Ripped (3 page)

Then he took a step back and abruptly let go of my hand and I felt the connection lost, not only physically but emotionally. We had once been so close, but for some reason Bax had stopped taking my calls just when I had needed him the most. I suppose it was bound to happen; he had moved to New York and was auditioning for Broadway shows while I’d still had two years to go till I graduated from Boston Conservatory before I could join him. At first the distance hadn’t seemed to matter. We would talk and text nearly every day. I would tell him about the lessons I was taking and who I was cast with in a workshop or partnering with in a
pas de deux
, and he would tell me of the auditions he’d attended and the shows he’d gone to see. Life had seemed so perfect, and I had counted down the days until I could move to New York and be with him. And then my life had gone to hell, and when I’d needed Bax to tell me everything would be all right, he wasn’t there for me.

We’d been standing looking at each other in silence for a full minute before I remembered where I’d been going. “I’m late for an audition.”
Shit!
“I’m late!” Grabbing up my bag and slinging it over my shoulder, I turned toward the subway. There was no way I would get there in time unless I could break the land-speed record.

“I guess some things really don’t change. You used to be late for everything.” His eyes sparkled as I took in my surroundings, trying to get my bearings.

“I have to run.” I told him, my feet still rooted to the ground. I knew I had to go but my mind was telling me not to leave. In the whole of New York City, I had found Bax, and if I left now I may never see him again. My gaze swept over his attire—jeans, a long-sleeve tee and sneakers. “Are you auditioning too, or are you already in a show?”

His hand rubbed the back of his neck. “Neither. I’m not dancing anymore.”

I wanted to ask him why. I was sure there was a story behind the decision, but I glanced at my watch again. I now only had eight minutes.

“Do you want to come with me?” I asked, shuffling my feet as the crowd pushed past us.

Bax’s brow furrowed as he stood silently, studying my face for so long I assumed the answer was no. I was just about to tell him not to worry about it when he grabbed my hand. “Come on then, let’s go.”

We sprinted together toward the corner. I went to cross the road, but Bax dragged me to the right. “If you’re auditioning for the new James Buckshaw production, this way’s quicker.”

I trusted him; I always had when we were together, so I followed blindly, glancing in his direction with a small smile on my lips. He smiled back and my face flushed. He’d always had an effect on me from the moment we’d been paired together at Boston Conservatory in the contemporary ballet class. I had walked into the studio on my first day, a naïve sixteen-year-old, and looked around nervously as dancers stretched their limbs to impossible angles. Dressed in tights and leotards or shorts and crop tops, they’d flexed every part of their bodies to breaking point.

Then there’d been Baxter. He’d been dressed in baggy black pants and a gray singlet. His dark blond hair that had been just long enough to tie back was in a messy bun with a loose tendril falling over his face. He’d casually stretched in between talking and laughing animatedly with a group of girls.

When it came time to pair up, I’d held back.
Anyone but that guy
, I had thought, but sure enough that guy had become my partner in dance and in life.

I’d thought he’d be cocky, and his relaxed manner had made me think he’d be a lazy dancer. But he was extraordinary. He’d lifted without effort, and he’d supported and guided me as I’d tried desperately to keep up in a complicated routine that everyone knew except me. Somehow he had gotten me through that first day without making a complete fool of myself, and after class he had offered to help me practice the steps so I would be ready the following lesson.

For two years, he had been my everything. There was dance and there was Baxter, and so many times over the years I would have given up on the first if not for the latter.

And now here he was again, holding my hand and guiding me through these unfamiliar streets and saving my ass.

We made it. The train was just starting to pull away from the platform as Baxter’s muscular arm stretched out and wrenched open the door, and we both leapt inside. We found two seats together, sandwiched by more people in suits, and I took a moment to catch my breath.

Baxter’s legs jiggled as he looked everywhere but at me. I knew the mannerism—he had something to say and was trying to phrase it in his head before speaking out loud. Maybe he was formulating an apology for what had happened between us all those years ago.

“So, how long have you been in New York, Jaz?” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Three weeks.” I sighed heavily. “I finally made it.”

“Better late than never, right?” He furrowed his brow, and his gaze dropped to his sneakered feet. “Only six years after you said you’d come.”

I took a deep breath for courage. “What happened between us?” I asked, needing to know even after all this time why he’d suddenly abandoned me and all our dreams.

“Why don’t you tell me?” he said harshly, running his hand down his denim-clad thigh and picking at the frayed edge of the tear across his knee.

Heat flushed my face. How could he be angry with me? I wasn’t the one who’d stopped calling. “Well, from my perspective, what happened is you stopped taking my calls and then you changed your number just to be doubly sure I couldn’t reach you.” My pitch rose, and I looked around quickly to see if any of the commuters were listening.

His eyes narrowed. “Well I didn’t see the point of continuing the charade between us when you had accepted a place at Boston Ballet Company. What happened to moving to New York, Jaz? BBC called and you weighed up the two.” He held out his hands like scales, balancing weights. “Let’s see. Dance for BBC, or move to New York with your loser boyfriend who couldn’t get a job?” One hand of his invisible scales rose higher than the other. “And there, we’ve made our decision. Boston Ballet it is.” The last words were filled with bitterness but his eyes betrayed his true emotions. He was still hurting after all this time.

Tears welled, and I quickly turned my head to look out the window while I tried to compose myself.

“It doesn’t matter now, Jaz. It’s all water under the bridge.”

“That’s not what happened,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

He didn’t respond.

I turned to face him. “That’s not what happened,” I said more clearly.

“So what did happen? Because that’s sure how it seemed to me.” He finally looked at me, his piercing gray eyes searching for answers. “I was here for two years on my own, but that was okay, because I knew you were coming and we would build a life together so I waited like we planned.” A sad smile crossed his lips. “I found a little apartment. It wasn’t much but it would have been ours.” His eyes were sad as he sat slumped in the uncomfortable seat.

“My dad …” I choked back a sob. I doubted it would ever be easy to talk about. “Dad got sick.”

Baxter’s eyes widened with the realization of what I was telling him. “Oh, Jaz, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” He wrapped an arm around me, holding me firmly to his side. “I saw you were given a place at BBC straight out of the Conservatory. I thought you’d changed your mind about coming. I thought you’d got a better offer.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry.”

My heart ached for all the time that we’d lost. “It all happened so fast. Dad was diagnosed and then BBC came to the house. They saw the situation and offered me a place and I took it. I needed to dance but I had to stay in Boston, for Dad.” My vision blurred with tears, and I shrugged sadly. “I tried to call you after the dust had settled with Dad to tell you I had to postpone my move. It was like you’d disappeared off the face of the Earth. I left messages … so many messages. Then your number was disconnected; I didn’t know how to reach you.” I wiped my damp cheeks. “You’d already graduated and been gone for two years. I thought you’d decided you didn’t want me anymore.”

He exhaled sharply. “How could you think that? You were all I wanted. Everything I did—the move, the crappy jobs to earn enough money to go to auditions and pay rent—all of it was for you.”

“And yet you didn’t let me explain.”

His eyes flashed with regret. “I always was pigheaded.” He squeezed my hand in his. “I’m so sorry, Jaz. You’ll never know how sorry I am that we’ve wasted all these years. I was going through a tough time, facing one rejection after another. I guess I just thought you were rejecting me, too.”

I shook my head. “You were the one good thing in my life. You were my future.”

He pulled me close, lightly kissing my temple. “So much has happened in the past eight years since I graduated, but at least you’re still dancing.”

I placed one hand on his thigh. “Why aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “I couldn’t cut it.”

“But you were such a wonderful dancer. You should audition, too. The ad said they need strong male dancers.”

Baxter shook his head and leaned back into the seat. “Not really dressed for it.” He ran his hands over the denim covering his strong thighs, then lifted one foot to show his sneaker.

“Since when did you worry about dressing correctly?” I teased. “You used to come to class in your street clothes.”

He shrugged again. “I’ve been down that road so many times I’ve lost count. I don’t dance anymore.”

I leaned into Baxter, resting my head against his shoulder.

“Got a few small parts but even they dried up after a while. Figured they were trying to tell me something. That I wasn’t good enough.” He threw his hands to the side in defeat. “So I gave up, right around the time I gave up on you ever coming to New York.”