Page 13 of The Last Pirouette
But something stopped her. Maybe it was the shared experience of hiding pain, of clinging to a dream that was slipping away. Maybe it was the flicker of something real she’d seen beneath his carefully constructed mask.
Or maybe it was simply the fact that she was tired of being alone in her own private hell.
She thought of her mom, working double shifts, sacrificing everything for a future that might never happen. She thought of Mila, dancing the lead in Giselle, living the dream that had been stolen from her. She thought of the pitying looks, the whispered conversations, the well-meaning but ultimately empty platitudes.
She was tired of being the broken ballerina, the charity case, the girl whose life had peaked at seventeen.
And maybe, just maybe, she saw a chance to not be that girl, not anymore.
They stood in the sterile quiet of the hallway. Liam looked exhausted, the weight of his confession hanging in the air between them. Harper didn't offer pity or cheap advice. She simply met his gaze and gave a small, firm nod. “Okay,” she said, the single word a promise of silence and sharedunderstanding. The unspoken pact solidifies their fragile connection, transforming it into something real and grounded in a shared, painful truth.
Chapter 9
The physical therapy room felt different today. The usual oppressive silence was replaced by a quiet, charged awareness. Liam was grimly working through a set of quad extensions, his focus absolute, while Harper observed him from her stretching mat. The vulnerability they shared had shifted the atmosphere, and as she watched him wince, a glint of an idea—a challenge—flickered in her eyes. The air was thick with unspoken thoughts, a blank canvas for a new dynamic.
He looked like he was about to saw his leg off. Each repetition was slower, more labored than the last, his face contorted in a grimace he was trying, and failing, to hide. Harper knew that look. It was the face she saw reflected back at her in the mirror every morning.
“Having fun, Captain?” she asked, the words laced with a playful, almost gentle, barb.
Liam shot her a glare that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Just peachy, Princess. Living the dream.” He gritted out the last few reps, then slammed the weight stack with unnecessary force.
She watched him carefully as he stalked over to a bench and began attacking his hamstring with a foam roller. He might have thought he was fooling Dr. Reese, but he wasn’t fooling her. She knew what it was like to push past the pain, to pretend you were fine when every nerve ending was screaming.
Harper decided to leverage their newfound understanding, to use it as a weapon, of sorts. "You know," she began, stretching her arms overhead. "For someone who's supposedly 'living the dream,' you look awfully tense."
Liam grunted in response, not bothering to look up.
"I bet you can't even get your palms flat on the floor, Captain," Harper continued, her voice light and teasing, but underpinned with a sharp edge. "All that muscle and no grace."
He finally looked up, his eyes narrowed. "Oh, is that a challenge, ballerina?"
"Maybe," she said, a smirk playing on her lips. "Unless you're scared."
Liam scoffed, pushing himself up from the bench. "Scared? Of a little hamstring stretch? Please." He sauntered over to where she was sitting, a cocky grin spreading across his face. "And I bet you can't handle a real workout, Princess. All those pretty little dances probably don’t even break a sweat."
Harper’s eyes flashed, “Oh, I could run circles around you.”
“Yeah? Well, let’s see it, then.”
“Alright, Hayes,” she said, meeting his gaze, “It’s a deal. But whenIwin, you owe me.”
"And what makes you so sure you're going to win?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Harper shrugged, a confident smile playing on her lips. "Let's just say I've got a little more experience with flexibility than you do."
Liam chuckled. “We’ll see about that.” He stepped forward, a competitive fire burning in his eyes. “So, what are the terms?”
"Simple," Harper said. "You hold a deep runner's lunge to my satisfaction for a full minute. Palms flat on the floor, chest to your thigh. If you can do that, then I'll attempt an upper-body strength exercise of your choosing. One that won't compromise my leg, obviously."
Liam considered the proposition, his gaze flicking over her. He knew Harper. He knew her determination, her grit. This wasn't just a random challenge; she was testing him, pushing him. And maybe, just maybe, trying to inject some much-needed energy into their shared misery.
"Alright, Princess," he said, extending his hand. "You're on."
Harper shook his hand, her grip surprisingly firm. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
Liam positioned himself in front of her, dropping into a runner's lunge. His front knee was bent at ninety degrees, his back leg stretched out behind him. He sucked in a breath and lowered his hands to the floor, attempting to flatten his palms.
He was nowhere close.
