Defenseman No. 9 - Xavier Neal Page 0,88

“You fucked up, twinkle toes. If anyone should beg anyone, it should be you begging him.”

How do you beg someone who isn’t even fucking talking to you?!

Who refuses to see you?!

Who hasn’t accepted a call or a text or answered his door since…you, basically, ruined his entire life?

“How is it fair that your feet are so damn dainty?” Betty grumbles as I slide on my new pair of Alexander McQueen punk studded pumps. “And, that you always manage to find shoes in your size?”

“Is this actually about me and my shoes, or are you pissy that I didn’t invite you shoe shopping with me and mom yesterday?”

She pulls her legs onto the couch space beside her. “Definitely both.”

I do my best to flash her a sweet grin.

People think arabesques and back attitudes are hard?

Try having to wear a fake fucking smile when your soul hurts.

I’ll take bending into sharp angles on the tips of my toes over that shit any day.

After being left standing alone in the parking lot, sobbing like I just got the news they cancelled So You Think You Can Dance midseason, I spent the rest of the night drinking sangria and watching classic romantic dance movies like Save The Last Dance. When I finally woke up yesterday, it was due to my mom having let herself into my apartment. She had heard what happened – because everyone heard what happened, the problem with a snobtastic city like this one – and insisted that we do a bit of shopping and talking. I expected more of the former but was sadly mistaken almost immediately. For the first time I can recall, she scolded me about being reckless and irresponsible. About hurting other people’s feelings simply because I’m upset. She lectured me about not being a little boy anymore and that the somewhat bratty behavior wasn’t going to fly in a relationship with someone who really loves me. I would’ve just bailed on the whole thing considering I really couldn’t handle the additional guilt she was laying on me, but she fucking drove, which left me stuck. Calling an Uber to come get you while your mom’s in the dressing room is fucked up. Even for me. The day ended with four new pairs of shoes, six new shirts, 2 eyeshadow palettes, and one ridiculously priced sushi meal that came with a free reminder of that moment when my grandmother threw away all my dress up shoes.

That moment where it was like she was throwing away part of me.

And, thinking back on that moment made me realize, in a weird way, I was her.

And, Hugo was me.

And, hockey was what I rudely stole and heartlessly tossed out.

That conclusion had me tossing the bags on the couch and crying myself to sleep.

I woke up at the ass crack of morning like it was time to go over to Hugo’s for breakfast, and as soon as it hit me that it wasn’t, that due to my own idiotic behavior it might never be again, I broke down again, bawling until Betty knocked on my door to check on me before work. She helped herself to a cup of tea and has been watching me pretend to be okay ever since.

And, it is pretend because I’m not sure I’ll ever be okay, again.

“Were those expensive?” She casually questions.

“Yes.”

“They look expensive.”

I angle them to the side to continue the admiration in hopes of redirecting the tears waiting in the wings. “Extremely.”

“What do you do with your old heels?” Betty ponders out loud. “The really out of season ones. I don’t think I’ve ever asked.”

My gaze finds hers and attempts to let mirth appear. “They wouldn’t fit you.”

“Are we sure?” She snickers seconds prior to there being a knock at the door. “What about if I break a toe? I can still dance with one less toe.” Her stare follows me on my stroll over to see who’s here this early in the morning. “I might even dance better.”

“Highly unlikely,” I retort and open to the door to an unexpected view. “As is this.”

Tatum and Poppy grin warmly from behind Mo, who I’ve learned isn’t a morning person.

Or, more accurately, a people person.

She’s selective as shit about who she wants to be around for long stretches of time, which is why having her here with two girls that are her polar opposites is even more puzzling.

My arm leans against the door frame at the same time I greet, “Morning.”

“Morning,” Poppy and Tatum coo