28. Rowan
ROWAN
I spent an hour with Dalton as he worked through my various ideas and explained which would work and which needed fine tuning.
Not a single one did he say no to. In fact, he actually pushed me to tell him what my dream studio would include.
I humored him, if only to get him to stop asking, but Samson won’t need half the things I told Dalton about.
In all likelihood, Samson won’t ever build it. But if the plans show him how possible it is, that I believe in his dream even if he’s too afraid, then that’ll be enough.
I find Samson in the grounds. There’s a makeshift target pinned to a tree. My lips twitch as I spot the axes embedded in the wood. Not a single one has hit the target.
I try to sneak up on him, but he doesn’t so much as twitch as I wrap my arms around him from behind. “How did you hear me?”
He grins, moving until he can put his arm over my shoulders. “You might be light on your feet, but I’m always paying attention.”
I pout up at him, which just makes his grin deepen. Then he kisses me until I’m sighing into his mouth.
“Did Dalton behave?” he asks when we eventually part.
“Yes, he was very helpful.”
“Good,” he says softly. “And you’re still not going to tell me what you’re up to?”
“Nope.” I smile brightly, feeling the warmth in his eyes all the way to my soul. “It’s a surprise.”
“Can’t say I like those. Usually ends up in murder.”
I snort. “You’ll like this one. I promise.” My eyes fall to the axes waiting in a pile on the floor. “Having fun throwing those?”
I’m careful to keep my voice neutral, but Samson still scowls. “I’m not bad at throwing everything. Something about the weight makes it harder.”
I jut my chin at him as I step to the side. “Show me your stance.” Samson holds an axe up, and I immediately spot the problem. “May I?”
He jerks his head in assent, and I move in front of him. With anyone else, I’d be terrified by the fact that there’s a sharp blade mere inches from my head.
But this is Samson. He’ll never hurt me.
“Your arm is crooked,” I say, lifting his elbow before steering his wrist into the correct position. “It needs to always be at a right angle. Imagine that the axe is the final line in a square that you’re making with your body.”
I step back and survey him once more before nodding. “Now try.”
Samson takes a breath and lets the axe fly free. It soars through the air, landing neatly in the center of the target.
“Holy fuck!” He whoops, lifting me off my feet and twirling me in a circle. “I did it. I actually did it.”
“You did.” I giggle as he spins me once more before putting me on my feet. I’m grateful to my years of dance training for the lack of dizziness. “See, you can do anything if you put your mind to it.”
“No,” he says, with that boyish glee still shining in his eyes. “It’s you, Rowan. It’s all you. I’m starting to feel like I can achieve anything if you’re by my side. Fucking cheesy, but it is what it is.”
For a few seconds, I let go of my fears. The worries that Samson will be taken from me. That what we’re exploring isn’t real. I allow myself to hope that I can let him in and not end up burned in the process.
But Samson’s next words bring it all crashing down. “How’d you get so good at axe throwing, anyway?”
Adam’s face contorted in concentration as he corrects my posture for the hundredth time.
His hoot of laughter as my axe embeds in the floor again.
His whoop of pride when I finally hit the target.
The worry in his eyes the final time I saw him.
I clear my throat, but the lump there doesn’t budge. “Adam. Adam taught me.”
Samson’s hand squeezes the back of my neck. “Fuck. I’m sorry. When I find the man responsible…”
I nod quickly, trying to hide the fact that tears are slipping free. “It’s fine. I don’t want to talk about it. I can’t.”
He hums, his thumb stroking up and down the side of my throat. “Have you ever considered therapy?”
I laugh bitterly, staring up at the sky and willing myself to stop crying. “Have you seen the price of therapy? I’m lucky if I can afford anything other than packaged ramen most weeks.”
He shrugs. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re seeing someone who has more money than the rest of the city combined.”
“No.” I soften my rejection with a smile. “Thank you, but no. I’m not letting you pay for it.”
It’s then that my brain processes the rest of what he says. “Wait, are we seeing each other?”
Samson’s lips twitch. “I mean, yeah. Have you not been paying attention?”
A few minutes ago, I might have felt differently. I might’ve been excited, giddy even. But with the reminder of Adam, all Samson’s answer does is unlock more conflicting feelings in my gut. Ones that resemble bone-gripping fear and soul-deep want.
I duck my eyes away, unable to stand the intensity of Samson’s gaze. “I have rehearsal. Are you coming with me?”
“Course I am,” he says, wiping away the remnants of my tears with his thumbs. “I’m not letting you out of my sight. You better get used to that.”
God, how I wish I could. But that sort of happiness is reserved for others.
Not for me.
Samson takes a seat in the audience again. And again, he doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Come on, Rowan.” Marcy pouts. “You have to give us something.”
I laugh lightly as I switch out my street shoes for my dance ones. “There’s nothing to tell.”
Liar.
“Really?” Clay comes over to join in. “Then where were you last night?”
I keep my head ducked low, pretending to fiddle with my shoes. “What?”
“I stopped by your place.” He stretches as he speaks, sinking slowly into the splits. “Last night. You weren’t there.”
“Oh, that must’ve been when I popped to the grocery store,” I lie breezily. “Had to stock up on my baking ingredients if I’m going to keep you lot fed. Did you see the cookies I brought?”
Clay isn’t distracted. “Then how about the two nights before that? Because you weren’t home then either.”
Busted. I wasn’t giving up yet. “Are you spying on me?”
“We’re being concerned about our friend,” Shane says from where his foot is against a wall.
Despite the fact it’s above his head, he still finds time to glare at me.
“First you hide away over Adam’s anniversary, and then you start showing up to rehearsal with a stranger.
A very sexy, but very dangerous looking stranger. ”
I recall how easily Samson disarmed the mugger. The surety and strength in his movements. How they contrasted with the way he cradled me like I was fragile. Special. “There’s nothing to be worried about.”
Marcy clucks her tongue sympathetically as she pats my shoulder. “Babes, give it up. We’re not going on stage until we’ve got answers.”
I arch a brow as my hands go to my hips. “Are you serious? We have a show just around the corner. We don’t have time for this.”
“Start talking, then,” Clay says. “You’re the one holding us up, not us.”
“Fine.” I exhale in frustration. “His name is Samson. We met at Rounds a few weeks ago. We’re…sleeping together. I’ve spent the last few nights at his place. That’s all there is to it.”
The truth of that strikes me oddly. On paper, that is all we’ve shared. Then why does it feel like it’s much more than that?
Shane gestures at the auditorium. “So, your hookup is just watching us dance?”
I shrug a shoulder. “He seems to like it.”
“Can’t blame him,” Clay says, swatting at my ass. “Never seen anyone move like you.”
My cheeks flush. “Well, how about we all get out on stage and do some of that moving, hmm?”
The rehearsal goes off without a hitch. We run through the entire first act twice, only pausing to drink our body weight in water.
Samson doesn’t take his eyes off the stage once. Doesn’t seem to matter that he’s seen the routine before; his eyes shine like it’s the first time.
I always dance well. It’s the reason why I’m the face of the studio. But Samson’s attention makes my steps lighter. My limbs stretch longer. My poses are sharper and turns more precise.
He makes me a better dancer, because I’m not performing for an anonymous audience.
I’m performing for him.
There’s a lot of back-slapping and whooping as we all break from our final poses at the end of act one. Tomorrow we’ll run through the second act, then we’ll move on to dress and tech rehearsals.
I can feel the energy thrumming in my blood. This is what I live for. To perform. To shine. To let my body say all the words I can’t bring myself to speak.
After agreeing to a start time with my friends, I glance over at Samson’s seat in the audience. My face falls when I see it’s empty. I quickly scan the auditorium, but I can’t see my grump lurking in any of the shadows.
My heart falls slightly, and I realize then and there that I like him far too much already.
“Ahem.” Marcy nudges me in the ribs with a massive grin. “Think you’ve got someone waiting for you.”
I look at where she’s pointing, and my heart swells so fast it’s almost painful. There, in the wings, is Samson.
Only one other has cared enough for me to wait there. Knowing, with confidence, that they are the first person I’ll want to see as I step off the stage.
And he’s right. Fuck, he’s right. Samson is exactly who I want to see right now.
Happiness and relief bubble through me as I fly across the stage and into his arms. He catches me with ease as I wrap my legs around his middle. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself,” he says, hugging me fiercely. “You were spectacular. St. Dismas isn’t going to know what’s hit it.”
“Flatterer,” I tease, leaning back so I can dust a kiss over his lips. Then I take a big step. One I hadn’t planned on taking today, but it suddenly feels so right. “Want to come and meet my friends?”
Longing flashes through Samson’s eyes, followed immediately by regret. “Fuck. I do. I really, really do. But I just got a call from Wylder. He’s out front waiting for me. I’ll only be gone thirty minutes, max.”
“Oh.” Disappointment courses through me, but I try to keep it from my face. “No worries. You can meet them tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry.” Samson leans his forehead against mine. “If I could put Wylder off, I would.”