ago, I had my shit together. I was working full-time which is a blessing for a dancer in her late twenties. Every night I closed each show with roses and applause. I had my own apartment, and my mother’s control existed only in the footnotes of my life.
Then, whatever had been holding me up all those years just...crumbled. I withstood the pressure and trauma for so long one day, the foundation cracked, and the structure imploded. I don’t remember much about that day, only that I was so hysterical, I had to be put in a medically induced coma.
When the gin wears off, I pull out my phone and instead of calling an Uber, I call Zara. I don’t know why. I need to hear her voice. Someone who likes me, who is my friend because she wants to be. Fuck, I remember when we first met the night Alistair brought her to the ballet. She actually looked up to me. I hate to think what she thinks of me now.
“Hey,” she answers after the first ring. I hear the baby crying in the background and Alistair’s voice before the clear sound of a door closing and silence on the line. "What's up? Are you okay?"
She's at home with her perfect little family and I'm drunk-calling her from a dark street in need of a ride. I want to hang up immediately.
"I shouldn't have called," I mumble.
"Fuck that. What's up? Tell me now." Ever since the incident, Zara's friendship has taken on a new edge, a protective one with a hint of meanness. Like she knows I am my own worst enemy and she has to protect me from myself.
"I just need a ride and a place to crash."
"Drop me a pin. I'm on my way."
"What about the baby?"
"She's fine. Alistair's here."
This vision of Alistair Wilde changing diapers and holding a baby still doesn't fit right in my head, and I've seen them all together hundreds of times. But somehow it works.
"Thank you," I mutter as I reach a dark intersection, so I turn around and head back toward the crowd and lights of the busy street. Quickly, I drop a pin and send it to Zara. Then, I pocket my phone and try to look natural as I pace back and forth, waiting for her to get here. The house isn't far from the city, and it shouldn’t take her more than twenty minutes, but it’s only been about ten when a familiar black sports car pulls up next to me.
I stiffen, moving away from the road as I wait for the window to roll down before I open it and get in. It doesn’t roll down, but the driver's side opens, and Nash Wilde pops out, glaring at me over the top of the car.
“Zara said you needed a ride. I happened to be in the area.”
My heart plummets. Why? Why did she have to tell Nash? Of all fucking people.
I try to paste on a casual, sober smile and act like everything is fine as I walk toward the passenger side. “Are you sure you don’t mind?
“Of course not,” he answers flatly.
“I could take an Uber, really.”
“Just get in, Hanna.”
He disappears into the car, and I let a deep exhale melt down my spine before I open the door and fall into the seat. The inside of the car is immaculate, high-tech, and expensive as hell.
“How’s your night?” he asks nonchalantly as I try to pull down the hem of my dress to hide my thighs, so I don’t look like a cheap hooker.
“Uneventful,” I answer, squaring my shoulders and trying my best to appear as if I have my shit together as much as he does. It’s impossible not to steal a glance at Nash in the driver’s seat. How in only three years has he grown into an even more handsome, mature version of the reckless kid I first met? Back then I was the one with my shit together. And it grates my nerves to see how far he’s come in such a short time, and how far I’ve fallen.
I don’t know the specifics, but I do know from what Zara tells me, Nash took Wilde Aviation to the next level, expanding and adding so much to the company he’s now in a place to expand to airplanes as well as helicopters. Which means he’s rich as fuck.
“I’m taking you to Zar’s, right?”
“Yes, please.” I pick at the hem of my dress and add,