Hitting to Win (Over the Fence #2) (16 page)

"
A
re you ready
, Bella?" Mama squeezes me shoulders as we assess my makeup in the mirror. It’s a special type of magic that foundation and cover-up works. You can barely see the bruise-like circles rimming my eyes.

"As I'll ever be." I give her a small smile, the only expression I can muster.

I study my makeup in the mirror, the way my bun is pulled higher on to my head today to account for the hairpiece I've added. The bodysuit I wear is a deep, dark maroon, with a long gauzy tutu that reaches the floor. My whole body is bathed in the dark red, like I'm one big, deep stab wound. Which is also how I feel.

I haven't cried since I stormed out of Miles's bedroom last night. I haven't slept either. I really haven't done much but sit in the airport, on the plane, in a cab. Numb, unfeeling, just staring out into space.

I love you. How stupid could I have been? I shouldn't have said it, not then. Miles could barely stand upright. Why he'd gotten so bombed, I'm not even sure. It shouldn't sting like alcohol over an open wound that he didn't return my sentiment. But it did. It hurt so bad that I felt like I couldn't take a deep breath. It felt like my body was shutting down organ by organ, like the pain ripping through me couldn't even be real.

I'd jumped on a plane eight hours after running out of his house, headed to New York for my audition. So I had to push this to the background, had to grieve later. Right now, I had to go out and give the performance of a lifetime.

Standing, I run my hands down the smooth cotton leotard, going up on my pointe shoes to stretch out my calves, to make sure my shoes were completely broken in and to my liking. I'd burned these ones, scraped them with a steel brush, and showered in them to mold them to perfection. Ballet was an art form, and if I didn't get this painting perfect, my whole future was in jeopardy.

"You're going to do great." Mama stares at me lovingly from the corner where she sits. "You have been training all of your life for this. Ever since you were a little girl, twirling around the restaurant. I couldn't stop you from dancing, and after you took your first lesson, I never did. God gave you this gift, this blessing. He put you here to show everyone else just how beautiful ballet is, and you did it perfectly every time you step out onto the stage."

She moves to me, taking my hands in her's and pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Whatever happened in the past day, you need to push it out of your mind. Don't think about anything but this dance. And no matter what happens, remember. We are so proud of you regardless of where you end up. No matter if you're a prima ballerina or a chorus girl. Or if you stop dancing altogether. You're our daughter and we love you. Never forget that."

Her words opened up my heart just the tiniest fraction, allowing some of her warmth and good to invade my body. It was exactly what I needed to go out there and take what was mine.

"Chloe Trabucco? You're on deck," the coordinator came back to let me know. I shook out my whole body, rolling my neck in that way everyone does when they are about to head into a battle. Because that is what this felt like.

I kissed mama one last time, and then headed up for the wings of the stage. I turned my back to the big wood floor in front of me. I never watched the other solos; not at competition, not in practice, and definitely not here. I psyched myself out enough without adding other dancers to the mix.

The girl's music was upbeat, a loud symphony beat similar to the nutcracker. It was too cliché. I knew I needed to wow these judges, to really show them what I was made of. Soon, her music ended and she flurried past me in a fluff of white tulle.

I pushed my shoulders back, took a deep breath, held up, and pointed my toes as I glided out onto the stage.

"Ms. Trabucco, yes?" The older man at the table asked. I recognized him as Simon Hutler, the program director at SAB. He was the one who made final decisions on who stayed and who went. He was the head honcho.

"Yes, that's right. Thank you so much for having me." You had to play these auditions polite, but not too over-the-top enthusiastic. I'd even taken a seminar on how to nail a ballet audition. This world was more cutthroat than any.

"You came highly recommended by Madame Vivienne, and have a top spot at Grover. We are excited to see what you've prepared for us." Natalie Pinroe addressed me directly, and I thought I might die on the spot. She smiled, and I couldn't tell if it was genuine.

"Yes." I nodded to the person manning the stereo, taken that it was my cue to go on and dance already. I got into my starting position, and waited as the first few slow, heartbreaking violin strings rang through the regal hall.

This piece hadn't been intentionally picked, but I'd come across this song as I was researching and choreographing, and could not get it out of my head.

The crescendo picks up, and I begin to move, lifting up onto releve and bourreeing across the stage, my arms loose but composed, floating on the air like sad willow tree branches. I let the music take me, the sad, lilting melody speaking for the pain in my soul.

The room disappears, and it’s just me, the hardwood and my pointe shoes, doing what I was made to do. I'm not even thinking, the motions just coming naturally, each turn and leap and kick a representation of my emotions, an extension of me.

I dance out all of the pain and heartache I've felt in the last hours, I throw my body into the jumps, willing this to soothe my soul. I'm relaxed, nowhere near nervous, I just dance and let the music take me over.

As the song winds down, I fold my body in half, representing exactly the way my heart feels. I think I feel tears in my eyes, but I'm not sure. And at this point I don't care. My body is humming, vibrating at another level. It’s a feeling I get only after I've danced my ass off. And I know I've done as well as I possibly can.

The judges come back into view, and I tune back into the room, noting the deafening silence that has taken over. And then I can hear my mama and papa clapping wildly from the side of the hall, tears streaming down their faces.

"Well, Ms. Trabucco, I'd say SAB would be deaf, dumb and blind to not accept you into their program." Natalie Pinroe gives me a look of satisfied amusement.

My heart stutters and stops at her words. What did she just say? My whole body fills with pride at her veiled compliment.

"I have to agree with Natalie, but no decisions are being made at this moment. We will call you in May, Ms. Trabucco. You may go now." Malcolm dismisses me, but it doesn't stop my heart from beating in a wild fashion. They liked me, and he agrees that they need to accept me. I'll be a nervous wreck waiting until May, but this was so worth it.

I nod, flicking my gaze over the hall, wanting to remember this moment before I walk off the stage into the unknown future. And just as I'm about to turn and exit, my eyes lock with one blue eye and one green eye. Sitting dead center in the last row.

I
sprint
down the halls of the building. Why is it that all art-related schools are built so that normal people can never find their way around?

I hang a quick left when I see a sign for the Alexander Croquex Hall, and almost smash my baby-makers into a water fountain. Jesus, that was a close call. I don't stop, just swerve around it, and finally see grand-looking double doors coming into view straight in front of me.

I'm almost there, I can feel the brass handles in my fingers, when a chilling voice hits me on the right side of my body.

"Miles..."

I stop dead, almost skidding into the doors with the speed and force I'm going at. Fuck. Mr. Trabucco. I hadn't even thought about her parents being here. He was definitely going to kill me.

"Uh, hi...Mr. Trabucco. Nice to see you." After all this man had done for me, he probably thought I was a piece of shit. Which I was, I could definitely cop to that.

About an hour after Chloe had left my room, I snapped out of my self-pity and mourning funk. How fucking stupid was I? The girl I loved had told me she loved me too, and all I could do was sit there like a fucking idiot. I was too stupid, too stuck in the past, and yet again missed what was right in front of me. I wasn't going to make that goddamn mistake a third time.

So I'd showered, sobered up, spent every cent I still had left on a plane ticket to New York, and packed my bags. I was going after my girl.

"Yes, hello. What are you doing here?" His look told me everything. He knew I'd done something wrong, and he wasn't pleased that I'd come. He was a family man, a protector. He'd cut down anything that threatened his daughter.

"I came...I came to see Chloe. And to see her audition. I thought I should be here." I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. What if she didn't want to see me? What if I'd really lost her this time?

"I'm not sure that's a good idea—"

I cut him off. "Listen, I know I messed up. Again. But your daughter, she is the most important thing in my life. I love her. And I need to tell her that. Even if she never wants to see me again, I need to tell her that."

Tony Sr. sighs. "Miles, I know you haven't had an easy life. Some people would like to believe that because you grew up with money, you had it all. I know that isn't true. I know how your father is, how he treated you. I know that deep down, you're doing the best you can at trying to turn your life around. And I know you're worthy of my daughter, but right now, I'm not sure it's the best time to wrap her up in all of this. All of your troubles."

My heart cracked open and started leaking at his words, because he was right. Maybe she didn't need to be involved in my issues right now.

"But I love her. I need her in my life. And I'm trying so hard to be a better man, a better person for her. I promise, Mr. Trabucco, I will never hurt her again. I want to protect her, put her up on the highest pedestal. All I want is for her to succeed, and let me be by her side when she does it."

I'm choking up, nearly drowning in my emotions now. He has to see how desperate I am for her.

"I understand." His eyes light with wisdom. "Its how I feel about her mother. And I know you want to treat her right, I see that you have what it takes. But Miles, if you're going to ask for her again, make it the last time. Don't screw with my daughter again. Or I'm going to have to kill you."

His words were dead serious, the look in his eyes could slice through steel.

"I understand, sir. I promise, I will never do anything to hurt her again."

He pats me on the back, his assassin mask leaving his features. "I like you, I do, Miles. I could tell from the start that you'd been handed a bad lot in life, and were trying to make something of yourself. You remind me of a younger me."

His words are a balm to my bruised and battered heart. Tony Sr. may not be my father, but as a role model, I couldn't do any better. "Thanks, sir."

"Now, let's go watch our girl kick some ballet ass."

As we stepped into the gigantic hall, I felt like I was stepping into a church. This was where dancer's came to worship, and I could feel the electricity in the air. The girl up on stage was twirling manically, with not as much control or grace as Chloe had. Three people sat at a panel table in the front, and groups of onlookers sat scattered through the wooden auditorium.

The current girl on stage finished with a flourish and a whip of her hands, too showy where Chloe would have been elegant and composed. And then they’re calling her out onto the stage, her beautiful, lithe body sashaying to the center of it.

I can’t breathe she looks so beautiful. She actually takes my breath away. Her supple, shapely legs are half hidden by a long, flowing see-through red material. Her onyx hair is piled high on her head in a tight, fat bun, her sharp cheekbones highlighted in the harsh stage lighting. She looks like an actual earth angel.

They start to ask her questions — Where is she from? What studio does she dance for? — and I tune them out, choosing only to hear the tinkling sound of her voice. My heart flops over in my chest. This is my girl standing up on that stage, ready to grab her dream by the balls, and I can't believe I was so stupid as to let her walk out.

Sharp violin chords begin to fill the air, slow and heart-wrenching. It reminds of the funeral hymns played at Jay's wake. Another knife stabs into the ventricles of my heart.

Chloe moves, a sweeping, exaggerated motion across the stage that mimics reaching for someone. My stomach dips, and all I want to do is run up there and gather her in my arms. Again, I'm a fucking moron.

She continues dancing, her raw emotions bleeding out onto the stage, her elegant body wrapped in red swaying across the wood. As she went into turn after turn and leap after leap, I heard a murmur rise up among the audience members. I almost couldn't tear my face away from her perfect form, but when I did, I saw nods of appreciation and jealousy spread across the faces of those watching Chloe. She was good...really good.

She spins to a stop in the middle of the stage and remains in the pose until the music whines to a stop, and then I hear people clapping in appreciation around me. I see Tony and Isabella down in front, whistling through their teeth. The three judges tell her just how good she is, and as I'm about to sneak out the back and wait for her outside, she looks up. Her eyes catch on mine, those violet orbs rearing back in surprise and sadness. And then she walks of the stage calmly, but I can read the hurt and shock in her body language.

I bolt for the exit, running around the maze that is this fucking building trying to get back to the dressing room. I follow signs for it, and when I can smell the acidic and flammable stink of hairspray in the air, I know I've found it.

I wait outside, tapping my foot anxiously against the linoleum, running down my speech one more time. Like I hadn't practiced it a thousand times on the plane. I hadn't slept at all. Speaking of that, I probably looked like death warmed over.

The wooden door opens, revealing a cloud of glitter and perfume, and out walks Chloe, flanked by Tony and Isabella.

"Miles!" Isabella is surprised, not having seen my yet. I can hear the hesitancy in her voice, and I know Chloe's told her what happened.

"Isa, let's go get some snacks from the vending machine..." Tony is on my side, at least I think he is, and I'm so grateful for his obvious diversion.

Chloe, on the other hand, is not thrilled. "No, can we just go? I want to go home." She grabs her mother's hand, holding on and trying to make her stay.

"You talk to the boy, hear what he has to say." Tony ushers Isabella away, leaving Chloe and I awkwardly standing there, her staring at the ground, and me staring at her.

"You kicked ass up there." Great opening, idiot.

Chloe looks up, stares at a spot over my shoulder. "Thank you."

I don't know what to say next, how to start. We stand there, the words on the tip of my tongue, and her inching to get away. Finally, she turns and starts to briskly walk, but I grab her wrist.

"Wait, baby..."

"Why are you here, Miles? You made it very clear last night that I was not important to you. That we were not important to you."

"Chloe, I'm so sorry. So goddamned sorry. I was...yesterday, it wasn't a good day."

She cuts me off. "So, what? Whenever you're having a bad day you can just treat me like shit, you can forget about the respect you're supposed to have to me? That's not how relationships work. Hate to break that to you."

She wrenches her hand out of my grasp. I can see the tears pooling in her eyes and know I have to talk quick.

"Yesterday was the anniversary of Jay's death."

He head snaps up, the shock and sympathy so clear on her flawless face. I can see the understanding blooming over her features.

"Not that it excuses anything. I shouldn't have gotten to where I was yesterday, but my head space on that day every year. I'd rather go bury myself in a hole than function in the real world. And I usually do. Except this year, I have you. And I knew in November that I didn't deserve you, that I needed to work on myself. And I have. But I'm not 100 percent there yet, and you just have to realize that. I am going to have horrible days. I've never done this before, really given my heart and my soul to someone. But I'm doing that, because I want you. Because I need you here with me, I can't imagine my life without you. Because I love you. I am in love with you."

I finish my diatribe, the words not coming out at all like I'd rehearsed, but with so much raw emotion that my throat feels hoarse with unshed tears as I stop talking.

Tears are streaming down Chloe's face, and she's now clutching onto my forearms with such grip that its like if I left her go she might fall over. "You do?"

I swallow, trying to not breakdown from all of this unusual emotion. "Of course, how could I not? I've loved you since our last dance. It was the only way I could walk away from you. I loved you too much to keep hurting you. And I'd do it again. If I hurt you, if you can't do this, I can walk away. It will literally kill me, but I love you too much to keep hurting you. The only thing that would hurt me more than walking away would be staying and causing you more pain."

Chloe wraps her arms around my waist, anchoring us to the spot. "Don't walk. If you love me, you'll stay. I've been putting up with your attitude and bad days for a long time now, I think I can endure some more."

And with that, she presses up onto her toes and lays her lips over mine. I kiss her back with all of the feelings I have swirling around inside of me, wrapping her small figure in my arms and backing us up until I'm pressing her against the concrete wall. Pulling back, I'm breathless and electrified. She calms and centers me like no else can, while also lighting me up with desire for her.

"We aren't perfect, Miles. Neither of us is ever going to be perfect. But we can make it work. You have to stop shutting me out. I love you, and when you feel pain, I want half of it. When you feel sorrow, let me take some too. And when you feel happy, we can share in it. I know you've been let down and left in the past, but I will never leave you. I love you, so much. I have for a long time."

It was hard to breathe when she was filling me up with so much hope, so much love. I grabbed her face and positioned it so that we were looking deep into each other's eyes. "You're the most perfect girl I've ever met, and I can't believe you picked my stupid ass to love. But I'm damn glad you did."