Page 20 of The Last Pirouette
She picked up the journal again, running her fingers over the cover. It was a reminder of her past, but it was also a roadmap to her future. A future that was no longer defined by ballet, but by something more, something bigger, something… unknown.
She knew it wouldn't be easy. There would be challenges, setbacks, and moments of doubt. But she also knew that she wasn't alone. She had Liam, her mom, Mila, and, most importantly, herself.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.
Chapter 13
The afternoon sun streamed through the high windows of the athletic complex, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Harper walked with a new, less hesitant rhythm, the ache in her leg a familiar hum rather than a sharp protest. She felt a quiet sense of optimism, a feeling she directly attributed to Liam. It was a subtle lift in her spirit, like the first hint of spring after a long, brutal winter. Heading from a productive physical therapy session, she decided to take a shortcut past the arena, a route she normally avoided. The arena, with its echoes of skates and triumphant yells, felt like a monument to a world she no longer belonged to. But the thought of potentially seeing him, of catching his eye and sharing a quick smile, made her feel bold.
As Harper approached the hockey team's locker room, the door was propped open, and the sounds of loud laughter, bragging, and music spilled into the hallway. It was a chaotic symphony of teenage boy energy – a mix of adrenaline and testosterone, laced with the unmistakable scent of sweat and liniment. She smiled to herself, recognizing Liam's distinct laugh among the chorus. It was a booming, infectious sound, capable of filling a room and somehow, lately, easing the tightness in her chest.
She slowed her pace, intending to just walk by. A quick glimpse, a silent acknowledgment, and then she'd be on her way. She didn't want to intrude, didn't want to be seen as… what? Desperate? Clingy? The thought alone made her cringe. But as she neared the open doorway, she froze when she heard a teammate ask loudly, "So, what's the deal with the ballerina, dude? You fixing her or dating her?"
The question hung in the air, slicing through the noise like a rogue skate blade. Harper’s breath caught in her throat. Thecasual cruelty of the words stung, but it was the flippant way they were delivered that truly made her heart sink. She shrank back against the opposite wall, pressing her shoulder blades against the cool cinder block, hidden from view. The music suddenly seemed too loud, the laughter too boisterous, the world too bright. She wanted to disappear.
Then she heard Liam's response. He shifted gears, his voice taking on the practiced, easygoing tone of the team captain. "Just helping her out. Rehab buddies, you know? Dr. Reese thought it would be a good idea. It's a project."
Each word was a tiny shard of ice, piercing through her newfound warmth. A project. He saw her as a project. Someone to be fixed, tinkered with, and then discarded once the job was done. The words echoed in her mind, amplifying her deepest insecurities, confirming the fears she had desperately tried to ignore. The laughter in the locker room suddenly felt directed at her, mocking her vulnerability, her hope.
Stung and blindsided, Harper quietly retreated, her earlier optimism shattering like glass. She picked up her pace, the ache in her leg now a sharp, throbbing pain that mirrored the ache in her heart. She focused on putting one foot in front of the other, desperate to escape before anyone could spot her, before she had to face the pitying eyes of Liam’s teammates, or worse, Liam himself. The word 'project' pulsed in her mind, a cruel reminder that she was nothing more than a broken thing to be fixed, not a person to be loved.
*
The locker room buzzed with post-practice energy. Towels snapped, equipment clattered, and the air thrummed with the triumphant energy of a team that had just dominated the ice.Miller, a hulking defenseman with a permanent smirk, elbowed Liam in the ribs.
“So, Hayes,” Miller drawled, his voice laced with playful mockery. “What’s the deal with the ballerina? She your new good luck charm or something?”
Other teammates chimed in, their tone a mix of genuine curiosity and locker-room teasing.
"Yeah, man, you've been spending a lot of time with her lately. Is she gonna start skating with us?"
"Is she hot? Spill the details, Liam!"
Liam shifted uncomfortably, a knot forming in his stomach. He hadn’t anticipated this kind of attention. He valued the privacy of his relationship with Harper, and he certainly didn’t want to subject her to the crude humor and prying eyes of his teammates. He knew they were just being guys, but still... this was different. This felt… personal.
He glanced around the room, gauging the mood. Most of the guys were grinning, waiting for him to dish. He hated this. He hated feeling like he had to put on a show, to perform the role of the unflappable captain who had it all figured out.
He took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Relax, guys. It’s not like that.” He leaned back against his locker, trying to project an air of casual indifference. “I’m just helping her out, you know? She’s… going through a rough patch.”
“A rough patch?” Miller repeated, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “That’s one way to put it. Last I checked, ballerinas aren’t exactly known for their hockey skills.”
Liam chuckled, trying to deflect the attention. "Hey, everyone deserves a little help. Besides, gotta get her back on her feet soshe can stop moping around. It's a project. Dr. Reese thought it would be a good idea to team up." He shrugged, hoping to convey that it was no big deal, just a favor, a task to be completed. “Keeps me busy, you know?”
He avoided making eye contact with anyone, focusing instead on tightening the laces of his skates. He could feel their eyes on him, dissecting his every word, searching for any sign of weakness or vulnerability. He had to shut this down. Now.
“So, no romance, huh?” Miller pressed, his smirk widening. “Just a friendly project?”
Liam’s jaw tightened. He hated this line of questioning. He hated the way Miller was looking at him, the smug satisfaction in his eyes. He hated the way he felt the need to protect Harper from their scrutiny, from their judgment.
“Nope,” he said, his voice a little too sharp. “Just a project. Now, can we drop it? I’ve got to get going.” He grabbed his bag and headed for the door, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the locker room.
He knew he hadn’t handled it well. He knew he had probably sounded like a jerk. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. All he wanted was to protect Harper, to keep her safe from the prying eyes and insensitive comments of his teammates. He just hoped he hadn’t made things worse.
*
Later that evening, Harper was sitting on her bed, staring blankly at a textbook. The words swam before her eyes, meaningless and disconnected. She had tried to focus, to lose herself in the familiar comfort of academic work, but her mind kept drifting back to the locker room, replaying Liam’s words over and over again. It's a project.
The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of her desk lamp. Dance trophies lined the shelves, their polished surfaces reflecting the light like accusing eyes. They seemed to mock her, to remind her of everything she had lost, of the future that had been so abruptly snatched away.
