Chapter 13
Thirteen
Denise
It’s probably not the smartest idea for me to force myself to try and perform an entire dance that I haven’t practiced properly for almost a whole year.
But I know that I was able to perform it once before. I feel the need to prove to myself that I can do it again, despite the burning in my hip creeping up on me when I overextend myself for too long.
I know I’ll have to severely ice my hip after this but the high I felt last week at the dance studio—well, before I crashed down onto the floor—wouldn’t leave my head. I hadn’t danced before then and now that I’ve gotten a familiar taste, I’m itching to do it again.
“The Dying Swan”
It was the dance I was rehearsing for before my injury. Actually, it was the dance that led to said injury. I wanted the chance to be able to perform it but it was between me and a few other girls. One from Germany. One from Japan. The other two were American.
There could only be one swan and I needed to prove that it could be me. Needed to be the best, not only in my class but at the school. How else was I supposed to become one of the greats?
I did whatever I could to ignore my hip flexor strain. But because of the injury, I couldn’t perform at my best, leading me to lose the role to Michi Watanabe.
Strykers don’t tend to take losses well and that one wasn’t an exception. I pushed my body past its capabilities, my injury only worsening.
All of that stress on not only my mind but my body led to me having to get surgery. Said surgery taught me nothing. I was dancing way sooner than I should’ve. I did irreparable damage to my body. I could never dance the same and I had to say goodbye to my favorite thing in the entire world.
Apparently, I like to torture myself with the knowledge that I’ll never be able to perform this song for anyone, ever. Not in the way I want.
To perfection.
And maybe that’s why I talked a good friend of mine into letting me into the Kingswell theater just so I could be up on this stage, lights shining on me, pretending that I’m in a different universe where I didn’t turn out to be the person that I am today.
I don’t tell myself that I have to move through the solo with fluidity or precision. Unlike the other night where all I did was think about if my feet were pointed enough, or my arms were elongated and elegant.
This time I allow myself the luxury of feeling the hum of the cello vibrating off the floorboards of the stage. I take in the sound of my pointe shoes hitting the floor.
I don’t think about how I used to be able to do this perfectly or how if anyone that knew a thing about ballet saw me right now, they’d be able to tell me where I messed up. Where I’ve developed weaknesses.
No, right now I let my body move without expectation.
My muscles tense as I remain on relevé but I keep my breathing steady, my arms delicately swaying above me.
As the song comes to an end, I’m now on the floor. I rest my head against my extended leg for the final pose, letting out a shaky breath, feeling my cheeks grow warm and wet.
The sorrow sits in my chest, outweighing the burning in my hip.
The sound of someone clapping causes my spine to straighten and I quickly sit back up. My eyes squint, trying to see past the stage lights but then I hear Lucas’s voice, and I find my body relaxing.
“My knowledge on ballet is exactly zero but I do know that was pretty amazing, Stryker.”
I quickly wipe my tears away before standing up and watching Lucas climb the stairs, a gentle smile on his face.
I find myself stepping closer, needing to be near him in a way that I shouldn’t allow myself to want.
Wanting things is a dangerous game to play.
“How’d you know I was here?” I fail at trying not to smile, only making Lucas’s widen.
He shrugs, putting his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie. “Bethany told me and despite popular belief, I’m not entirely stupid so I knew I’d have the upper hand by bribing her with Moose’s phone number. Apparently they were too drunk the other night to do anything besides sleep together.”
Of course he did. Why am I not surprised?
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m determined,” he argues. “That dance have a name?”
“The Dying Swan.”
Once the name comes out of my mouth, it almost feels like I said too much. As if Lucas would understand the piece and its significance to me now.
It’s not just a number I wanted to perform.
Now it’s more than that. A semblance of the life I lost.
The final, beautiful act before death.
I find myself crossing my leg in front of me, creating a small amount of space between the both of us. Something in the way he looks at me takes me back to when I first started dancing and yearned for my teacher’s approval.
Was I entertaining enough?
Was my technique perfect?
Did I evoke emotion through my movements without words being needed?
And why am I so concerned about having Lucas’s approval?
“What?” I look away from my pointe shoes to see Lucas’s intense gaze on me, his head slightly tilted to the side.
“Nothing,” he finally says. “It’s just you usually have this mean mug look about you—which don’t get me wrong, I love it but when you were dancing, you looked…you looked happy.”
Oh.
“Thanks.” I clear my throat, feeling like my skin has been peeled back, revealing a new layer. “It’s uh—usually the only thing that does. Well, I mean it used to be.”
“I get that.” He steps closer. “You feeling okay? Did you need anything?” His hand reaches out for me but he ends up dropping it right before he touches my skin.
I fight the urge to take his hand in mine. “I’m good, Callahan.”
I step back instead of stepping closer. He looks too soft right now. So genuine. A lot like what I’ve been trying to avoid.
“So.” I reach down to grab my pain relievers and water out of my bag. “What’d you need?”
Lucas notices the bottle of pills in my hands and rolls his eyes affectionately at my stubbornness but he doesn’t comment on it this time. “What do you mean?”
“You sacrificed one of your teammates to my best friend just to know where to find me. I’m guessing there’s a reason.” The pills slide down my throat with some effort.
“There is. I wanted to see you.”
I choke on my water, coughing into my hand. Lucas pats my back as he chuckles.
I clear my throat and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re really sappy?”
“Yeah actually.” He smiles. “The guys on the team make fun of me for it.”
I rest my hand on Lucas’s shoulder, using him to balance myself as I untie my pointe shoes. Not because I want an excuse to touch him.
If Lucas notices, he doesn’t say anything.
“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask.” I try to keep my attention on the silk ribbon of my shoes slipping through my fingers and not the way Lucas’s arm flexes under my touch. “Out of all things, why hockey?”
“What?”
“Yeah, it’s just the more I get to know you, the more it seems like an odd choice. I honestly don’t think you have a violent bone in your body.”
He’s silent for longer than usual and I look up to find him not meeting my gaze for once. Instead, he’s watching my hands work away at my pointe shoes.
“When I was younger, there was a kid at my school who played hockey. I talked about how I wanted to play too and the jackass told me I was too stupid to actually be any good. I joined anyways but ironically enough, I hated it at first.”
My eyes widen. “You did?”
It’s hard to imagine Lucas hating the very thing I see him get so passionate about now.
“Yeah, I felt so guilty making my parents pay all that money just for me to suck at it.” His gaze meets mine again.
“I actually got called out by my coach quite a few times because anything he said to me went in one ear and out the other. I spent most games benched until he finally had no choice but to put me in.”
I pull my arm away from his shoulder, pointe shoes in my hands, but I remain standing in front of Lucas. He smiles and shakes his head.
“I ended up scoring the winning goal. I think that was the first time I ever exceeded not only my own expectations but everyone else’s. I realized I wanted more of it, so I kept playing.”
“But do you actually like it?”
He nods, prideful. “Oh, now I love it. I can’t imagine doing anything else.
But…also most people assume they know what I can and can’t do before they ever really know me, and I’m not going to lie and say that it doesn’t feel good when people underestimate me off the ice just to show them up in a game. ”
I want to tell Lucas that I’ve never once underestimated him. Not with hockey or who he is as a person but then I’d be lying.
I too have fallen into the trap of thinking of Lucas as less than. I never thought he’d have this much of an impact on my life and I should’ve. From the second I saw him, I should’ve known that Lucas was going to worm his way into my life, settling in comfortably.
He’s unknowingly given me a reminder of what it feels like to want something. And oh, do I miss that feeling.
“Hey, Lucas?”
“Yeah?”
“Let’s go somewhere.”
His smile widens as if my words are equivalent to gold. “Where’d you have in mind?”