filled with tremors.
“Are you…” My raspy voice cuts out, and I have to swallow hard, my throat figuring out how to work, my mind trying to do the same. “Are you real?”
She looks so incredibly sad at my question, but I need to know. I need to be sure.
Her eyes trace me like a caress as she brings her free hand up to cup my face, and I lean into her touch. “I’m real. This is real,” she promises.
“I thought...I remember falling.”
Jetta’s throat bobs, and her eyes go shiny, her bottom lip wobbling slightly. “You fell. But you were shoved out of the way. You’re okay, Cliff.”
I nod, trying to fit my memories in with my reality, but I feel...disjointed. Off-center. Like the rug is about to be pulled out from under me.
“And...Kaazu?”
“Dead,” she assures me.
“You’re sure?” I ask. Not because I don’t believe her, but because that doesn’t feel real either. He’s been our master, owner, and our tormentor for our entire lives.
“I’m sure,” she promises, and then we just stand there for a moment, staring at each other, like both of us are afraid the other one is going to be ripped away again.
I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut for a second time, trying to regain my footing, but that just brings more memories that I don’t want to see—things that I don’t want to relive.
I’m broken. Not physically, but emotionally. Mentally. I’m changed.
When Jetta left, I was emptied of any reason I had to exist, and then stuffed full of misery at Kaazu’s hand.
But it was worth it, because it got her out. It got her free.
I wasn’t expecting to live after that. I made my peace with it. But then she came for me, and I wanted to scream at her. I was gutted, seeing her on that stage. And now...now…
“I don’t know how to do this,” I admit lamely, worried that she won’t understand. But I should know better. This is Jetta. The love of my life. She always gets me.
“Hey,” Jetta says softly, her fingers tracing over the scruff on my jaw. “Look at me.”
I open my eyes, because I could never deny her anything.
A single tear drips down my cheek, and she swipes it away with her thumb. “Dance with me?”
My heart simultaneously splinters and mends with her question.
My mouth goes dry even as hers grow wet. “I...I don’t know if I can,” I admit, hating myself.
Jetta gives me a small smile. “You can.”
Carefully, she brings my hand to her hip, placing my hold there. And then she starts to hum.
My heartbeat skips, trips, catches itself on the tune, as my mind latches onto a different memory. A good memory.
It was late. Kaazu was in his motel while the rest of us were sleeping in the RVs parked right outside. But someone had left the radio on playing softly, and “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran filtered over to Jetta and me where we were sitting on the bumper, sharing a quiet moment—a fleeting moment—alone.
She’d had a bad night where the troupers were cruel and she’d lost in the fight. One look at her troubled face, and I knew I had to chase the shadows away. So I stood up from that bumper, and I took her hand just like she’s taking mine now, and we danced.
Right there, in the middle of a rundown motel parking lot, with only the stars to watch, we danced.
I swallow hard as Jetta continues to hum, but I can hear the lyrics clear as day as she reaches up and grasps my other hand steadily.
My fingers automatically curl around hers, my other hand tightens on her hip, and when she moves, I move with her. I shut my mind off and let my muscles remember, my body immediately settling into the poignant way our bodies connect. When I step back, she steps with me. When I turn her, her body spins without hesitation.
I catch her against me again, her back to my front, and we sway together, through the doorway and into the bedroom. I twirl her again and duck her backward, her spine bending with a beautiful arch, as I trail my hand down her side, reveling in the touch.
Hair cascading down to the floor, her head rises, her body staying loose and trusting as I lift her up. Her leg curls around the front of my hips as the other bends at the knee. I turn us, keeping her weightless, and everything in me just