Page 44 of Harbor in the Tempest

I sit down beside her on the mattress and pull her hair gently back. That’s when I see the tears trickling down her face. I’ve never seen her anything but happy. Her strength is cracking. I know this face. It’s one of: I’ve been strong for so long I need to not be for a while. “What’s this all about?”

“I’m. Just. Tired. I’m tired of my body hurting. I’m tired of fighting people, who are supposed to love me, for a piece of my soul. I’m tired of doing this alone. I’m tired of being tired.”

Dylan being so vulnerable breaks me and energizes me in the same breath. She’s showing true faith by telling me she’s afraid without having to say it. I quickly peel out of my jacket and dress shirt, my shoes make a quick exit, and I toss my pants over her chair. I want her to let me take the weight until she can carry it again.

I climb over her and slide into bed. Without moving her leg, she curls tight against my side. I brush her hair in long strokes with my fingers. As I tuck a few strays behind her ear, I offer her a soft place to land.

“Your body will heal, Dylan. It will. You know this. You’re not going to class in the morning. You’ll sleep until you wake. You’re not tired of fighting. You’re tired of fighting alone. You aren’t alone. I’m here. I can’t dance for you, but I’ll do everything in my power to make it easier for you to try. You’re not alone.”

Chapter Twenty

Elijah

The past week has been hell. Her lowest point was the twelve hours she slept in my arms. From nine to nine, the only movement she made was her chest rising and falling in her breath. She woke to eat and soak in her tub. I sat at her breakfast bar on my laptop for my meetings. I told her she wasn’t alone, and I meant it.

I ordered a late lunch for us, and she slowly began to practice on her own stage. Her new lead dancer video called her, and they were able to work on his part remotely. Her spirits were higher, and a bit of her spark was back by the time I went home that night. I gave her the two days at the end of the week off, the day before and the day of her performance.

That Friday, I sent her a care package to arrive first thing in the morning. Enclosed with my note was a travel size bottle of our tequila, a jar of cherries, and a model fighter jet. The note read“To add to your bravery, Viper. Break a leg.”

I wanted to wish her good luck at the venue, but she told me not to. It’s too much for her. I get it. Selfishly, I want to be thelast person she sees and the first one after she performs. This isn’t about me. It’s about her. I am the only one she knows in the audience. No friends, no family, just me.

This is her moment. This is what she’s worked her life for. This is the shot she wants to take. On the flip side, I’ve been in this position before. I gave every ounce of support I had to Victoria and then it ended. My own fear is becoming powerful again.

I find a seat on the center aisle, way in the back, for a myriad of reasons. One, I don’t want her to see me while she’s performing and get distracted. I know the pressure she’s under for perfection. Two,I’mtoo nervous. I don’t want that kind of energy for her. Three, I want to be able to take in the performance as a whole. I can’t do that if I’m front and center. Last and certainly not least, I have certain acquaintances in the building. They think I’m watching as an alum, which I am, but I’m also the doting partner of the most beautiful and gifted dancer in the building.

There aren’t many seats left in the auditorium with just five minutes to curtain. The two next to me are open. I hope they stay that way. I don’t want anyone to overhear me in case I make an ass out of myself. My luck runs out as a pair of spectators breeze in just before the lights fade. I stand up, stepping into the aisle so they can file past me.

I don’t pay attention to if they’re man, woman, child, or animal. My focus is that black velvet curtain and when it will part. I lean forward with my elbows on my knees, twisting my hands over and over again. An arm reaches over and a gentle hand with long fingers covers mine. “You’d think you were asked to dance. Chill out. She’ll be amazing.”

I glance up the arm to find it belongs to my sister. I whisper, “Hayles, what are you doing here?”

“I picked up a stray, and we decided to come cheer on your girlfriend.”

“A stray?” I ask as I lean in.

I see a wicked smirk pull forward from next to her. “Picked up a stray? I’m the best date you’ve had in your life,” Wes corrects.

“Jesus Christ. I will kill both of you.”

Hayley smacks my arm with the back of her hand. “Get a grip. She deserves to have a crowd. You deserve to have support.”

“Me?”

“Don’t bother calling him on it, Hayley. He’ll just deny it.”

“Call me on what?”

Before I can get an answer, the lights dim, and the music rises. There are four performances before hers. I want to enjoy them. I try to enjoy them. There’s so much talent in this department. I didn’t realize. Then my thoughts drift to her parents. This is a huge deal and they don’t know. I can’t imagine having something like this without my parents by my side.

The fourth soloist completes their piece. The applause dies and the lights raise enough to alter the set slightly. Dylan wanted a couple of light props for the staging. Her whole piece is about the evolution of light to dark then the fight to choose a side. It’s pretty powerful, heady, and fucking poetic.

She wouldn’t let me see the finished product before today. I’ve had these images of what it would look like in my head from the ways I’ve felt her move dancing with me, in and out of bed. I don’t know if it’s true, but I think I want this for her nearly as badly as she does.

Hayley reaches over and threads her fingers with mine. As much as I was determined to sit here alone, I’m glad I can share it with her and Wes. The music starts soft and low. There are twelve dancers on stage. Six male and six female dancers are all staged in pairs, wearing costumes that fade from white at the top to full black around the ankles.

The women move first. Their costumes flow away from their bodies like mist over the mountaintops. The men wrap theirhands at their waists, raising them effortlessly into the sky and carrying them like clouds shielding the light. The spots come up like rays of light and shine through the pairs casting shadows across the stage.

I’m struck by equal parts beauty and sadness as I watch. I think anyone who’s in the audience can look at what the theme embodies and find something they relate to in it. I know I certainly can. I’m lost for a moment focusing on one couple then the next.

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