Cayden #2
“I don’t doubt that for a second,” he chuckles. “Ten minutes left. Let’s fucking leave Chicago’s asses with a loss.” He gloves my helmet in respect before skating to the faceoff.
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” I mutter, giving the sides of the net a stick tap before bending my knees and securing my net with my body ready to move at any given second.
There’s not an ounce of me that won’t do whatever it takes to protect the area I swore at an early age I would do.
Chicago got lucky with the first one that slid by—there won’t be another.
Stripping down naked, I slide under the cool sheets of the hotel bed. After our win tonight, we hopped on a flight, arriving in New Jersey for our last away game this stretch before we head back home tomorrow night.
Coach rarely plays me back-to-back, so I’ll be benching it tomorrow night, saving me for our home game this weekend. It’s not easy sitting back whenever every part of me wants to be out there with my team, but having me overextend myself and getting an injury isn’t worth the risk.
The physical exertion from doing butterflies alone in a single game is not for the weak.
It takes a lot out of you, and taking it easy the next day is crucial for muscle repair.
It’s imperative to the team that I’m healthy and sharp for the long haul this season, so I suck it up on the bench when I have to.
Unable to sleep yet, I grab my phone from the nightstand, pulling up Mae’s text from earlier. I FaceTimed Scarlett before the game, like I always do, and it was nonstop excitement about dance class.
Apparently, Luna let her lead the class in a fairy leap line—whatever that is.
It’s hard to understand a two-and-a-half-year-old’s vocabulary sometimes.
Mae texted me after with a link to the class and a password that Luna gave to her before she left, so I could watch Scarlett’s class.
I guess she records each class and keeps it up for a week before the new class tapes over it, allowing parents to watch it live-stream or, in my case, later because of work.
Settling against the headboard, I find Scar’s class and click on it.
Smiling, I watch Mae arrive and Scarlett running over to her new friends.
It’s obvious, as I watch the way her face lights up, that she’s enjoying this dance class a lot.
There’s no way I could change studios even if the selfish part of me knows it would be a hell of a lot easier if I just stayed far away from the one thing I can’t seem to let go of.
I watch Luna now as she talks to Mae, her smile brighter than any star I’ve ever seen. As hard as I tried, I haven’t stopped thinking about our last session. How easy it would have been to lean in closer and dive into what I know will ultimately destroy me.
The girls gather around her, hanging on her every word as she instructs them around the dance floor. Chuckling, I watch Scarlett do her best at a leap as she leads the girls around the room, each one attempting a ballet jump as they go.
When the class is finally over, Scarlett throws her arms around Luna’s waist before grabbing Mae’s hand to leave. The video ends abruptly, probably on some kind of timer. I click out of it, and I’m about to exit the app when I notice the live feed is on.
It probably was left on by mistake.
My thumb hovers over it as I hesitate briefly before finally clicking it.
Luna appears on the screen, grabbing my attention as I sit further up in bed.
It’s after midnight. What is she doing there that late? Does she know she’s on camera?
Taking a towel, she pats her chest and neck, the sheen of sweat obvious on her skin.
She’s wearing a cropped black top that sits just under her breasts.
The sleeves are long, hooking over her thumbs and covering her palms. Black tight shorts end the outfit as my eyes trail down to her bare feet and back up again.
Her hair is in a low bun, exposing her slender neck to the camera.
Part of me feels like a stalker, and I should turn it off, but the greedy part of me can’t stop looking and wants more.
Walking over to her phone, she restarts the music and gets into position in the middle of the dance floor. When the notes start to play again, her body becomes alive. I watch mesmerized as she breathes life into the dance.
The music is haunting, and it’s as if her body is telling a story of loss and heartache. I can’t explain what I’m watching, but I feel the pain through every movement…every expression on her face brings you deeper into the rawness of it all.
When she curls up into a ball on the floor, I feel my heart thudding loudly in my chest as I watch hers rise and fall rapidly from the sheer strength that must have taken to perform what I just witnessed.
The music changes suddenly to something softer as her body awakens again. The movements are lighter this time, her face more softened and carefree. It’s as if…
I swallow the lump in my throat and watch her face beam with a happiness that I haven’t felt in so long that I almost forgot what it felt like.
It’s as if this whole dance is about me or what should be.
But, that’s impossible, right? It’s just a dance.
Yet, I feel it.
The torment and pain clashing in every movement she danced, wanting to bring you under. Her body is fighting against it until she finally collapses and lets it all go.
The rebirth.
Finding the strength to let joy and happiness in again, even when it’s terrifying.
She ends the dance with a beautiful leap before her arms open wide as if she’s waiting for someone, then finally close as she hugs herself.
Her breathing is rapid as she stands in the middle of the dance floor, putting a hand to her chest. My breath stops as her gaze lifts to the camera. Her eyes stare directly into mine, and something shifts inside me.
Something broken begins to slightly mend, but what scares me the most is what is scarred into my heart slowly begins to heal.