Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
DEREK
I dropped down onto the armchair Rosie vacated and glanced at Aaron. “That went well.”
Her brother scratched his chin and frowned. “I didn't think she would react the way she did. You guys were friends last semester…”
From where I was standing, it seemed like he hit her most painful nail right on the head. Not that I knew exactly what happened to Rosie over the summer. But whatever it was had triggered fight-or-flight, and she flew out faster than anyone anticipated.
“Is this about why she stopped dancing?” I asked carefully, not wanting to pry, but hating the thought of having to do anything with the pain I saw burn in her blue eyes.
Aaron sighed. “Yeah, I mean... I thought she was okay. It's been two years; she is fully into her Pilates and Barre era with her pink yoga mat and teacher training. I didn't think she still...”
“Grieved her old life?” I asked, my voice more accusatory than I planned. But fuck, he was her brother. He should have known better. I knew she was still grieving; that’s what brought us together. Maybe some old wounds got ripped open during the months apart.
His eyes snapped up to mine. “I might have fucked up. But she knows how an injury can hurt you; she would have been perfect to help you recover. Not just to keep you company.”
Rosie already did more to help me than anyone else.
The countless hours she spent keeping me company as everyone else went on with their lives.
And despite most of the girlfriends from my team made the effort to help, Rosalie baked for me, entertained me, and really cared for me.
I thought it was the start of something between us.
“Clearly, she doesn't share the sentiment,” I muttered, not being able to stop the sarcasm steeping into my voice.
Aaron narrowed his eyes at me, but bit back whatever it was he wanted to say. He knew he screwed up. “Don't worry, I'll talk to her and...”
“That's okay,” I cut him off. “I can take whatever other teacher is in the studio. I'm sure it's all the same.”
I wasn't looking forward to being vulnerable and fumbling in front of anyone but knowing it would have been Rosie made the thought a bit more bearable. She was like a safety blanket.
“All right, bro,” Aaron nodded. “Whatever you want. Maybe it’s even better, so you don’t hit on my sister just to make yourself feel better.”
I groaned and gave him a stern look. It might have slipped his attention, but since my injury, I wasn’t excited about hookups. I just couldn’t stomach them.
“Sure, great excuse,” I said sarcastically.
“Sorry,” Aaron laughed. “You know I get overprotective of her. I don’t want some douche playing with her, and she seems hell-bent on going out with idiots. But at the same time, I want to help you. You seemed like you struggled today.”
Pushing my lips together, I forced myself to stay quiet. I didn't just struggle; I was battling my inner fight or flight. But contrary to Rosie, I couldn't just walk away. I wanted to, because every time I lifted my leg to shoot, gut-wrenching fear paralyzed my body.
Was there such a thing as injury PTSD? Because if there had been, I sure would have suffered from it.
But it wasn't something I was willing to discuss with anyone. Only my therapist.
“I'm good,” I nodded, standing. “Thanks for offering to help. Especially asking Rosie. Appreciate it.”
Aaron nodded, but I missed his wave of goodbye as I stared at my buzzing phone.
Max
I'm here if you want to talk.
Maddox
Dude, get your head out of your ass.
Yeah, my two best friends had very different approaches to addressing tough topics.
With a scoff, I ignored them both, and taking a deep breath, I forced my feet to start walking towards the Pilates studio and face my fears.
My schedule quickly turned mental. I spent my early mornings running with Max and Maddox, my two best friends, who didn't mind slowing down to keep my knee from giving out.
Then I fumbled through soccer practice where I shit the bed every time I needed to score.
Passing was okay, I could do that. But scoring still made my palms sweaty.
Then I had my boring classes, which were annoying, as I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life.
I had a big inheritance coming my way, so I could do anything I wanted.
I could do professional soccer; I was decent enough, but I wasn't sure I was cut out for that.
Not the way Max and Maddox were. So yeah, my business classes were a pain.
And in the afternoon, I had to struggle through 90 minutes of Pilates. The teacher, who happened to be the owner, Sam, was nice enough when she didn't make my legs shake like they were made of fucking jelly.
“Ten more,” she smiled at me, as she forced me to internally rotate my knee and slowly push out the carriage of the reformer, which was otherwise known as a modern torture device.
She only kept me at one red spring, which was supposed to be not too heavy.
Instead, simply help strengthen the muscles around my knee. “Inhale, exhale.”
And that was the other thing, being forced to synchronize my breath with the exercise. Never thought breathing was so fucking hard.
My leg shook as I did at least twenty. I learned early on that Sam was a compulsive liar.
Every time she said a number, I ended up doing double.
She also didn't know how to count seconds.
I wasn't sure how she was qualified to teach, seeing that she struggled with counting, but hey, who was I to decide?
A groan escaped me as I changed legs, and my injured knee was the one I had to force to internally rotate. Fear gripped my throat from the unnatural position before I slowly pushed the carriage out, every single muscle in my leg screaming.
“Very good,” Sam praised me as always when we worked on my weaker leg.
My eyes fell shut for a short moment before shooting back up as soft instrumental music coaxed them open.
I watched the figure through the glass door move in awe, her movements fluid to the music I didn't fully hear.
She looked like a dream, moving like the waves in the ocean.
I didn't know where one move ended and the next began as she melted into one big run-on sentence.
I held my breath, watching her, my exercise all forgotten.
“Why don't we take a breather?” Sam asked somewhere in the distance, humor lacing her tone. Clearly, she was entertained by my distraction.
With a curt nod, I got off the torturing device with a big grunt, and with uncertain legs, I walked over to the small studio.
As I approached, I heard the heart-wrenching lyrics pour through the speakers, talking about lost love.
It must have been a cover as the original song was much faster and sung by a male, but this version was completely breathtaking.
Especially paired with Rosalie’s beautiful moves.
I watched in awe as she smoothly made her way to the floor, kicking her leg up high over her head and rolling over before standing and moving into a turn sequence.
I didn't watch many dances, but the ones I did watch used different turns.
Others kept their legs high, while Rosie kept her non-turning leg low, as if afraid that lifting it higher would hurt her.
My breathing was long forgotten, as she slowly moved her leg higher one turn at a time, but before she passed the fifty-degree mark, the turn stopped, and she swore.
She shook out her leg, her fingers digging into her hip flexor, massaging it with annoyed jerks.
I didn't notice I was moving until I pushed the door open and stared at her. “Are you okay?”
Rosalie’s head snapped towards me, the loose strands of her hair flying as she shook her head. “I'm fine. What are you doing here?”
“I have my class now,” I nodded towards the other room, realizing how foolish it was of me to just march in here.
Her cheeks turned pink as she averted her gaze and instead moved to disconnect her phone from her sound system.
“You should get back,” she nodded towards the door, dismissing me. “Don't want you to miss out...”
“I just wanted to check in on you.”
As soon as the words left my lips, I cringed. Check in on you sounded like she needed me.
Rosie turned and arched a brow at me. “You did. Now get back to your class.”
I groaned. “It's not how I meant it.”
“I got the memo.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice. “Tell my brother he can stop blowing up my phone and worrying.”
I flat out laughed, and when her blue eyes met mine, I took a step closer to her. “It's cute. That you think I'm your brother's little errand boy, Thron.”
“Can you stop with the nicknames?” she muttered, walking around me and heading for the door. “My name's Rosalie. Not Rosie, not Thorn, nor anything else you might come up with.”
“You didn't mind that before,” I shrugged, trying to get a read on her face, but failed. Her features were carefully guarded, and she didn't give away a single thought.
“Maybe I was being nice.”
I almost laughed but forced myself to stop. “You don't strike me as someone who would be so fake.”
“You don't know me. You just know a version of me.”
Tilting my head, I watched her exited the room “Which version?”
“One that doesn’t exist anymore,” she said, not even turning back.
“Rosalie,” Sam stopped her with a smile. “I need to get Jerry from daycare. Do you mind finishing with Derek and locking up?”
I would have paid big bucks to see her face, but instead I bit my cheek to keep from grinning. Rosie turned towards me under the grim light and gave me a very dark look.
“Sure, no problem,” she nodded, her voice calm and even, while her eyes were telling a completely different story.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Sam said, squeezing her shoulder before giving me a quick wave and disappearing from the studio.
“Well, this escalated quickly,” I muttered, stepping up close to her. “Where do you want me, sweetheart?”
“Stop. With. The. Nicknames.”