31. Julieta
Chapter thirty-one
Julieta
I don’t leave with leftovers. I leave instead with pity looks from T and Delfi. Surprised looks from everybody else. And then a hug from Cecilia.
“Call me later,” she whispers, worried. I nod solemnly, but we both know I probably won't.
I walk out quietly, not saying a word, and I drive to Logan’s.
The thing about holding everything in for so long, for the sake of everybody else, is that sooner or later it’s all going to come charging out.
“Hey, you okay?” he asks, concerned, when he answers the door.
“Can we talk?”
“Of course.” There’s a line between his brows.
I walk into his place and luckily Gavin is at work.
“Busy weekend?” he wonders.
“I had a lot of work to catch up on. I fucked up one of my cases.” I take a deep breath, wounds still fresh. “I never fuck up cases.”
He steps closer to me, and brushes a strand of hair from my face. I desperately want to lean into his palm, savor this before I destroy it.
“Were you able to catch up?” he asks.
I don’t answer his question, I just keep pushing forward. “I’ve been spending too much time dancing. I’ve been too distracted.”
“Okay … should we cut back on some lessons, or …?”
“I’m not going to San Diego.” I come right out and say it.
He just stares for a moment. “What?”
“I can’t go to San Diego.” My heart is in my throat and I feel like I might choke on it.
“What happened at dinner?” His voice is low and calm, but still waters run deep.
I just shake my head. I want a clean break. I don’t want this to get messy, but of course it’s going to. It’s about to be like the rest of the weekend—a disaster.
“Julie, this is your life,” he says, reasoning. “You are allowed to live your life.”
I stand still, unable to even move. His apartment feels familiar and cozy, and I wish I could allow myself the time to linger.
“Sit down. Let's talk about this. Please,” he pleads.
“You don't understand. I can’t just drop everything and do this.”
“I don’t—what is going on right now? What happened ?”
“I was going to let you down eventually,” I say quietly.
His arms drop to his sides quickly. “Don’t fucking do that. Do not do that right now.” The anger is starting to come out of him, too. Good.
“I know we had an agreement to do the competition—”
“An agreement?” he asks incredulously. “That’s all this was? An agreement ?” He has sucked all the joy out of his laughter. Instead, it sounds angry and strained.
“What else was this? You’re the professional dancer. You can find anybody else you want to partner with.”
“ What else was this? Julie, are you listening to yourself right now? What are you even saying?” His voice is getting louder. “I don’t want anybody else to partner with. You asked me to do this with you. And now you’re going to leave me stranded, after everything I told you about San Diego?”
“I can’t be the person you need me to be right now.” I’m already drowning in shame and guilt, might as well dump more on top.
“Because you don’t want to be.”
“That’s not true.” I shake my head back and forth.
“You’re walking away from this. Makes it pretty clear.”
“What am I supposed to do? Quit my job and do this?” I throw back at him.
“I never said that, but I see where you stand.”
“I can’t let go, Logan,” I say.
“Of your fancy lawyer job that you hate?”
“Well, that fancy lawyer job that I hate has been around longer than you or all of this!” My retort is full of spite and anger. It’s full of blame and sadness, too. “I have pushed all my responsibilities aside for this dance, and it has fucked everything up.”
“Nobody asked you to do that,” he says.
“I don’t want to play the blame game.”
“You walked in here playing the blame game!” he yells. “Why are you doing this?”
“I can’t go.” I shake my head. I know it’s not an answer, but I worry it’s the only one I can give.
“Is this about your family?” he presses, seemingly desperate for anything to save this decision. “You’re not responsible for their lives, Julie. And I know this might be hard to shake, but you don’t owe them anything.”
It’s another punch to the gut, one I can’t worry about tending to right now.
“I can’t go,” I repeat, but the words have lost their vigor.
“You can ,” he insists.
“ Why are you pushing this so hard?” Now it’s my turn to yell.
He looks broken, like he shouldn’t have to tell me why he’s pushing so hard. Like I should know because we used to be on the same team. But he answers me anyway. “Because this was saving me, too.”
And I don’t know how I keep it together.
“I’m so tired.” I start to cry. “It’s not my job to save you.”
“Maybe I thought we were on the same page,” he says softly. “I thought this was something we both wanted. I can see now that I was wrong.”
I know I’ve let him down, and I don’t think I can stand here much longer. I’m about to walk to the door, but he beats me to it: “Please leave.”
And so, I do.