hands away.”
“Who says?”
“I do.” Lord, help me out here. I need Your protection!
“Well, that doesn’t mean much.”
She stepped away again, their strange dance something she hoped the security camera was recording. Dad had paid that bill, right? “I don’t understand why you are here, but I need you to leave. Now.” She put steel into that last word.
“Oh, look who is trying to be a tough girl. Did you speak like that to Luc?”
“Excuse me?”
“You know, your dancing partner. Everyone’s favorite, Luc Blanchard.” He sneered.
“Have you got a problem with him?”
“You could say that. Especially seeing he got me fired from the team.”
“For what? Harassing women?” she dared.
“It’s not harassing when they’re dressed like that,” he pointed to her leotard with its back cutouts, “and basically begging for it.”
Where was Poppy? Oh, she wished Luc was nearer, and not just getting back from the airport! Surely someone should have got the message by now! She had to keep the conversation going until Poppy arrived. Maybe God would give her some wisdom to know what to do.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I need to leave.” She moved to the door, but before she could hurry out he grabbed her arm. “Let go of me.”
“No. I want Luc to know how it feels when something you love is gone.”
“Excuse me?” Her heart thudded with fear. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. “This is ridiculous. I don’t even know you.”
“Yes, you do. He introduced us, remember?”
She wrenched free. “Now get out, before I call the police.” They should be on their way, anyway.
“No.” He grabbed her again. “You can teach me to dance the way you taught him.”
“No.” She pulled away, slapping his hand as he reached for her chest. “Get away from me!” She followed this up with a solid kick to his groin.
He swore and hunched over, wincing, and she fled, knowing the pointe shoe would have to hurt. She’d almost reached the door when he grabbed her, something dark filled his face, then he slapped her and she fell to the floor. He straddled her, pawing at her chest as she screamed, and slapped him, scratching his face as he swore and threatened and she cried and kneed him and did her best to roll him off. But he was too big, too strong, too heavy, too much, and—“Lord, help me!”
She heard a yell, her vision blurring as she caught a glimpse of a face then a booted foot, heard a high-pitched yelp, as pain, exquisite pain, rocked her face and she blacked out.
* * *
“Bailey! Bailey!” Luc tried to shake her awake but she didn’t move. He glanced at where Sean Hart lay out cold, as sirens blared. Footsteps rushed down the hall and he braced, but no, it was only Poppy, who must’ve got the same emergency call that had hauled his big butt here, where he’d seen Hart assaulting poor Bailey.
Poppy’s shriek was like a wild animal’s. “Is she alive?”
“Yes, but unconscious.”
Some guy he’d never met entered, glanced at Poppy, glanced at Luc, then staggered to a stop. “Whoa. You’re Luc Blanchard, right?”
Luc ignored him. “Have you called the police?”
“That’s them now.”
A groan stole his attention to his ex-teammate lying in the corner. “Poppy, come here, check on Bailey. I need to make sure that”—he said a non-Bailey’s-dad-approved word— “doesn’t go anywhere.”
Poppy nodded, wiping her face, smearing her makeup, while her date, whoever he was, drew out his phone, then took a pic of him and one of Bailey.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Luc yelled.
Poppy stared, horrified, from her position on the floor. “Devon? What on earth—?”
Luc hurried over to him, snatched his phone and threw it across the room where it smashed into a hundred pieces. No way was anyone ever going to post about this. What a sick—
“Hey!”
Sean rolled, groaning, and Luc was sorely tempted to kick him where it would make it impossible to procreate, when the police arrived, followed by the paramedics.
“You, hold it right there.”
Luc put up his hands. “This man tried to rape my girlfriend.” His voice shook. “I got here and kicked him off.” His throat closed. “Please, help her. She’s unconscious, and—”
“Who are you?”
He told them—“you’re Luc Blanchard?”—and Poppy shared what she knew, including the date who’d tried to take a photo which accounted for the smashed phone.
“He destroyed my phone! I don’t care how famous he is, he’s gonna have to pay.”
The next moments were a blur as Luc answered more questions, tried to recall specific details, tried to think how this would play out. But he had zero experience with anything like this, only knew that somehow he needed to let the club know that their new captain had got into a fight and police were involved.
He called Bailey’s mom, his coach, his agent, his mom, and Mike Vaughan. He needed people who would pray, who’d help him and Bailey, and needed news of this contained. How on earth was anyone going to trust a man potentially accused of assault—with leading the team, with Bailey?
Emotion clamped his throat, and he sank to his knees, hands over his mouth, as he watched Bailey being loaded onto a gurney. “Can I go with her?”
“Sorry. You need to come with us to the station.”
It was late when he made it to his apartment. Travis had collected him from the police station, and he’d been assured by Poppy from the hospital that Bailey had woken and was fine, but couldn’t see visitors.
He unlocked his door, threw down his keys, and stumbled to the bathroom, regrets chasing him inside. Why couldn’t he have got there quicker? If he’d skipped the haircut which he’d done to look more professional he would’ve been there, could’ve protected her. Instead he’d failed. Let her fall. None of this would’ve happened if it wasn’t for him. It was his fault.
He turned on the shower, catching a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror. The haggard cast to his face, the shadows, the blood that still spotted his shirt. Thank God none of that was Bailey’s. He couldn’t live with himself if that was so.
He stripped off his clothes, but barely noticed the water pummeling his shoulders as awful memories from the night bubbled like a toxic brew. Bailey, helpless. Evil, trying to steal. Her mom’s scream. His coach’s shock. The police interviews. The murmurs that he might face possible charges against Sean. His team wouldn’t want him as captain. Bailey wouldn’t want him when his presence in her life had put her life at risk. Her family who’d dealt with domestic violence in the past would only see his violence again and not that he’d just tried to save the woman he loved.
That he loved .
“Lord. We need some miracles.” And he sank to his knees, his tears joining the water from above.