CHAPTER EIGHT
Kaia
The next morning, I joined Sharon and Dad for breakfast. They were laughing at something but stopped the moment I entered the kitchen.
“Good morning,” I said, heading for the toaster, already feeling like an outsider.
Sharon gave me her usual too-polite smile. “Good morning, Kaia. Sleep well?”
“Yeah. How was your night out?”
Dad chuckled. “Very nice. Too bad I have to work today. A few more hours of sleep wouldn’t hurt.”
I poured myself cocoa, grabbed toast, and sat at the table. As I took a bite, Asher walked in. Even in a plain black T-shirt and jeans, he looked unfairly good. I sipped my drink, trying to calm the flutter in my stomach his nearness always sparked. How could I still feel that way after last night?
It didn’t matter how good he looked—I hadn’t forgiven him. He’d dropped me off and wished me good night as if he hadn’t caused a scene at the club. Why did I expect an apology, or at least a word about it?
Asher fixed a coffee and leaned against the counter. Our eyes met, and I drowned my nerves with a gulp of cocoa.
Unaffected, he stalked to the table and sat beside me. My skin prickled with awareness. Why here? Why not across from me? I needed to break whatever hold he had. Luckily, I had something to tell Dad.
“Dad,” I began.
He scrolled through his phone, not even glancing up. “Huh?”
Sharon pressed against his side, resting her head on his shoulder. Unlike his, her eyes stayed on me.
“My winter showcase is at seven p.m. next Friday. We can invite family, so if you two want to come…”
“I’ll need to check my calendar.” Dad set his phone down. “Pretty sure I have a meeting in Emerport.”
Sharon’s lips parted, then closed again, as if unsure she should speak.
“Emerport isn’t that far.” Asher’s voice beside me made my head snap his way, despite my vow to ignore him.
He toyed with his napkin. “Even if the meeting’s in the afternoon, you could still make it.”
Was this his idea of apologizing? Did he really think convincing Dad to promise he’d watch me dance erased what happened at the club?
If so, he was wrong. Still, something tugged at me.
Pathetic, how a crumb of attention could undo me.
Was this how Mandy felt about Dean? One kind word, and she melted?
“I’d rather not rush back,” Dad said. “The only thing you should worry about is excelling this academic year, Kaia. Dancing’s just a hobby.”
The weight of disappointment crushed my chest. I never planned to dance for a living, but it was my escape—something I was good at. “I know.” I swallowed the golf-ball lump that made breathing hard.
Dad picked up his phone again. “I mean it, Kaia. Studies should always come first, especially now.”
Asher pushed to his feet. He strode to the sink, dumped out his coffee, and set the mug in the dishwasher. “I’ve got to go.”
“But you haven’t eaten anything, Asher,” Sharon said in her sugary tone.
“Not hungry.” He closed the dishwasher and walked out.
Was he mad? Hard to tell with him. I checked my watch. Damn it. I hadn’t realized it was this late. “Sharon.” I set my half-eaten toast on the plate. “I’m sorry, but rehearsal’s in thirty minutes.”
It sucked relying on her, but without a car there was no other way to get to the studio. Buses didn’t run in the suburbs.
“Oh, of course.” She turned to Dad and kissed his cheek. “Sorry, honey. I need to take Kaia to her dance lesson.”
“Yes, wouldn’t want to miss that,” Dad muttered into his cup. I pretended I hadn’t heard and bolted from the kitchen. Ten minutes later, we climbed into Sharon’s car.
“What time should I pick you up?” she asked as we merged into traffic.
“Twelve, as usual. Then I’ve got the lunch shift at Grill&Go.”
She hummed, nodding, and focused on the road. Twenty awkward minutes later, she parked downtown. I said goodbye, jumped out, and sprinted toward the studio.
The foyer was empty. Shit. I was late—or almost. Pulling my phone from my sweatpants pocket, I checked the time as I jogged down the hall to the locker room. Class had already started, but I still needed to change.
My legs froze. Clothes. Shoes. Crap. My bag was still in Sharon’s car.
I sagged against the wall, smacking my forehead with my palm.
Imani was kind, but rules were rules. Nausea twisted my stomach as I dialed Sharon.
Asking her for anything was uncomfortable, but she couldn’t be far—it’d only take a few minutes to bring my stuff back.
Ring after ring, no answer. My second call went straight to voicemail. So did the third.
I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood. Either I went in unprepared or let my team down by not participating in one of the last two rehearsals before the year’s second-biggest showcase.
Our performance mattered more than my shame. Heart pounding, I rushed to the dance hall and paused outside, listening to Imani’s clear voice count over the music.
One deep breath, then I knocked. She opened the door, smiling as she stepped aside.
Joining Tessa and Niki would’ve been easier if I’d had my dance gear. Without it, my lateness and lack of preparation blared louder. My eyes watered.
“Let’s take a short break,” Imani called, her gaze sliding to me. “You alright?”
“Yeah.” I blinked fast, holding back tears. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I left my stuff in the car. I tried calling my father’s girlfriend, but she won’t pick up.”
She rubbed my arm with a smile. “It’s okay. I’ll lend you my spare shoes. Seven and a half?”
Relief relaxed my shoulders. I slicked back my hair, nodding. “Yeah. Thank you.”
At least I wore sweats and a top—close enough to our practice clothes. Imani dug out her sneakers, and in minutes I joined the girls.
Sometimes I thought hip-hop did more for me than my weekly chats with Dr. White. During those stress-free hours, I could forget Mom was gone, another woman had taken her place, and Dad hadn’t asked about my day—or wished me good night—in years.
By the end of class, sweat clung to my top, but my frustration with Sharon had eased. Maybe she had somewhere to be and hadn’t checked her phone. She never told me her schedule anyway, so I didn’t keep track.
One by one, the girls left. Sharon was supposed to pick me up in ten, so I lingered at the mirror, trying to tame my hair with only my hands. Everything else was in my bag. At least I still had my phone, even if the battery hovered low.
“Kaia.” Tessa appeared at my side. “Bobby and I are grabbing lunch. Want to come?”
Sweet of her to offer, but I didn’t feel like being a third wheel. I grabbed my phone from the bench and shoved it into my pocket. “Thanks, but I’ve got work. My father’s girlfriend should be here any minute.”
Tessa smiled, backpedaling. “Okay. I’d wait, but Bobby’s already outside.”
“It’s cool. See you Monday.”
She waved and left. The studio emptied, leaving me and Hugh, the security guard, who’d lock up soon.
On my way to reception, a sharp pang knifed my stomach. No way in hell.
I spun and bolted to the bathroom. Panic gripped me as I yanked down my sweats and panties.
Crimson stained the fabric. Damn it. My period wasn’t due for three more days. Another cramp twisted deep, stealing my breath. I cleaned up as best I could, folded toilet paper into a makeshift pad, and hurried out.
Hugh was scrolling his phone, oblivious. I muttered a goodbye and rushed into the chilly air. Wind slapped my hot face as I scanned the street for Sharon’s car, trying to ignore the cramps tightening with every step.
The doctor had said I was healthy, but my heavy periods wrecked me two days each month. Work would be miserable, but I couldn’t afford to skip a shift. I had pads in my purse, and my uniform was black. I’d manage.
I pulled out my phone, forcing myself not to focus on the dampness soaking my underwear. The blood would stain my light gray sweats soon, but Sharon should be here any minute. She had to be.
“Come on,” I whispered, pressing the phone to my ear.
Voicemail. Crap. Crap, crap, crap. She was just late. She wouldn’t forget me—not after asking what time to pick me up.
I stood frozen on the sidewalk, clutching my dying phone and running through my options.
Calling Dad was obvious, but his cell was always off—like hers. Mandy lived too far, and her sister chauffeured her everywhere.
A group of guys passed. One looked at me too long, and shame burned hot under my skin.
My sweats were ruined for sure. Five more minutes and I’d be late for work. Cynthia would tear me apart, but what choice did I have? None—except wait and hope Sharon showed up. And something told me she wouldn’t.
Pain lanced my lower belly. I wrapped my arms around myself. What a day from hell!
I sank onto a bench and called Sharon again. This time the screen went black.
The tears came fast. I wasn’t a crier, but that was about to change.
No amount of steady breathing helped. Wetness streaked my cheeks, and I wiped at it with my jacket sleeve. I could walk to the diner, even in blood-stained sweats, but what would Cynthia say if she saw me like this? Compassion wasn’t in her vocabulary.
I sat on the bench for what felt like an hour. An engine roared as someone pulled into the lot. Too loud to be Sharon—just someone to witness me at my worst. I swiped at my cheeks with the back of my hand and ducked into my phone to hide my face.
Footsteps neared. When I looked up, my eyes collided with Asher’s.
He arched a brow. “Peque?”