Page 82 of The Dance
I appreciated his encouragement, but I had a feeling Eddie’sfriendhad it out for me.
* * *
My entire bodyhurt from my brain to my toes. Practice was the most intense six hours I’d experienced in a long time. It had been years since I’d danced so much that I could barely walk. My feet were screaming at me to put them up and not stand on them for a week by the time I walked into my apartment.
“You’re home!” Molly squealed, a glass in her hand. She stood and staggered toward me.
“Molls. Are you okay?” My brow furrowed as my bag slid down my arm to the floor.
“I’m great,” she slurred and wrapped her arms around my neck. “Tell me about practice.”
I looked over her shoulder at the kitchen counter, where a half-empty bottle of vodka sat. A bottle I didn’t remember having in our apartment. “You went to the store today?”
“Um, no,” she dragged out the word and let go of me. “I had stuff delivered.”
“I see. Have you eaten dinner? I’m starving.”
“Not hungry.” She downed the rest of her drink and went to the kitchen for the bottle of vodka.
“Oh, really? I was thinking of ordering a taco salad.”
“Nacho Average Taco?”
“I would never order from anywhere else.”
“Order me a carne asada taco salad and a cheese quesadilla.” She went to the fridge and grabbed an almost empty bottle of cranberry juice.
“Maybe wait until the food comes to have another drink?” I suggested.
Molly glared at me. “Don’t be a buzz kill, Stace.”
I leaned on the island in front of her. “I’m just saying that maybe you need some food to soak up all that vodka, or you’ll be paying for it.”
“You, of all people, should know why I’m drinking.” She poured the rest of the cranberry juice into her glass. It didn’t even fill it up halfway.
“I get it, but do you want to be puking your guts out?”
“At least I won’t remember why I’m drinking if I do.”
I walked around the counter and draped my arm across her shoulder. “I’m home now. Let me order our dinner and take a shower, and then we can watch a movie or something.”
“Do you still think about that night?”
“Not nearly as much as I used to. It gets easier.”
She leaned her head against my shoulder and sobbed. “What am I going to do when you’re on tour?”
“I don’t leave for two weeks, and the first show is here in Houston.”
“It’s going to feel like forever since I’ll be all alone.”
“Maybe you should go home while I’m away,” I suggested.
Molly lifted her head, tears running down her cheeks. “Go home? My parents think I work for a marketing firm. How would I explain six months away from the office?”
“Working from home?” I lifted a shoulder.
“There is no way I can live with my parents again.” Her bottom lip trembled. “Can’t I come with you? I’ll sleep on the floor.”
