Page 80 of Lost Lyrebird
The fakeass smile stays plastered to my face as my mind reels.Internally, I try to shut off my emotions, but the switch isn’t working because too many questions are tumbling through my brain.
Mateo is in high school, so around the same age I was when I met Finn, which means he would have been a small boy back then.
If he’s Finn’s son, then why wouldn’t he have told me about him?And married… that can’t be right.
My world sort of tilts on its axis.
Pull yourself together, you have an act to perform.
But my head is a mess, and it bleeds through my performance.When I catch sight of Finn watching from where he’s leaning against the wall, it only makes matters worse.He’s in all black, wearing his cut, with half of his hair pulled back in a ponytail.The neon lights highlight every impressive, masculine feature.
The steps, the choreo, vacate my mind completely.I end up improvising the end of the routine.The clientele doesn’t seem to notice my fucked up, but he appears to.If his furrowed brow and tilted head are any indication.
After exiting the stage, I find Raven and wait until I have a moment alone with her.Getting ready for my next routine will take some time, and she’s busy assisting with props and a last-minute costume fix, but I pull her aside when I can, because there’s no way I’m getting back up there until I know more.So yeah, I don’t mince words—neither of us has time for that.
“Does Finn have a son?”
She stops cold, and a strained look blankets her face.My arms cross over my stomach as I wait for her response.She eyes me critically.“Why?Do you have a thing against guys with kids?”
“What?No.”
She matches my pose and raises an eyebrow.“So, if I said yes, it wouldn’t bother you?”
That answer is a straight punch to the chest.I suck in a breath as I try to speak.“I—”
She cuts me off before I can wrap my head around it and respond.“Never mind, I can tell by your face that it does.”
It does.Fuck me, it does—but not for the reason she’s thinking.She can’t read my mind to know that what she’s told me might rewrite our history.It has the potential to turn our tragic story into something else entirely—a story not worth telling, where Finn and I were nothing more than two people playing house, while he had a son and possibly another woman out there somewhere waiting for him.
That’s insane, right?My mind instantly rejects the notion because I can’t see it.Finn surely would have mentioned having a son.
Rationally, I know he could have had Mateo with a high school sweetheart, or maybe he’s a stepson, or—fuck!A million different scenarios flitter through my brain.Perhaps he accidentally got a girl pregnant.There has to be a reason for it.It’s him not saying a word about it that’s bothering the hell out of me.
But what if the past I believe is what was a fevered dream?
I relive some of our moments together and view them in a darker light.The crisp pages of our story have cracked and yellowed with age, and now threaten to tear completely with this possible new version of it.But maybe I’m way off base, because none of this makes any sense.
I’m too shaken to think clearly.Before I can gather my thoughts, Raven’s pulled away by other dancers clamoring for her help.
As she backs away, she calls out.“I promise, we’ll talk later, okay?”
I promise.
Those words gut me.
I nod numbly and turn for the dressing room.
I barely make it to the bathroom in time, before dropping to my knees to vomit into the toilet.The bile scorches my throat, rising again and again until there’s nothing left.I tell myself that it doesn’t matter.That this is a job, and precisely why I should have to stay away from him, like I’d planned to.
I let down my guard during the VIP performance because selfishly, I wanted one more memory with him.I’d told myself it would give me the perfect chance to get a closer look at his tattoos, to understand him better—but look how that turned out.
I cracked the door open a silver, and he barrelled right through.
It was a mistake—one that won’t happen again.Letting him weave his way into my heart when he has the power to destroy what’s left of it will only end one way—badly.
And not just for me.For both of us.
Not feeling up to my original routine, I change it up.I give Alexi my new music and slip into a costume I’ve been saving for a special night.It’s a black-and-white ensemble: black slacks, a sleek silk matching shirt, a white tie, and suspenders.The outfit feels like armor—polished on the outside, but heavy with the weight of everything I’m about to shed.I darken my makeup, each brushstroke feeling like another layer of control.Large black smoky rings line my eyes, overly large lashes make them more prominent, and I add bright red lipstick to my overdrawn lips.My hands tremble as I pin my hair into a tight bun.I secure the top hat, letting the extended long brim cast shadows over my eyes, hiding the turmoil beneath.
