“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.”