21. Stay With Me #2
He shifts slightly, his body pressing closer to mine on the too-small couch. “I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about you, Elenochka,” he slurs softly, his forehead resting against the pillow. “Every time I close my eyes, you’re… everywhere.”
I sit motionless. The words don’t seem like just drunken nonsense. There’s raw and unguarded honesty in them. Like a moth to a flame, I’m drawn to him, helpless to stop it. My fingers twine tighter with his, as if holding him this close can somehow tether him to me and keep him safe.
“You’re… you’re kind of crazy, you know that?” I whisper, my voice trembling.
He lets out a low laugh, barely audible, and tilts his head so his lips hover near mine. “Crazy… Maybe. But you—you’re breathtaking… Everything I can’t… I can’t get out of my head.”
My pulse spikes, my breath catching. I want to tell him how I feel, to reach out, but fear and uncertainty crashes in, tangled with memories of everything I’ve been through.
Soren. His struggles. The undeniable fact that he’s my coach.
It all collides inside me. So instead, I rest my forehead against his shoulder, letting him feel my presence.
He sighs contentedly, the tiniest smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Promise me… you’ll never stop looking at me like that.”
I shake my head softly. “Nik, I—”
“Shhh,” he interrupts, pulling me just a little closer. “ Don’t tell me this is wrong. Just… stay. Stay with me.”
And so I do. I don’t know when or how but in the past few weeks, Nik’s burrowed under my skin, sneaking into a heart so broken I’m not even sure it can be repaired. I like him. More than a coach. More than just a friend.
He’s everything I’ve never had and more. I trust him. Want him. Need him. Believe in him. I’d follow him into any dark valley, and that thought frightens me. I shouldn’t want this. I’m only twenty-four; he’s thirty-three. If my mother knew… Gosh, I don’t even want to think about what she’d say.
It isn’t worth thinking about anyway. Nik probably doesn’t see me that way. Not only is it inappropriate given our roles, but he’s drunk. His whispered sweet nothings can mean nothing at all.
A niggling part of me whispers that they aren’t nothing.
Nik deserves more than I have to offer. While he offers the world, all I have is ballet, and that isn’t enough.
Silent tears streak my cheeks. For the first time, I want something more than ballet. And I can’t have it. At this point, I’m not sure ballet is what I want anymore.
Nik’s thumb traces the wet trail on my cheek. “What’s wrong, baby?” he whispers into the quiet room.
Gosh, I wish he’d stop calling me that. “I’m fine,” I sniffle, my voice trembling.
“It breaks my heart to see you cry… and when you hurt yourself,” he utters under his breath.
I stare at him, unsure how to respond. “Really. I’m fine,” I say, though the words ring hollow even to my own ears.
He carefully wipes another tear away from my cheek. “You’re a bad liar, remember?”
A strangled laugh escapes me. “Yeah… I remember.” The first time he said that was when he caught me in the women’s restroom.
His eyes dart between mine. “If I wasn’t so plastered right now… I’d kiss you.” He brings his hand to my lower lip, running his thumb across it. “I’ve dreamed of kissing these.”
The world around us fades, and I’m left completely still and wonderstruck. His touch on my lip sends butterflies soaring through my stomach.
He withdraws his hand, lacing our fingers together again, then rests his head on the pillow, eyes closing. “One day.” He sighs softly. “When I’m not your coach anymore.”
I don’t know what he means by that, but I lay my head against his shoulder again, clinging to his warmth. Tomorrow scares me. Tonight changes everything between us—assuming he even remembers it in the morning.
Light snores emerge from him, and I know I can get up, slip into my own bed, and try to find some real sleep.
But I can’t bring myself to move. All night, I remain perched on my pillow, half-covered by a blanket, my head resting against his warm shoulder.
His chest rises and falls beneath me, the faint scent of him and alcohol lingering in the air.
It isn’t restful sleep, but it doesn’t matter.
Being here, even like this, feels like the safest place in the world.
For the first time in weeks, maybe months, I don’t have to think about the world outside, about ballet, about my fears or failures.
I just exist, quietly, alongside him. And for now, that’s enough.
Nikolai
I feel like a bag of smashed apples. My head throbs with a relentless, rhythmic pain. My mouth is dry and bitter, my tongue thick, and my limbs sluggish, like they’re moving through quicksand.
A faint buzzing rattles in my pocket, needling against my skull. With clumsy fingers, I fish out my phone and silence the alarm before it drills any deeper into my head.
6:00 a.m.
I groan, dragging a hand over my face. I shove the phone back in my pocket, squinting around. This isn’t my apartment.
I try to sit up, but the weight on my shoulder holds me in place. I turn my head and go still.
Eleanor.
Her head rests against me, her hair falling across her cheek in soft strands, our fingers still twined together as if she hasn’t let go all night.
She’s asleep, her breathing even and calm.
She looks… Peaceful. Safer than I feel she ever allows herself to be.
And even though she has to be uncomfortable, she hasn’t moved.
Slowly, carefully, I slide my hand free and ease her head off my shoulder. I lean forward, elbows on my knees, and press my palms into my face, trying to rub the pain out of my skull.
But the memories come anyway, like shards of glass scattering across the floor.
The betrayal. My father knowing about Mama. The anger boiling in my chest. The alcohol burning its way down my throat. Showing up at Eleanor’s door.
The things I said to her.
That I wanted to kiss her.
A fresh groan tears out of me, lower and heavier this time. I bury my face in my hands. Of all the mistakes I can make… I’m not sure there’s one worse than this.
I need to get out of here—fast. My body aches from sleeping on a couch that’s far too small, every muscle stiff and sore. I push myself upright, stretch, then crouch beside Eleanor.
I gather her into my arms and lift her carefully.
She’s so light. Too light. The weight of her frailty presses into me harder than her body ever could, stealing the breath from my lungs.
Skin and bone. It breaks me in ways I don’t have words for.
I carry her to her bed and lay her down, tucking the blanket around her with a gentleness born of fear—like if I’m not careful, she may shatter.
In the kitchen, I search for something to write with, opening a few drawers while trying not to snoop. When I finally find a pad of sticky notes and a pen, I scribble a quick message.
Sorry for the sudden exit. I had to leave early. Thank you for letting me crash… and for taking care of me. - Nik
I press it to the counter, shove the pen back in the drawer, and put my shoes on. But when I straighten, the weight of it all boils up like acid.
I open the front door and shut it softly, careful not to wake her.
Then I bolt down the stairs, double over the nearest bush, and empty my stomach. Every swallow of vodka, every mistake, every regret pours out with it. But the guilt remains.
I can’t afford to process that now, or it will destroy me. I dig my phone out of my pocket and squint at the screen.
6:17 a.m.
Crap. Rehearsal starts at eight, and I don’t even have my car. This is a disaster.
I call a cab, pacing on the icy sidewalk while my breath fogs in the bitter air. Snow clings to the ground in a thick white blanket. Who knows how long it will take a cab to make it through this?
If I wasn’t so ashamed, I would call Dillon or Gabriel. But then I’d have to explain why I drank again. Why I failed. I couldn’t even face the truth myself, much less put it into words.
Fifteen minutes later, headlights cut through the haze. Relief washes over me as the cab pulls up, even though my body is frozen stiff from waiting.
The ride doesn’t take long. A cold knot forms in my stomach as we pull up to The Fig and Ash, my car sitting brazenly in the middle of the lot.
A heavy quilt of snow covers the roof and windshield.
Perfect. Just perfect. I want to punch myself for not covering it. All I can do now is pray it will start.
I pay the cab driver and yank an old towel from my trunk, swiping snow off the hood and windshield. It’s not exactly effective, but it’ll have to do.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, I jam the key into the ignition. Click. Nothing. Again. Click. Again. Click.
I let my head fall against the steering wheel, my laughter sounding more like a sob.
Of course. I deserve this. Every bit of it. If this is my punishment, so be it. I’ve earned worse.
I pop the hood, hoping for a miracle I know won’t come. What I need is a jump, and there isn’t a single car in sight. I check my phone again.
6:55 a.m.
At best, I’ll make it to rehearsal looking like a wreck. At worst, I’ll be late and Kasper isn’t exactly the understanding type with me right now.
Then I hear it—tires crunching through snow. Hope sparks, only to crash when I see who it is.
Kayla? Kendall? Something with a K.
Of all people… why does it have to be her?
Her blonde curls spill out from her hood, hands shoved in her coat pockets. “Nik? Didn’t think I’d see you again after the way you bolted last night.” She laughs, the sound grating on my nerves.
I stare, still trying to drag her name from the fog.
“Kelly,” she supplies, nose wrinkling. “Yeesh, you’re a forgetful drunk.”
Drunk. The words pierce me like needles. Ten years without hearing it, and now look at me.
“Sorry. Long night,” I mutter.
She smirks. “They all are.” Her boots crunch closer. “You didn’t even ask me to come. I was hoping for a little fun—like old times.”