Page 24 of The Last Pirouette
“Of course,” he agreed readily.
“Second,” she continued, “we need a solid plan. Budget, timeline, repertoire… the whole nine yards. I’m not signing off on anything until I see a detailed proposal.”
“Understood.” He was already picturing spreadsheets and timelines, his mind buzzing with ideas.
“And third,” she said, her gaze locking onto his, “and this is the most important one… Harper has to be the one to choreograph and direct the showcase.”
His heart skipped another beat, this time for a different reason entirely. Harper? Choreograph? Direct? It was perfect. It was exactly what she needed. But…
“Are you sure?” he asked, a flicker of doubt creeping into his voice. “I mean, she’s… she’s been going through a lot. I don’t want to put any more pressure on her.”
Dr. Reese raised an eyebrow. “Are you questioning her talent, Liam?”
“No! God, no,” he said quickly. “I just… I don’t know if she’s ready.”
“Ready or not,” Dr. Reese said firmly, “she’s the only one with the vision to see the dance inside the struggle. The only one who can translate that into something meaningful, something powerful. This isn't a favor, Liam. It's a necessity. If you want this showcase to succeed, you need Harper.”
He knew she was right. He’d known it all along, deep down. He’d just been afraid to admit it, afraid of facing her, afraid of rejection. But the thought of Harper, her creativity unleashed, her passion reignited… it was too compelling to ignore.
He took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said, his voice firm. “I’ll do it. I’ll ask her.”
Dr. Reese leaned back in her chair, her smile widening slightly. “Good. Because if anyone can convince her, it’s you.”
He stood, the weight of that impending, terrifyingly important conversation settling on his shoulders. He had no idea what he was going to say, how he was going to approach her. But he knew he had to try. For her. For the center. For himself.
He walked to the door, his hand hovering over the handle. He glanced through the glass, his gaze drawn to Harper across the room. She was still at the parallel bars, her movements as precise and controlled as ever. But there was something different about her now, something… fragile. He could see the pain in her eyes, the sadness in her posture. A brilliant artist trapped behind a wall he helped build.
Chapter 16
The chapter opens in the sterile, quiet office of Dr. Reese, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic. Harper sat stiffly in a patient chair, her leg propped on a stool, the familiar ache a dull throb. The fluorescent lights hummed, casting a clinical pallor over everything, and she crossed her arms, a subtle shield against the unexpected.
She’d assumed this was a routine follow-up, a check on her limited range of motion, maybe another lecture about keeping up with her exercises. But the unexpected presence of Liam, looking out of place and uncomfortable in his hockey team hoodie, set her on edge. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, gaze fixed somewhere over her head as if he’d rather be anywhere else.
Dr. Reese, ever the picture of professional optimism, sat behind her desk, hands clasped. “Harper, Liam, thanks for coming in. I wanted to discuss an exciting idea that Liam brought to me.”
Harper’s eyebrows rose. Exciting? The only exciting thing about physical therapy was when it was over. She glanced at Liam, whose cheeks seemed a shade rosier than usual.
“It’s a… a Cross-Discipline Showcase,” Dr. Reese announced, her voice enthusiastic. “A fundraiser, really, to benefit both the school’s athletics and arts programs. Liam had the brilliant idea of showcasing the progress we make here, the creativity in adapting movement, and the sheer will of our athletes and artists.”
Harper’s skepticism deepened. A fundraiser? A showcase? It sounded like a recipe for humiliation, parading their injuries in front of the entire school.
Dr. Reese continued, oblivious to her internal turmoil. “Liam envisioned a collaborative event, blending the precision of hockey with… well, with the grace and artistry of dance. And, Harper, given your unique expertise…”
Here it came. Harper braced herself.
“… we were hoping you might consider being the artistic director.”
The words hung in the air like a discordant note. Artistic director? Of a hockey-ballet…thing?
“Absolutely not,” Harper said, the words sharper than she intended. “I’m not a choreographer anymore, Doctor.”
The air in the room seemed to thicken. Dr. Reese’s smile faltered, and Liam shifted his weight, finally meeting her gaze. His expression was unreadable.
“Harper,” Dr. Reese began gently, “this could be a wonderful opportunity…”
“An opportunity for what?” Harper interrupted, her voice rising. “To remind everyone what I’ve lost? To watch Liam skate circles around me while I hobble around with a cane?”
She hated the bitterness in her voice, but she couldn’t stop it. It was like a dam had broken, releasing all the pent-up frustration and resentment she’d been trying to contain.
