walls, block us out, avoid being caught with emotions, but he doesn’t. It’s not easy for him, but he manages to reply with, “Yeah, I watched it. Why wouldn’t I?”
My lips stretch into a thin smile I try to hide in the blanket. Nash watched me dance. Zara told me about the night she and Alistair came to see me in this production, how it was supposed to be her and Nash instead. But he said he hated ballet.
What if it had been him that night? Would things have been different? Would he have ever looked at me then how he’s looking at me now?
“Let’s watch it,” Ellis says, putting an arm along the back of the couch.
“Noooo,” I whine, hiding under the blanket.
“Oh yeah,” Nash says casually before hitting play.
As the music starts, I’m battered by memories. This was the peak of my career, right before everything went to shit. Before it all became too much. Flashbacks of my mother forcing me to spend my weekends in the studio, working until I’d collapse, missing entire meals at a time, and only getting about three hours of restless sleep each night. It was like the moment she got a taste of my success she wanted more. She had my agent on the phone more often than not, talking about modeling, movie parts, endorsements. It never ended, and I started to see only one way out.
But Giselle…this memory is a good one. And as I watch with them, I don’t see the mistakes she would point out. I see the look on my face, and I remember how it felt on that stage. I remember I loved it.
The boys next to me keep making oooh and aaaah comments with every leap and spin, like it was some superhuman feat. Shaking my head at them, I laugh. But then I glance at Ellis, and he’s staring at the screen with adoration. Me. He’s looking at me with adoration. Sure, it’s a version of me from a few years ago, when I was at the top of my game, but still…there’s something like love in his eyes, and damn it feels good.
Nash’s hand clutches my leg gently under the blanket and not in a sexual way. He’s looking at the TV with the same expression as Ellis, biting his lip with a smug grin. It’s Nash’s version of adoration.
And for the first time since I arrived on Del Rey, I start to consider maybe dance isn’t done with me yet. I may never be in a Netflix production again, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel that good on stage again. This is what I want, and a week ago, I was ready to give up the fight on the things I wanted, but these two have managed to renew this drive in me again.
Before my breakdown, dance was this thing I loved but it was used against me. And now I think I’m ready to take it back.
21
The guys get swamped with work the next day, so I’m alone with my thoughts and a renewed sense of excitement and purpose. Of course, the anxiety and dark thoughts are still there, waiting in the wings, ready to rear their ugly heads, but I manage to keep them at bay all morning. And it’s enough to go back down to the studio and actually lace up my shoes this time.
Music plays from the speakers as I touch the barre, feeling the smooth surface against my fingertips. I slowly move through the routine of demi-plies, feeling more than a little rusty. The gentle stretching moves remind my soul of the life I used to live, and I'm happy to find the muscle memory is still there. The day slips away in a meditative trance as I completely lose myself in the basement, and before I realize it, it’s early afternoon, and I haven’t seen the boys all day.
After a quick shower and grabbing a bite to eat, I head over to the office once the staff has left. As long as they’re around, I don’t exactly feel comfortable being around the boys alone. I don’t need them catching on to what’s going on between the three of us.
I creep into the office in just my bikini, and they both look up from their laptops with coy smiles on their faces.
“What are you working on?” I ask, crawling onto Ellis’s lap.
“It’s boring,” he replies, stroking my arm with his thumb.