Luna
EIGHTEEN
“This is the one,” my sister grins.
“Oh, it’s definitely the one,” Sophia agrees, whistling.
When the girls found out at our Sunday family dinner that I haven’t gotten a dress yet for Miles and Olivia’s wedding this weekend, they immediately took action and set up this shopping excursion.
Or kidnapping…depending on how you look at it.
I had completely forgotten about the wedding, honestly, and would’ve shown up in something from my closet if they hadn’t intervened.
Looking at my reflection, I have to admit I’m glad they insisted I get something new. This dress is already lifting my spirits. The deep green gown hugs my curves, the slit teasing up my leg with the open back dipping low enough to make me feel every bit of a woman.
I feel…confident. Like I’m stepping into a version of myself I haven’t been lately.
“Your eyes in this dress are making a statement,” Emma gushes. “The men at this reception are going to drop to the floor when they see you.”
Apprehension about seeing Cayden again flutters in my stomach. It’s been two weeks since our phone call, and he’s avoided me like the plague, canceling the last two yoga sessions and even sending Mae to bring Scarlett to dance class.
It’s probably for the best, but it doesn’t make it any easier to forget about him. Noah mentioned at dinner that some of Knox’s teammates would be at the wedding, and when he mentioned Cayden specifically, I nearly choked on my wine.
It’s bad enough I have to face him after practically begging him to make me cum over the phone, but to pretend in front of my family that we’re just working clients and that I haven’t gotten off to his image multiple times these past few days is going to be a trainwreck.
He’s already in my head more than he should be, bleeding into everything—including my dance. I have the spring recital coming up, and every year I do a solo. I’m never the one who slips. Never the one who forgets movement or misses a landing.
And yet, here I am, letting one man unravel years of discipline.
It’s frankly pissing me off that I let him invade my personal space like this. If I had kept my boundaries, none of this would be happening.
“Are you okay, sis? You’ve been really quiet today.”
I meet my sister’s concerned gaze in the mirror and put on a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Guess I’m just overworked and overtired. It always gets crazy this time of year when I start preparing for the spring recital.”
What I’m telling them is true. I am overwhelmed and stressed about the recital.
I’m just leaving out the six-foot-four hockey goalie part that’s the root cause of it all.
I usually tell them everything, but right now I don’t have the strength to get into it, and frankly, it defeats the purpose of trying to forget him if I bring him up to talk about him.
“It’s going to be amazing just like it has been for the last two years. Quinn is over the moon excited for her trio this year with Maven and Lily Anna.” Sophia smiles at Bella and Emma, and they nod excitedly in agreement.
“And those dance dresses they are wearing? My God, they are beautiful. Makes me wish I had stuck with dance when I was little,” Sophia laughs.
“We would have if Luna had been teaching us back then. Old Mrs. Brooks wasn’t exactly up to date with the times. Her itchy costumes were the worst,” Bella says, scrunching up her nose at the memory.
“Do you remember the Titanic scene?” Sophia adds casually as she fights to hold back a grin.
My sister lets out a sharp laugh. “Oh, my God. Don’t—”
“I’ve got to hear this,” I grin, turning and joining them on the dressing room couch.
“Me too,” Emma giggles, making room for me next to her.
“She had us doing My Heart Will Go On at nine years old, and your sister had her first solo,” Sophia says, turning to me.
“It was lyrical,” Bella defends, even though I’m already cringing at where I know this is going, “you’re supposed to get into character.”
“Bella had to die on stage,” Sophia giggles harder.
“She did not,” Emma says, her eyes going wide as her hand flies to her mouth to stifle a laugh.
“She did,” Sophia grins. “Full collapse. Her arms were out like she was floating in the ocean on a piece of driftwood.” She mimics with her arms, and Bella struggles to hold in her laugh.
“You stayed down for, like, a full minute,” Sophia adds.
“Our Moms thought you forgot the routine. I thought you had actually died,” she laughs.
“I was committing to the emotion,” Bella states matter-of-factly.
Sophia snorts. “You were committing to hypothermia.”
“Rose had nothing on that performance,” Bella finally breaks out into a full-blown laughing fit with us as we picture her dying body on stage.
“Please tell me Mom taped that?” I ask when I can finally speak, wiping away my tears.
“I’m pretty sure Noah and Maverick stole it that night and were going to blackmail me with it one day,” she laughs. “I really need to coerce my husband into telling me where it is.”
“I’m pretty sure you can think of something,” Sophia says, wagging her eyebrows.
“Oh, I have plenty of ideas up my sleeve,” Bella grins.
“Thanks for dragging me here today,” I suddenly say. “I didn’t realize how much I needed it,” I smile, looking at each of them. It felt good to get out of my head a bit and have some fun.
“Of course,” Emma says, reaching over and squeezing my hand. “That’s what family is for…to know what you need before you even realize it yourself.”
But what if you already realize what you need…it just isn’t yours to have?
“Again,” I say, watching the older girls finishing their routine.
“But this time I want more here.” I place a hand over my heart and look at the girls in front of me.
“Dance isn’t just about going through the movements and memorizing the steps.
It’s in here first,” I say, touching my heart, “before your body begins to even move.”
Girls from ages fourteen to seventeen soak up what I’m telling them as I walk around the class. There is some real talent in here, but they are leaning more on the technical rather than the emotional aspect of dance.
“When you surrender to the dance, not just go through the motions,” I continue, “it opens up a whole new experience. It’s what sets apart a dancer from an exceptional one.
The audience should walk away feeling as though they have just witnessed something that they can’t put into words, bringing up emotions they never expected to feel.
They should feel connected to your dance like they are living it through you, not just watching you. ”
The girls nod their heads as my words sink in. Walking to their starting point, I start the music over and watch them begin.
Their arms and legs are strong with each graceful movement, but I feel it more. Smiling, I soak up the story they are telling, letting my heart lean into the dance.
When they land on the last part and hold their pose, the room is silent…their breaths in sync with one another. I don’t say a word, letting them have this moment to soak up what they just felt and did.
Finally, the spell is broken, and the girls beam at one another before breaking out into an excited group hug.
I laugh as they come running over to me, including me in their hug. “Now that,” I smile through my emotions, “was exceptional. If you give your audience what you’ve just given me…there won’t be a dry eye in the house on recital night. I’m so proud of you.”
They excitedly gather their things and wave goodbye while they walk in a group out the door. Following them, I lock up behind them since they’re my last class of the night.
I work in the office for a bit, getting caught up on emails and paperwork before tidying up the front area and turning out the main lights. Telling myself it needs to be done and I’m not stalling until nine.
Knotting my hair into a bun at the nape of my neck, I walk back into the studio and close the front curtains, shutting myself off from the outside world.
It’s one thing to tape my sessions so I can watch them at home, but having strangers pass by my window and press their faces up against the glass is not something I want to deal with tonight.
Glancing at my clock on the wall, I check the time.
8:59 p.m.
I ignore the part of me that tells me this is wrong…that tells me I need to find a way to let go, but I press the live feed and hit record anyway.
It’s been the same routine for the past ten days. After my class, I shut out the world and practice my solo. At first, I thought I was imagining it, but as the days went on, I knew I wasn’t.
He’s been watching me.
And I would be lying if I said I didn’t look forward to it every night.
What really unnerves me is the fact that I dance better when I feel him watching me. The nights I struggle are the nights he has a game. I didn’t want to believe it, so I checked the Bolts’ schedule online, and they matched up perfectly.
I don’t know how he figured out that I usually stay after my classes to practice, but at nine every night, I get to be with him in the only way he’ll let himself.
It sounds pathetic when I hear it in my own head, but I’ve tried resisting him. I’ve tried to shut him out completely, but all that does is leave me frustrated and unable to concentrate on my work.
So, I gave in. I give myself this hour to feel him.
To let his presence seep through me.
To remember his touch and his voice…
I let myself dance for him.
Pushing play on my playlist, I get into position. The skin on my arm raises as goosebumps appear on my flesh. A warm feeling radiates through my body, soft at first, but getting more intense by the moment.
He’s here.
My body comes alive under me as I pour my heart into dance. This is where I express things I can’t say aloud.
Lifting with strength, I push off until I’m weightless in the air as if suspended in time. My leg stretches out before me, my chest fully opened, while my arms reach for something I desperately want to touch.
I land with a soft thud, my body curling on contact before turning slowly at first, then faster as the world around me starts to blur.
I don’t think.
I just feel.
When I finally hold my last pose, my skin is flushed, and my chest heaves against the black fabric of my sports bra. I’ve left everything on the dance floor as I finally sink to the ground, knowing I’ve let him in to places I’ve never shown anyone before.
I didn’t just dance tonight.
I let him in with me.