LUKA (The Rhythm Series, Book 2)

  “You were so full of life and . . .”

  “Ironic, isn’t it?” she snipped, her eyes shooting sparks at me. “I have a life growing in here, so yeah, I’m full of life. But you’re not with us. Oh sure, you’re in my flat, and very occasionally you’re in my pants, but it’s all just temporary. I’m not an idiot, Luka. I know there’s someone else.”

  I felt like she’d gut-punched me.

  “What?”

  She laughed, a harsh, brittle sound.

  “Could you be more obvious?! I don’t know who you’re fucking when you’re balls deep inside me, but it sure as hell isn’t me.”

  “I’m not seeing anyone else,” I argued, dodging the heart of what she was saying.

  “Liar! Just fucking go to Chicago, Luka, because I don’t care.”

  We were both breathing hard, and her face turned red. I was worried about her blood pressure.

  I took a deep breath.

  “We can’t keep tearing each other apart like this,” I said quietly. “But I give you my word, I’m not seeing anyone else. I’m not fucking anyone else.”

  She didn’t answer, and just sat staring at her hands.

  I threw on my coat and picked up my suitcase. When I leaned down to kiss her, she turned away.

  “I’ll see you on Monday.”

  “If I’m still here.”

  “Sarah . . .”

  “Just go, Luka. You obviously can’t wait to get away from me, so just go.”

  She stroked her stomach protectively.

  “Christ, I won’t go, okay? I’ll stay and we’ll talk.”

  “Fuck off,” she said.

  Then she walked into the bedroom and slammed the door.

  I picked up my suitcase and left the apartment, furious for losing my shit, guilty for yelling at a pregnant woman, scared that she was getting too close to the truth.

  My head was cloudy with warring thoughts, and I don’t even remember the journey to the airport.

  Day after day, I was pushed to my limit. It just needed one more awful thing to happen before I broke, or lashed out, defending myself. I didn’t know which it would be—either was possible.

  The piercing cold of Chicago felt amazing after the choked closeness of the nine hour flight.

  Snow lay in banks where it had been scooped and dumped, and the sidewalks were gray with slush and ice. I stared up at the wide blue sky, my breath clouding in front of me, the cold creeping across my skin. It felt clean and new.

  With my head clear for the first time in months, I took a cab straight from O’Hare to the rehearsal studio. Despite the six-hour time difference, I didn’t feel tired. If anything, I was energized. Being away from Sarah, I felt pounds lighter. Being away from Seth . . . I didn’t want to think about that too much.

  Because of the timing of the flight, I was at the studio before everyone else. A woman at the front desk let me in, smiling when I explained what I was here for and who I was with.

  I changed quickly and walked into the warm studio, breathing in the faint scent of floor polish and sweat. The final slice of tension I’d been carrying in my body slipped away and the crushing weight in my chest began to lift. I could breathe here. London had become stifling.

  I sat on the floor doing stretches, easing myself into box splits, when I heard footsteps.

  I glanced up and saw Yveta.

  “Ciao, bella!” I grinned at her. “How are you?”

  She cocked her head to one side, a small smile on her face.

  I frowned at her, wondering why she wasn’t answering. Then my mouth dropped open in shock.

  “You cut your hair!”

  Her long, thick, straight hair that had reached almost to her waist was gone, cut into a spiky pixie cut. She looked amazing, and it showed off her wide cheekbones and slanted Slavic eyes, a striking cobalt blue.

  She patted her hair teasingly, still smiling that enigmatic smile—the one that women use when you’re missing a glaringly obvious point.

  “What?” I said, feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious under her steady gaze.

  I looked down to check that I had pants on and my shoes on the correct feet.

  “What?” I asked again, a note of frustration in my voice.

  Yveta laughed and shook her head, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

  “It’s good to see you, Luka,” she said in her husky contralto voice. “You look well. Fatherhood must suit you.”

  My smile became forced and I had to look away.

  “Yeah,” I mumbled.

  She raised her eyebrows. “How’s Sarah?”

  “Great,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. “She sends her love.” She hadn’t.

  “I must call to congratulate her,” she said. “She always wanted a baby.”

  My head snapped up. “She did?”

  Yveta’s eyes widened in surprise, but she covered it well. Then she sat down on the floor next to me, starting her warmup.

  “Da, she said she wanted a baby before she was thirty.”

  I was silent. That was definitely news to me. And it shined a new light on her ‘accident’.

  Yveta threw me another loaded look, then changed the subject.

  “How was London? I heard you got a gig there.”

  “Yeah, it was okay. But I’m glad to be back in Chicago. Being in the chorus line gets boring.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course, but it pays the rent.”

  She seemed different, and it wasn’t just the hair, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Happier, maybe?

  I stared back, really stared at her, seeing a faint blush rise in her cheeks.

  Frowning, I concentrated on stretching out my hamstrings. Then realization hit me and my eyebrows shot up as I studied her face.

  “Your . . . your scar!”

  My voice faded, and I swallowed hard.

  The ugly, jagged scar that had run the length of her cheek, pulling the side of her mouth into a perpetual sneer had gone, leaving only a faint pink line behind.

  I smacked my forehead.

  “I’m such an asshole! You had your surgery!” I peered more closely. “It’s amazing, you can hardly see it.”

  Tears glistened in her eyes.

  “Luka, we’ve been talking for ten minutes and you didn’t even notice.”

  I felt like such a shit, and I started to apologize.

  “Fuck, I’m sorry. I . . .”

  She wrapped slim fingers around my wrist.

  “No, don’t apologize. You never saw my scar, it never bothered you. You were the only one, Luka. Right from that very first day. You were the only one who saw past it—you saw me. I remember exactly what you said: ‘I stare at all the beautiful women’. You don’t know how much that meant to me. And now I am fixed and men look at me again. But you . . . you still see me. You see me.”

  I pulled her into a tight hug as she cried silently against my chest.

  “Spasibo, Luka. Spasibo.”

  She tightened her grip around my neck and for the first time in months, I didn’t feel like a horrible human being. Or so alone.

  Just then Gary came flouncing in, glaring at me as he tried not to smile.

  “Oh my God, it’s the other terminally hot and insanely gorgeous Slovenian. What a drag.”

  He didn’t comment on Yveta’s tears or the expression on my face.

  I laughed and grabbed him a tight hug, so the three of us were wrapped together, laughing and crying.

  “Admit that you missed me!”

  “Never!”

  “Admit it!” I said, pressing loud, wet kisses to his cheek that made him squirm

  “Ugh! Get off!”

  “Admit it!”

  “Fine! I admit it! I missed your hot, showboating ass! Now stop slobbering all over me!”

  I gave him one more kiss full on the lips, and grinned as he blushed.

  “Missed you, too,” I said with a wink.

  He muttered something under his breath and
wiped his face with his sleeve.

  “How’s that little minx of yours? I heard you knocked her up.”

  Yveta moved away from me, pulling a tissue out of her purse.

  My smile became strained as I answered Gary.

  “That’s the rumor.”

  He glanced up, his face questioning.

  Jeez, I was really shit at hiding my true feelings from my family.

  “Trouble in Paradise?” he asked.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I snapped.

  Gary was taken aback, but he didn’t comment. Thank God.

  Then Oliver walked over and shook my hand, pulling me into a man-hug at the same time and telling me all about the old warehouse he’d found. He was part way through a renovation to turn it into a dance studio. I was really pleased for him and almost promised to train there, when I remembered that London was home now.

  We sat around chatting while we stretched out on the floor: front splits, box splits, chests to knees with our feet out in front, but it was becoming obvious that Ash was running late. It felt off. We’d had the same training: he was never late.

  Gary sent him a text, but a minute later Ash stomped through the door, still in his street clothes, looking furious. But when he saw me, a huge smile spread across his face.

  “Luka!” he yelled, sinking to his knees and wrapping his arms around me. “Good to see you, brother. It’s been too long.”

  For a moment we just held each other. Family. I felt guilty for not keeping in touch with everyone as much as I should. Guilt and shame had kept me from the people who loved me, which officially made me as dumb as dirt, too.

  Eventually, he let me go and sat on the floor, leaning back on his hands.

  “Laney sends her love. She’s cooking dinner tonight.” He rolled his eyes. “I begged her to go to a restaurant, but she wanted to make something special . . .” and we both winced.

  Laney’s cooking rarely worked out as she’d intended. She liked to experiment. Ash liked to eat out.

  Yveta interrupted impatiently, frowning at Ash.

  “You’re late,” she said, getting to the point immediately.

  He sighed, the happiness at us all being together evaporating like morning mist.

  “Yes. We have a problem.”

  He glanced at Yveta and Gary, his expression wary and concerned.

  “We can’t tour Slave next year.”

  There was a stunned silence, followed instantly by everyone speaking at once.

  “What the fuck?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why not?”

  “What’s the problem?”

  Ash rubbed his eyes.

  “I don’t know the legal words, but I’ve received a court order.”

  His mouth clamped into a thin line before he continued.

  “Volkov,” he spat, “is claiming libel—defamation of character leading to a loss of business—and the court says we can’t tour with Slave right now.”

  Of all the explanations that had whirred through my brain, that name had not been part of it. It pissed me off, but I hadn’t suffered at his hands, not like my friends.

  Gary’s skin was gray with fear, and I thought Yveta was going to faint.

  “How can he do this?” asked Oliver. “We don’t mention his full name anywhere in the programs. What does Selma say?”

  “She’s taking legal advice,” Ash sighed. “It’s because I gave the name of his hotel in an interview, and the journalist linked him directly to human trafficking.”

  “But how does that affect the show?” Oliver asked. “I can understand that he’d come after you—no offense, Ash—but why stop the show?”

  “I don’t know,” Ash growled with frustration. “Because it’s getting so much press coverage? I don’t know! Laney’s friend Angela is looking at the legal documents to see what can be done. It’s all bullshit, but they’re saying we have to go through the process, whatever the fuck that means.”

  “I thought he was under investigation by the FBI?” Gary said faintly.

  “He is! But he’s saying Slave has damaged his reputation and he’s having trouble booking shows into the theater.”

  “Ballsy,” Oliver said, shaking his head. “So where does that leave us?”

  Ash closed his eyes and hung his head.

  “I don’t know.”

  “No,” I said, thumping the wooden floor and making everyone jump. “Fuck him! Fuck all of them! Let’s do it anyway!”

  Ash gave me a faint smile as the others nodded.

  “We can’t tour Slave. No theater will take the show with a court case hanging over us.”

  There was an angry silence as that news sank in.

  “Then we make a new show.”

  Heads turned in my direction as I spoke, and I saw the spark of hope in Ash’s eyes as he looked at me.

  “We make a new show,” I repeated. “He can stop Slave—for now—but he can’t take our dancing away from us.”

  “Yes,” Ash said slowly. Then more loudly, “Yes! We are survivors!”

  He clapped his hands, impatiently waving us into a circle around him.

  Gary rolled his eyes, softening the angry tension in the room. “Yes, Dad!”

  I laughed at his antics. It was true that Ash was the Creative Director of Syzygy, his dance theater company, but he was also the youngest of us.

  “Thank you,” he said, energy pulsing through his voice. “You, my friends, are my inner circle and you’re all skilled choreographers. So now we have a challenge—to use this week and come up with the skeleton for a new show.” He paused. “Slave has done really well and we could tour with that another time, but . . .” he glanced at Yveta and then me. “But I think maybe fate is telling us that we’re all ready to move on from that, so . . . a new dance-drama. Let’s hear your ideas.”

  I listened to Oliver’s idea for a show about the elements—earth, wind, fire and water—that sounded interesting.

  Gary said doing something environmental about the planet would be on trend, but Oliver said Cirque du Soleil had already done something similar.

  Yveta wanted to do something more traditional like a folktale or a fairy story, something more ballet-like.

  “What about you?” Ash asked, looking at me.

  I scratched my chin. I wasn’t as good a choreographer as any of the others, and I found it hard to express myself in words, but I did have an idea. I just wasn’t sure about it.

  “I guess you all know that Sarah is pregnant . . .”

  They all nodded, murmuring congratulations, while I gave a strangled smile.

  “So, I’ve been thinking a lot about what that means: being a father, new life. I thought . . . maybe we could do something around that . . . the circle of life: birth, childhood, growing up, school, becoming an adult, becoming . . . becoming a parent. Life starting again, growing up, moving on, growing older. Death. And rebirth.”

  The room was silent and I dropped my gaze to the floor.

  “It’s a dumb idea . . .”

  “No,” said Ash. “I like it. I like it a lot.”

  There was a silence following his words, then Yveta spoke.

  “It’s brilliant.”

  Gary snorted. “He’s back half a day and already the Ice Prince and the Snow Queen are BFFs. Ugh, they’re so beautiful and brilliant—it’s totally vomit-inducing.”

  Which was Gary’s way of saying he liked the idea.

  Oliver nodded his agreement. “That’s a strong theme: I like it, too.”

  Ash closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them again, I saw the determination in his expression.

  “Yes, we will do this. That’s our theme: Life Cycle.”

  “No,” said Yveta, with certainty. “Circle of Life, as Luka said.”

  “God, no,” said Gary. “Far too Elton John.”

  Yveta closed her eyes as if in pain. “Life Circles, then. Because we all spend our lives running in circles like chicken
s without heads.”

  Ash smiled and nodded.

  “I say we dance—we dance like the world is watching.”

  My shoulders relaxed. I was so sure that they’d hate the idea. It made me realize that I wasn’t the fucked up loser of the last few months. I’d spent all that time trying to please Sarah and doing nothing for myself, no matter what she said. I’d let guilt do a number on me. I frowned at the floor as if it had some explaining to do. Yes, things would be different when I went back. When.

  “You look like you’re having very serious thoughts,” Yveta said, leaning her head on my shoulder.

  I laughed and wrapped an arm around her waist.

  “I know you don’t think so, but it does happen sometimes.”

  I thought she’d smile, but she didn’t.

  “You don’t seem very happy, Luka. What’s wrong?”

  How the hell could I answer such a big question?

  So I lied.

  “Scared as fuck at the thought of being a father.”

  She smiled. “I imagine every expectant parent feels that way.”

  “Do you want to have children?”

  She shook her head immediately.

  “No. I wouldn’t bring a child into this evil world.”

  I couldn’t help glancing at the pale scar on her cheek.

  “You survived, Yveta.”

  She didn’t respond for a moment.

  “Part of me survived,” she said quietly, “but another part of me died. And I will never let a man use my body again.”

  Ash hadn’t told me everything that had happened to Yveta, but I knew she’d been raped. Many times.

  “Perhaps one day,” I said carefully.

  “No.”

  Then she deliberately changed the subject.

  “You’ll be fine. Babies are tougher than they look. And you’re a natural at taking care of people.”

  Her words surprised me. I’d always made it a mission to live as uncomplicated a life as possible. Although that hadn’t worked out so well lately . . . the responsibility for taking care of others hadn’t been something I wanted. And a baby was the ultimate rendering of that.

  Yveta raised her eyebrows as I shook my head.

  “No, I’m not. I don’t. I . . .”

  “When Ash needed to leave Las Vegas, you wanted to send him every penny you had to help him escape. He told me this. When he needed someone he trusted to take Slave to the stage, you caught the first flight to Chicago to sleep on his couch for two months, not knowing if it would ever work. And when Sarah . . . you didn’t run away.”