Page 17 of Wounded Dance
I really didn’t know a lot then. Just shy of fifteen, I ran with a quiet crowd who didn’t chase boys, at least not with the intent of actually catching them. Most of the boys we knew were immature and silly, popping bra straps and not really trying to get too close to us either.
But high school was coming. My September birthday meant I was a little older than many of my friends from middle school, and it showed. Back then, Mom wasn’t super conservative on what I could wear. She thought of me as a little girl still, so I had a lot of little tank tops and sundresses with spaghetti straps even though I filled them out in ways that weren’t simply cute anymore.
So I might have been wearing too little, a stretchy tank without a bra. And he kept looking at me between swings of his axe. And every flex of his muscles made something in me ache.
In that backyard with my brother in my lap and my father close by, it felt safe enough to really pay attention to this boy who’d arrived in our home. He was a mystery, and gorgeous, and my empathy was high for him. I wanted him to feel welcome here. I wanted to know him better. I tried to tell myself I wanted to be like a sister, but I wasn’t one. And as his muscles worked the shovel, I realized sisterly was not how I was feeling at all.
There was this moment that day that I remember well. And if I really thought about when things changed, it might have been right then. At one point, he turned around and caught me staring at him.
He must have recognized something in my look, because he didn’t smile or say anything. He just held my gaze. It seared me, his brooding expression, and it seemed to promise me — we’re going to deal with this.
There was nothing tender about that part of it. It was raw and powerful and full of intense yearning. Later that night, when I went to bed, I kept picturing his face, his body, the sweat, his muscled arms. And my body reacted in ways I couldn’t explain. But it all promised so much more to come.
“Livia?”
I realize Blitz has been calling my name. I glance at the dash screen. It’s back to the radio. The phone call is over.
“Sorry, lost in thought,” I say.
“Do you want to try and go in?” he asks, pointing at the academy.
I stare at Denham’s truck. That boy who sweated in my backyard and gave me that hungry look is right there, just a couple blocks away. And now he wants Gabriella.
“No,” I say. “I can’t risk it.”
“Do you want to tell Danika what is happening?” Danika is the owner of Dreamcatcher Academy and a personal friend.
“Not yet. Maybe he’ll give up. And we can get a rental and park behind the building.”
Blitz nods and we start backing away from the school. “I’d much rather bash in his skull,” he says.
“I know,” I say. “But we don’t want the news involved. Or the police.”
Blitz backs onto another street, and we turn toward the hotel. We’ll work out there today. No barre or dance floor, but we’ll figure out a way to get around Denham. I can’t let him derail my life. And I won’t let him keep me from Gabriella forever.
Chapter 9
It’s the weekend, so we don’t hear back from Blitz’s lawyer about his progress in finding the adoption contract and figuring out Gabriella’s legal status with Denham.
On Sunday morning, we sit out on the balcony of the hotel room, and I realize the church is open. I could probably go into the office during the service, when everyone is occupied, and find that adoption contract. I know where the files are.
I also know where they keep the keys. I volunteered there for years.
Blitz sits next to me, his feet propped up on the rail, sunglasses obscuring his face. The weather is still warm, so we’re in lightweight track suits, enjoying the January sunshine.
“Can you take me to my old church?” I ask him.
Blitz slides his sunglasses up on his head to peer at me. “You need to confess something? Because that thing you did last night might have been a crime against the Good Book.”
I kick his leg so that his foot comes off the rail and lands on the floor with a thud. He laughs and reaches across the glass table between us to take my hand. “You want to see your brother again?” he asks.
We did go there once a few weeks back so I could get a quick hug from Andy. My parents won’t let me see him otherwise.
“Actually, I would probably avoid my parents,” I say. “I think I can get that adoption contract quickly and spare your lawyer trying to track it down.”
“You sure you want to do all that cloak-and-dagger stuff?” Blitz says. “Jeff can get it.”
“Yes, but we can do it faster. And I’m terribly curious about what my father put on the birth certificate. I remember there was a name, but not what it was.”
