Page 12 of Love You Still

“Please,” I beg her, tears streaming down my cheeks as I stare into her eyes. Emotions flash across her face as if they were on a movie reel before she sighs loudly.

“Okay. But promise me you’ll talk to him. Give him a chance to explain what you saw.” She gives me a sympathetic smile before grabbing my hand and pulling me out the front door.

“Just get me the fuck out of here as fast as possible,” I mutter as I climb into her car and pull the door shut tightly behind me.

Leia starts the car, pointing it toward my house a few blocks away, but never once repeats her question. I don’t want to lie to her because I don’t plan on ever speaking to Vance Kirkland again.

Chapter 6

Selina

Fourteen Years Later

“Inever thought I would find myself here, of all places,” I mumble as I look around my old dance studio.

“Things don’t always work out how we plan,” Ms. Cassandra replies as she leads me from room to room. “I haven’t been able to keep up with things for the last couple of months, but with a little sprucing up, I think it will be good as new.”

I scan the room, searching for the place I used to call my own. The once-vibrant blue walls are now dingy, with paint peeling in different places. The shiny wood floors are now covered in gouges and scuff marks, no doubt from the hours of dancing that have taken place on them. The room, once filled with mini ballerinas ready to dance across the stage, is now nothing but a dreary reminder of dreams lost.

“When your mother told me you were back in town, I knew what I wanted to do with the space…” She pauses. “I’m not getting any younger, you know. And with my son…” Her voice trails off, and my heart breaks for her.

Ms. Cassandra has been the only dance teacher in Tyson’s Creek since the studio opened when I was five years old. She’s the reason they accepted me into Juilliard. This place was myhome away from home, and Ms. Cassandra has always been more than just my dance teacher—she’s family.

Although I’ve been shit at keeping in contact with people here in Tyson’s Creek, besides my parents and a few friends, I never once imagined I’d come back and Ms. Cassandra would not be here, teaching classes to the future dancers of the world. This dance studio gave a lot of us a place to belong, a place to call our own. My heart broke for her when my mom told me her son died in a car accident a few months ago, leaving his wife and young daughter alone. I never thought I would see the day that Barre Studio would close its doors, but her family needs her.

“I need the space to train,” I answer, still unsure of what my future as a ballerina will be.

I had spent years training and finally landed the position of my dreams with the New York City Ballet. I’d danced with some of the best dancers in the world before finally being cast in the lead role of Princess Odette inSwan Lake. It was two weeks until opening night, and we had a rehearsal. Everything was going great until I made the last leap, coming down wrong and snapping my Achilles tendon.

That one mistake ended everything in the blink of an eye.

I had surgery, and now it’s time to start the long rehab process. The doctors expect it to take about six months to a year for me to heal but give no guarantees that I could ever dance professionally again. I’ve known dancers who had lesser injuries, and they never completely recovered. Their turns weren’t as tight, and their leaps weren’t as carefree as before. The fear of another injury always lingered in the back of their mind. People would talk about how they lost their edge, and everyone knew what that meant: the beginning of the end.

The company gave me a leave of absence for a year to get back into shape, and at that point, we would test whether I could come back. Since I was in my mid-thirties, my career was closeto ending anyway, but that was my chance to be center stage for the first time. Chances like that don’t come along often, and I wanted to have one more shot at making my dreams come true.

But there’s a part of me that’s thankful for my injury. It’s given me a chance to slow down and think about what my life has become and how it isn’t anything like I had hoped it would be. Don’t get me wrong, I love dancing in front of hundreds of people, living out my dream of being a ballerina. There is a certain thrill about being on the stage that I’ve never been able to find in any other place, but I don’t have anything else but dancing.

I’ve been lost ever since I got on that plane after graduation, leaving a piece of myself here in Tyson’s Creek. I threw myself into my training and schoolwork, hoping to dull the ache deep inside my soul, but the pain never lessened. I believed if I trained harder and became the best ballerina I could, I wouldn’t regret my decision to leave. And for a while, it worked, but I didn’t find the same joy in dancing. Instead of it setting my soul on fire each time I stepped on stage, it felt like a chore. A job. Something I had to continue doing to survive. If I’m being honest with myself, a part of me was happy when I got injured. I was given a second chance to find my passion again, to take the time and fall in love with dancing again. Time to work on getting rid of these feelings of incompleteness that have been bubbling beneath the surface for a while now.

I didn’t hesitate to plan to come home after my injury, knowing that I’d need the support of my parents and friends to get through this, but there was also another reason I came home. To find myself. To find that piece of my soul that shattered into a million pieces the last time I stepped foot into this town after my best friend died. The last time I saw him and found out that everything I believed was true was nothing but complete and utter bullshit.

“It would mean the world to me if you’d take over the studio.” Ms. Cassandra grips my hand, giving it a small squeeze, bringing my mind back to the present. “This isn’t what either of us wanted in life, but it’s the hand we’ve been dealt.”

I pull my hand from her grasp, heading toward the wooden barre attached to the wall. As I run my fingers across the rough wood, memories of the many hours of rehearsals for different programs run through my mind. This old dance studio was my home away from home, my escape from the dull existence that Tyson’s Creek had in store for me if I’d stayed.

I can see it all playing out in front of me. All the younger dancers I can foster and grow into the next generation of prima ballerinas. I can give them a place to call home, like I had. I can teach them how dancing is more than moving your body. It’s a passion that can let you soar if you only let it. I can rehab my injury and repair my heart at the same time, putting the pieces back together and finding a way to move forward. A way to create a life that doesn’t revolve around what part I get in the next production, but rather about what brings my heart joy.

“I’ll take it,” I say.

She wraps me in her arms, giving me a tight squeeze. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to let this place go.” She pulls back from our embrace with a smile. “Connor Bennett is on his way here to give you an estimate on the few repairs that are needed.”

I open my mouth to protest, but she cuts me off.

“Don’t you worry. I’ll deduct the cost of the repairs from the sale price of the studio.”

I give her a tight smile, trying to process her last few sentences. I just bought a dance studio in my hometown, which should be causing me to panic. But instead, I feel a sense of peace for the first time in years. However, right now, my biggest cause for concern isn’t the studio. It’s Connor Bennett.

Well, not him specifically. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since Lydia’s funeral, wanting to close off any chance of hearing anything about what was going on with a certain someone. I didn’t want to hear how good he was doing, how he had forgotten all about me and the promise he made to love me forever. Vance Kirkland is the one person I have no desire to see now that I’m back in town.