“I know I never said thank you. But I’ve said it in my head. Every. Day.”
“I wish I could’ve done more back then.”
“You did more than anyone else would.”
“Well, what if I could do more now? What if I was to tell you there is a way to get part of your life back?” He raises in eyebrows in a challenge. “The good part of your life.”
“What are you up to, Michael?”
“Okay, I want you to sit here and close your eyes.” There is excitement in his voice. Odd for my brother. He’s the most laid-back guy you’d ever meet.
I do as he says.
“Hold out your hands,” he orders.
When I do, he pulls me off the stool and lifts my arm. On instinct I open my eyes, and spin under it.
I used to make Michael play the male lead in my big productions so I could practice the more difficult moves. He always pretended to be bothered. But he loved betting on the number of turns I could do. Sober and drunk. And he’d really raise the stakes when he bet on my ability to do thirty-two turning fouettés—a ballet dancer’s gauge of excellence. I made the thirty-two every time. At least on the right side.
“I knew it,” he grins , watching me turn now. “You’ve still got it.”
I shake my head at him. “Hardly. I’m so out of shape I don’t even think I could do three fouettés.”
“Well, maybe it’s time to get back to practicing,” he says. “I brought your ballet slippers. All ten pairs. They’re in my car.”
I smile at him. “Michael.”
I rub my temple, trying to fight off the headache I feel coming on. “ I appreciate it. I do. But I’m starting over. A new me. And to do that, I can’t go back to the past.”
“Doing something you love,” Michael says. “Something you were born to do. That’s not going back to the past. You can’t give it up. Dancing is part of you.”
He releases my hand and kisses the top of my head. “ Wipe the slate clean, Tab. It’s time.”
Though he may be right, I can’t do it. So instead of indulging him any longer, I decide it’s time to get this party started and order two shot of Patrón. Michael and I take the shots, add a few more, and get rather inebriated as we play darts. I’m awful. Forget about the bullseye, I’m not even hitting the board half the time. When it’s my turn again, Michael stands behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders, hoping to help me get at least a point or two.
I launch my arm back and release.
The dart smacks the wall a foot away from the dartboard. This time it’s not because of my drunken state. It’s because I just noticed Noah up at the bar.
Watching me.
Michael comes over and shakes me. “You’re hopeless.” He jokes.
Noah sits back in his stool with the world’s iciest glare.
He’s starting to piss me off.
“I need another drink,” I tell Michael. “Be right back.”
Trying to stiffen up my loose limbs, I pretend to be sober as I squeeze in next to Noah. I wave a twenty at the bartender and he’s over in a flash, filling two tap beers.
I keep my eyes on the bartender until Noah places his hand on mine and gives it a squeeze.
“Tabby,” he says. “All your work’s done for the paper I assume?”
“What?” I’m not quite sure, but I think the bossy-ass editor is back.
“I’m just wondering since you clearly won’t be in any condition to work later tonight.”
“I finished up everything as soon as the stories were filed,” I tell him casually. “Just like I have every day this week.”
“Good.” He frowns, lifting his hand away from mine. He seems upset and that has me worried. I really need this internship.
“Why? Is something wrong with my work?” I ask.
“No.” His expression softens now. “No, your work is great.”
I sigh, relieved.
“I guess I’m just confused, that’s all.” He rests his head on his hand.
“About what?”
“Your social life,” he says, nodding toward Michael.
“Meaning?” I ask, not liking where this is heading.
“You say
“I wish I could’ve done more back then.”
“You did more than anyone else would.”
“Well, what if I could do more now? What if I was to tell you there is a way to get part of your life back?” He raises in eyebrows in a challenge. “The good part of your life.”
“What are you up to, Michael?”
“Okay, I want you to sit here and close your eyes.” There is excitement in his voice. Odd for my brother. He’s the most laid-back guy you’d ever meet.
I do as he says.
“Hold out your hands,” he orders.
When I do, he pulls me off the stool and lifts my arm. On instinct I open my eyes, and spin under it.
I used to make Michael play the male lead in my big productions so I could practice the more difficult moves. He always pretended to be bothered. But he loved betting on the number of turns I could do. Sober and drunk. And he’d really raise the stakes when he bet on my ability to do thirty-two turning fouettés—a ballet dancer’s gauge of excellence. I made the thirty-two every time. At least on the right side.
“I knew it,” he grins , watching me turn now. “You’ve still got it.”
I shake my head at him. “Hardly. I’m so out of shape I don’t even think I could do three fouettés.”
“Well, maybe it’s time to get back to practicing,” he says. “I brought your ballet slippers. All ten pairs. They’re in my car.”
I smile at him. “Michael.”
I rub my temple, trying to fight off the headache I feel coming on. “ I appreciate it. I do. But I’m starting over. A new me. And to do that, I can’t go back to the past.”
“Doing something you love,” Michael says. “Something you were born to do. That’s not going back to the past. You can’t give it up. Dancing is part of you.”
He releases my hand and kisses the top of my head. “ Wipe the slate clean, Tab. It’s time.”
Though he may be right, I can’t do it. So instead of indulging him any longer, I decide it’s time to get this party started and order two shot of Patrón. Michael and I take the shots, add a few more, and get rather inebriated as we play darts. I’m awful. Forget about the bullseye, I’m not even hitting the board half the time. When it’s my turn again, Michael stands behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders, hoping to help me get at least a point or two.
I launch my arm back and release.
The dart smacks the wall a foot away from the dartboard. This time it’s not because of my drunken state. It’s because I just noticed Noah up at the bar.
Watching me.
Michael comes over and shakes me. “You’re hopeless.” He jokes.
Noah sits back in his stool with the world’s iciest glare.
He’s starting to piss me off.
“I need another drink,” I tell Michael. “Be right back.”
Trying to stiffen up my loose limbs, I pretend to be sober as I squeeze in next to Noah. I wave a twenty at the bartender and he’s over in a flash, filling two tap beers.
I keep my eyes on the bartender until Noah places his hand on mine and gives it a squeeze.
“Tabby,” he says. “All your work’s done for the paper I assume?”
“What?” I’m not quite sure, but I think the bossy-ass editor is back.
“I’m just wondering since you clearly won’t be in any condition to work later tonight.”
“I finished up everything as soon as the stories were filed,” I tell him casually. “Just like I have every day this week.”
“Good.” He frowns, lifting his hand away from mine. He seems upset and that has me worried. I really need this internship.
“Why? Is something wrong with my work?” I ask.
“No.” His expression softens now. “No, your work is great.”
I sigh, relieved.
“I guess I’m just confused, that’s all.” He rests his head on his hand.
“About what?”
“Your social life,” he says, nodding toward Michael.
“Meaning?” I ask, not liking where this is heading.
“You say
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