Bulletproof (25 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

MORGAN

Part of me wanted to call Grandma Deb and tell her I’d done it, but the bigger part of me wasn’t ready to speak yet, so I wandered to my car and started the four-hour trek back to Pasadena. As much as I wanted to click my heels and mutter, “There’s no place like home,” the trip did me good. It gave me time to think, to breathe.

My knuckles remained white for most of the drive, but it was a different tension that ran through my body now. The future was still a massive question mark. I was once again jobless, single, and still living at home with my dad, but I didn’t have to stay that way forever. I could move forward. I had to move forward, and this time I had to stop settling for something to fill the gap. I needed to hold out for what was right for me.

I flicked from one radio station to the next as I drove home, too agitated to listen to any one song. My mom’s comments about dancing still lingered. I wanted them to make me angry, but they had somehow awoken a deep yearning inside of me. Maybe I should look at taking classes again, get fit and start doing a little choreography like I used to. My teacher used to always compliment what I’d come up with. I wondered what Ms. Finnermore was doing now?

Was it worth looking her up?

My phone started ringing, and I rummaged for it in my bag.

It was Isabella.

I answered on the fifth ring.

“Oh good, you’re there.” She sounded out of breath. “Where are you?”

“Just driving.” I cleared my throat.

“Okay, cool, well I’m running a little behind, you know how it is, so can you meet me?”

Damn. I’d totally forgotten I was hanging out with her tonight. “I—I don’t want to come to the studios.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to. I want you to meet me in Huntington Park.”

I hesitated. “What’s in Huntington Park?”

“An apartment I want you to check out.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, keeping my eyes on the road. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing. It used to belong to my grandmother before she died, and I’m trying to decide what to do with it. I want your advice.”

“I’m not an interior designer.”

“I know, I just really value your opinion with this kind of stuff. Please, just meet me there.”

I frowned, wanting to come up with some excuse about being too tired. I was. I felt wrung-out and jaded.

“Please. For me?”

“Okay, fine.”

“Sweet! There’s a spare key under the green pot around by the back door. If I’m not there, just let yourself in, and I won’t be far behind you.” She rattled off the address, and I pulled to the side of the road, noting it into my GPS once she’d hung up.

I clicked my tongue and pulled back into the traffic, following the GPS instructions until I reached Malabar Street. I found the right number and parked outside what looked like an abandoned building.

In spite of my misgivings, I slid out of my car and headed for the back door, hunting around for a green pot. I found it easily and tipped it up, patting the concrete for a key. The glass door rattled as I unlocked it, but finally jiggled open.

It was dark in the stairwell, so I took care and grappled around for a light switch once I reached the top. I was expecting an apartment; what I got was a dance studio.

An old, dusty dance studio.

I sucked in my breath as I eyed the dirty ceiling-high mirrors and the barre attached to the walls.

Memories of a different dance studio flooded me, all good and filled with a warm fuzziness I wanted to swim in. Dropping my bag to the floor, I slowly stepped into the room, running my fingers along the dusty wood.

A stereo sat in the corner of the room, perched on a round table. I headed across to it, kicking off my heels and flicking them into the corner. I had no idea if it still worked, but I could see fingerprints in the dust, which meant someone must have used it recently. No doubt Isabella.

I leaned down to fiddle with the buttons and managed to turn on the CD. A steady beat pulsed out of the speakers attached to each ceiling corner. She must have been checking that they still worked.

I closed my eyes as the pulse of David Guetta’s “Titanium” whispered through me. Then Sia started singing. I breathed in the words, tipping my head back as my foot tapped. I lifted my arm in a slow arc, raising it above my head and bending back as if dodging bullets that couldn’t hurt me.

My body swung around, moving away from the table and dropping to the floor in a controlled spin. Sliding to the side, I stretched across the floor, slowing rising to the beat and letting the song take charge. It moved through me, my limbs and body dancing of their own accord as I let go.

A bubble rose in my chest, bursting with sound and light and freedom. It shot through me, electrifying my body with bliss. I didn’t need oblivion when I felt like this.

My hunt was over.

I didn’t need an edge. I needed to live and breathe every beat of this song.

I ran across the studio and fell to my knees, sliding across the old wooden floor, my body lost in the pleasure of the dance. I felt strong. In charge. In control.

I felt bulletproof.

Sia’s voice stretched over the word
titanium
, and I arched my body to match, rising tall from the floor. The beat rose, slow and steady, building to a quick pace that had my body spinning in a frenzy until Sia’s voice died away, and I was left in the silence.

I glanced to the mirror, taking in my final pose. My chest was heaving, breaths shooting out of my nose in rapid succession and then I noticed something.

My lips parted, my forehead wrinkling as I reached for my face.

Tears.

I licked at the dribble rolling past my mouth.

“Tears don’t achieve anything,” I whispered as my eyes swelled with more. I closed them, letting the water cascade down my cheeks. It wasn’t a torrent; there were no heaving sobs, just a steady stream of tears that I had held at bay for probably far too long.

I brushed them off my face, sniffing and trying to pull myself together.

“That was amazing.”

Isabella’s soft voice made me spin. She was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, her arms folded across her chest and a soft smile playing on her lips.

“Hi.” I swiped at my tears, pulling my body tall.

“You don’t have to stop.” She pushed off the frame with her shoulder and walked toward me. “It’s a good release.”

“The dancing or the crying?”

“Both.” She grinned.

“I haven’t done either in a really long time. I mean, I guess I’ve always danced, but...”

“Not like that.” Isabella shook her head. “That was... you really let go. It was so...powerful.” She touched her chest. “You moved me, chica.”

I snorted out a soft laugh.

“Which is why I know I’m making the right decision.”

“What do you mean?” I wiped my face for what I hoped was the last time. Tears seriously did not suit me. Maybe they were good for me, but I certainly didn’t enjoy them.

Isabella stuck her hands in the pockets of her cargo pants and swung back on her sneakered feet. “I want to offer you a job.”

“A job?”

“Yeah.” She looked around. “See, I used to come here every day as a kid. Mom worked so Grandma would bring me here and I’d watch her teach all these little kids and dream of the day when I’d choreograph my own dances. She made me who I am. I credit it all to her.”

“I know. You must miss her all the time.”

“I do.” Isabella’s face crested with pain. “And that’s why I can’t keep using my job as an excuse to ignore this.” She raised her arms and pointed around the studio. “This place used to thrive, but then she got sick and I was away at college, dancing and carving out my future.” She shrugged. “Then she died and there was no one to keep it going. I was too heartbroken to even think about coming in here. I couldn’t believe she left it all to me.” Isabella gazed around the old space, a nostalgic smile cresting over her lips. “But it’s time. I guess I’ve just been waiting for the right person to help me.”

“And you think I’m it?”

“I know you’re it.” She scratched the top of her head. “You’re talented, passionate, organized, you have a degree in business that has gone to total waste. You’re intelligent, confident and I think that you, and only you, can take this place and turn it into a great little school.”

“You want me to run a dance school?”

She looked me straight in the eye, a little smirk playing on her lips. “You betchya.”

“I’m—I’ve never done anything like that.”

“Me neither, but you’ve got what it takes, Morgan. Come on, can you honestly say your current job is fulfilling?”

I pressed my lips together and looked to the floor.

“This could be amazing! We’ll clean it up and get it ready to go. We can hire an extra teacher and just start with a few after-school jazz classes. There are two studios.” She pointed across the hall. “And the performing arts schools are busting with students who want to teach and get more experience. We can totally get something going. We could have little concerts for the parents to attend. It’d be great. I’ve got all these ideas, but I just don’t have the time or know-how to actually make them happen. I need you, Morgan. I need your help.”

I looked across the space, scratching my arm and trying to think it through.

“Oh yeah, and there’s a little apartment studio-type thing upstairs, so you could live here too, if you wanted. Free of charge.”

My nose twitched as I stepped to the barre, running my fingers along it. “Would there be a wage?”

“Of course. Grandma left me a little nest egg to go with the studio, so there’s enough to pay a small wage, and then as soon as this place is making a profit we can increase it. The place is freehold, so it’s not like we have mortgage repayments to deal with.”

“How long’s it been sitting empty like this?”

“About five years. Mom’s been trying to convince me to sell it, but I just can’t do it. I need to keep Grandma’s legacy going, you know?”

“Yeah, that’s cool.” I leaned against the barre, a quiver of excitement whistling through me. I could do this. I knew I could. It’d be hard, and I’d feel like I was drowning until I got my head around everything, but I could do it.

And the best part was...I actually wanted to.

“Okay.” I nodded. “Okay, let’s do this.”

“Really?” Isabella jumped to her tiptoes and let out a squeal before running toward me for a hug. “Thank you!” She stepped back, holding me at arm’s length. “You are not going to regret this.”

I grinned with her and nodded. “You know what, I don’t think I am.”

She let out another squeal, and I pulled her in for another hug.

It felt good.

Like I was doing something right for me.

The tendril of calm whispering through my soul pulsed a loud beat, reminding me that it was still there and ready to grow.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

SEAN

It had been four days since my chat with Mama, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I rested my feet on the glass coffee table and pressed my head back into the black leather couch. When I first moved into my place, the silence was a gift. No screaming grandkids tearing around the furniture, no brothers debating whatever topic was hot, no sisters squabbling or squealing over their latest news. I’d relished the peace, the calm.

But now...

It was unnerving. After working such long hours, I would have thought a day at home on my own would refresh me, recharge my batteries, but it was just plain suffocating, and there was only so much screen time I could stomach.

Pop had rung me last night, to check in, but filming hadn’t been going well and I couldn’t chat. Since my big ‘fess up, I knew they were both worried about me. I should have been popping down for lunch, but I couldn’t move.

I was tired, down to my core. Good sleep was a thing of the past, my restless mind unable to switch off.

I gazed at the contract sitting on the glass near my feet. I still hadn’t signed it. I hadn’t even read the whole thing through; every time I started, the restlessness grew to an insane itch.

My eyes had skimmed the amount they were offering me, and it was near double what they’d paid me this season.

But was that enough to re-sign?

In the back of my head, I’d been assuming that I’d finish out the season and figure out what I really wanted to do. I could win Morgan back over the summer break and...then what?

The decisions were now on my doorstep, and I couldn’t decide what to do. In my gut, I knew I had to go one way or the other and live with the fallout.

So it came down to the simple question...what could I live without?

The doorbell rang.

Part of me wanted to ignore it, but Lisa had told us our scripts would be arriving by courier today, and I needed to get on with learning my lines.

We would be starting rehearsals for the last episode soon.

Jumping up, I placed my beer down next to that wretched contract and vaulted over the couch.

A courier stood at the door, envelope in hand.

“Sign here.”

I grabbed the pen and mangled my name over the screen. It was impossible to write on those things.

“Thanks.” I nodded.

The courier gave me a shy, flirtatious smile, her cheeks blooming with color. I forced a grin before shutting the door.

Heading back to the living room, I tapped the envelope on my fingers, feeling a CD within it. That’d be the songs we had to learn. Ripping it open, I emptied it onto the dining room table, putting the CD on to play while I read over the script.

With the remote in one hand and the script in the other, I sat down and started reading.

Sasha was back, returning after her stint on the road. She and Harley meet up in the hallway at school, and the second he sees her, he knows...he can’t live without her anymore.

I swallowed, the text on the page going blurry.

Blinking, I cleared my throat and forced myself to keep reading, pausing to play the songs. There was a pretty awesome all-cast number in the middle that I was sure Isabella would have fun choreographing.

I paused the CD and kept flicking through the pages, my face bunching into a frown as I neared the end of the script.

HARLEY: The truth is, Sash, I don’t care what it costs me. I don’t want to live without you anymore.

SASHA: You could lose everything. You love this job.

HARLEY: I love you more. This place without you is cold and lonely, and I’d rather not be here at all if I know you’re with someone else. We should be together. You know it. I know it.

SASHA: But it’ll be a fight.

HARLEY: It’s love, baby. That’s always worth fighting for.

Harley sings Fight For You.

With my heartbeat on hold, I pressed play and “Fight For You” by Jason Derulo began to play. I closed my eyes as the lyrics washed over me, soaking into my skin. I could imagine the kind of dance Isabella would have planned for us. The difference was, the only person I could picture in my arms was Morgan.

Squeezing my eyes tight, I gripped the script in my hand, the pages creasing before I threw them into the air.

They showered down around me, floating onto the furniture and over the floor.

Shit!

I was a fool.

I was a coward...and that stopped right now, because my karaoke girl was worth fighting for.