27. Cha-Cha-Cha（rlotte） #2
It’s the same as last night, the same as every time—this invisible pull, this stupid, reckless gravity. It never lets up. Not even now, in the dim hallway of my daughter’s school, with parents just around the corner and whispers waiting to follow us.
I need to say something about last night.
Anything—actually, I need to tell her everything.
How I’m scared of losing my brother and my friends.
How my job brings me happiness like nothing ever has before, and I’m terrified of not having a purpose again.
How last time I blew up my whole life for a woman, I ended up with nothing.
How I feel like if I do it again, I’m a heartless, selfish prick, and if I don’t, I’m a coward.
And how through it all, I need her even more than I want her.
But a sharp burst of applause echoes from the gym, snapping me back.
“We should go in,” she says, a comforting look in her eyes as she tugs at my hand.
We walk over, and the auditorium is packed with moms. The stage is lined with pastel-colored decorations—paper flowers taped to the curtain, cut-out hearts with each child’s name in glitter.
I scan the crowd for Josie, and I’m pretty sure I see Charlotte doing the same, but she’s nowhere to be seen. Whenever I think I’ve got no more space left for disappointment, she manages to carve it in.
I adjust my cuffs for the third time, but my knee won’t stop bouncing once we take a seat. Charlotte notices, because of course she does, and without a word, she reaches over and slides her fingers over mine, squeezing.
The lights dim, and a hush settles over the crowd.
One by one, the kids take the stage, each stepping into the spotlight for their turn.
The first is a boy in suspenders and a bow tie, stomping his feet in a tap routine that’s more enthusiasm than rhythm.
The audience claps along, and he grins, waving wildly at his mom as he skips offstage.
Next, a little girl in a pink tutu does a series of careful twirls.
Another girl comes out adjusting a tiara on her head, giving the audience a royal wave before attempting a wobbly cartwheel that sends her tiara flying across the stage.
Some kids beam under the attention, others freeze for a second before launching into their moves, and one boy in a superhero cape gets so caught up in posing that Miss Delaney has to gently usher him offstage.
Then it’s Sadie’s turn.
She steps out hesitantly, small fingers tugging at the fabric of her dress before letting go.
It’s royal blue, sleek in a way that stands out from the fluffier outfits around her.
The square neckline and puffed sleeves give it a regal feel, and the way the fabric flows as she moves makes her look like a tiny queen stepping onto her dais.
My throat tightens as I squeeze Charlotte’s hand tighter.
She made that. She sat at her machine all night, stitching together something perfect for my daughter. Not just any dress—something to make her feel special.
Sadie clasps her hands in front of her, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she scans the crowd. When her lips press together, my chest tightens. Is she looking for Josie? Did she see me?
The music starts, and she hesitates, her fingers twitching at her sides. When her gaze locks onto mine, I recognize her crying face.
I sit up straighter. “It’s okay, sweetheart.” She can’t hear me from the stage, but I grip the back of the seat in front of me and nod. “You got this.”
Charlotte tenses next to me. “Aaron?—”
Sadie’s bottom lip trembles, then her whole face crumples.
Shit.
When the first sob escapes her lips, I rise to my feet.
“Daddy?” Her voice is small, broken, carrying through the room.
I’m already moving, and it’s when I reach the makeshift stage that I realize Charlotte is right beside me. Sadie stumbles forward, practically flinging herself into my arms.
I catch her, lifting her up easily as she clings to me, her face buried against my shoulder.
“Mommy isn’t here,” she cries. Her chest shakes against mine as I soothingly comb through her hair, the auditorium so silent, we’d hear a pin falling on the floor.
“ I’m right here, okay? And I’ll make a video for Mom, so she doesn’t miss a thing.”
“I didn’t think you would come,” she hiccups between sobs.
My throat goes tight as I turn to Charlotte, who smiles with misty eyes. I can’t believe I almost didn’t come. I should have known better, trusted my instincts the way Charlotte did.
“Of course I came, baby.” I kiss the top of her head, holding her closer. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
She sniffles, then tilts her head up over my shoulder.
“Charlotte?” she asks, voice wobbly.
Charlotte pinches her cheek “Hi, kiddo. You look beautiful.”
Sadie blinks at her for a long moment. Then without warning, she untangles one arm from around me and reaches for her.
Charlotte stills.
I look at her, and she at me—like she’s asking for permission. It’s almost laughable—I wouldn’t be here for my crying daughter if it weren’t for her.
When I pull her to me, she steps forward and wraps an arm around both of us, and just like that, we’re all tangled together.
There’s no better feeling in the world.
“Thank you for my dress, Charlotte,” Sadie whispers.
“You’re so welcome, sweetie.”
I shut my eyes, pressing my lips to her hair, then doing the same with Charlotte. Fuck whoever’s watching. For the first time in a long time, it feels like nothing is missing.
Sadie pulls back after a few seconds, rubbing at her face with the back of her hand. “Daddy, I wanna do my dance.”
I brush a curl behind her ear. “We can’t wait to see it.”
Her big brown eyes flick between us. “Will you and Charlotte dance with me?”
Before I can think of a way to get out of this without hurting Sadie’s feelings, she’s nodding. “Sure we’ll dance with you.”
Say what now?
“Charlotte,” I hiss through gritted teeth, but she widens her eyes at me as if to say I don’t really have a choice.
“What! We were just dancing at home. This is the same.”
How is this the same? I look back at the moms, at Miss Delaney watching Charlotte with a frown, and groan inwardly.
I guess I’m dancing.
The audience claps as I help Sadie back to her spot. Charlotte quickly joins her side, then watches me expectantly until I pull myself up on the stage and join them.
The teachers restart the music and this time, Sadie dances—with me and Charlotte right beside her, following along, fumbling our steps, completely out of sync but laughing through it.
And when the final note plays, and Sadie throws her arms up in the air, beaming at the crowd—Charlotte and I do the same, mirroring her movements, grinning just as wide.
The applause is deafening, but all I hear is Sadie’s giggle, and all I feel is Charlotte’s hand in mine, squeezing tight. I playfully pull her closer, her shoulder bumping against mine as her eyes widen in surprise.
“We’re not just hooking up, Charlotte,” I say, low enough that only she can hear. She gives me a look—a look like she doesn’t want to burn my life down to ashes—but I’ve made my decision. “I’m turning this spark into a wildfire.”