for life, her passion for teaching her young students. Charlotte tried to listen, but it was hard. Her own memories were coming quickly now, as if a projector had been switched on and now played through her and Julianna’s greatest hits.
Auditions, rejections, victories, good reviews, bad reviews, professional tours, and finally—after a lot of hard work—both of them becoming part of the company of the Chicago City Ballet. When they were apart, they wrote letters, and when they were together, Charlotte felt an ease in her loneliness.
It was the kind of friendship that couldn’t be replaced, no matter how many years passed. Charlotte knew in that moment there would never be another Julianna.
She’d never known a truer friend or had a bigger cheerleader. To Jules, they were never competitors. It shamed Charlotte to think that she had never been able to offer that in return.
Alaina, Julianna’s youngest, let out a squeal. Cole shifted her on his lap and the baby quieted. She was only ten months old. She wouldn’t have a single memory of her mother.
How did this young family have a hope of moving forward without Julianna? She was the kind of mom Charlotte wished she’d had. Kind. Attentive. Involved. Fun. The kind who held families together like glue.
By contrast, Charlotte’s mother was controlling and manipulative and, in all ways, not fun. Once a prima ballerina in her own right, Marcia Page had been sidelined by an injury, and Charlotte was pretty sure she still carried a grudge against the world over what she viewed as one of life’s greatest injustices.
Marcia had turned all of her attention to Charlotte when she was just a child, pouring every professional hope and dream she’d had into the daughter she said wasn’t naturally talented but who, with her help and a lot of hard work, could learn to be great.
How cliché.
As it was, Marcia Page was now a renowned dance instructor. One of the greats, if Charlotte was honest, and she had turned her daughter into a superior, enviable dancer.
But as a mother, the woman left much to be desired. Charlotte’s relationship with Marcia had always felt a lot like a business arrangement, which was probably why Marcia deemed it her place to try and convince Charlotte that leaving to attend the funeral was a huge mistake, one that would open the door for up-and-coming dancer Irena Duryea to step in and steal all her solos.
“You’re not the hottest new thing anymore, Charlotte. Don’t give them a reason to realize it.”
By now, Charlotte recognized that her mother’s greatest manipulative tactic was fear. Still, she struggled to make decisions for herself. How pathetic was that? She was almost thirty, and she was still checking with her mother before doing just about anything. Still allowing herself to question whether or not taking a few days off to mourn the loss of her only real friend was a good idea.
The thought of it made Charlotte’s stomach turn. Julianna had forged her own path. She’d made her own choices, even ones that seemed crazy, like leaving the ballet. Like marrying Connor. Like having kids and opening a dance studio in this tiny tourist town.
She was fearless, and Charlotte was a coward.
The organist began playing a hymn Charlotte recognized, not because of her stellar church attendance but because somewhere along the way, Julianna had introduced her to it. People around her stood and sang along as the pallbearers moved into place beside the casket.
The casket that would be her best friend’s final resting place.
The crowd began to sing “It Is Well with My Soul” and Charlotte wanted to scream because nothing was well with her soul. Realization settled on her shoulders. She and Julianna no longer occupied the same world.
And that left her feeling horribly, terribly alone.
2
ONE MONTH LATER
“Get over here, twenty-two!”
Cole Turner, or “Coach” as he was usually called, watched as a lanky kid with a crazy arm ran toward him.
“What are you doing out there, West?”
Asher West tugged his helmet off and spit on the ground. “Doing my best, Coach.”
“Well, if that’s your best, we might as well pack it up now,” Cole shouted. “Don’t give me that—that wasn’t your best. That wasn’t even close to your best. If I’m going to make you my quarterback this season, you need to prove to me you can handle it.”
Asher looked away, and for a split second, Cole thought maybe whatever was going on with the kid wasn’t about football at all. But he needed Ash focused