Page 15 of The Pucking Wrong Man

“Have a good day, sweetheart,” she said, her brown eyes crinkling at the edges as she gave me another full-faced grin. “I have a feeling today’s going to be a lucky day for you.”

“I’m performing tonight,” I admitted shyly, not sure why I was saying anything, but wanting to tell someone...anyone...about the fact that I’d gotten a leading role again after years of being relegated to the background after my injury.

“Sonic must have known,” she said with a wink, and I did my best not to cry.

You weren’t supposed to cry about Sonic.

“Must have,” I told her in a surprisingly steady voice before I slipped out the door, eagerly tearing open the wrapper and biting into the burrito with a groan.

It was still freaking hot.

I savored every bite the entire walk to the bus stop. The resulting stomachache was completely worth it.

Stepping into the dance studio, I breathed in the familiar scent of sweat and new ballet shoes hanging heavy in the air. No matter what had happened to me, this place, this smell.

This.

It had always been my one constant.

The ache in my leg pulsed with each heartbeat, reminding me what the doctor had said a few months ago...but it was easier to ignore the pain when I was here.

We’d be practicing for our performances for the rest of the day, and pain wasn’t going to hold me back.

I approached the barre to begin my warm-up, biting down on my lip as I sunk into the movements, all of them engrained so deeply into my consciousness, it was like they were engraved in my soul.

Except...fucking hell, my leg hurt.

The familiarity of the routine felt more like torture.

“Anastasia, mon dieu, what do you think you’re doing?” Madame Leclerc barked, her accent thick with disdain as her eyes widened owlishly. “You look like a baby cow. What is that posture? Get lower!” She rapped her cane against my leg, and the only reason I didn’t fall to the ground was because of how hard I was holding onto the bar. Her withering glare made me wish I had fallen, though—-straight into a hole in the ground.

“I…I’m sorry, Madame,” I stammered, sinking lower. She held my gaze, a challenge clearly there as I held my plié. The seconds seemed more like years as she watched me, daring me to break form. Just when I thought I was going to collapse, she finally huffed and went to destroy someone else.

I quickly straightened as soon as she turned away, a traitorous tear slipping down my cheek from the pain shooting through my leg.

“Ana, are you alright?” Clara whispered out of the side of her mouth as she moved next to me. “You’re looking a little...pale.”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly. I liked Clara, as much as I liked anyone, really. But we had never been friends. Clara was so bright and shiny and perfect. From what I’d heard her talk about in passing conversations, she had a loving family, and an even more loving partner.

It didn’t really seem like someone like that, could be friends with someone like me.

A nobody.

“I have some Advil in my bag,” Clara offered. “Or something stronger if you need it,” she winked.

“Thanks, but I already took some—Advil, I mean,” I added quickly to the end. As much as I liked Clara, I didn’t trust anyone. That was all I needed was for someone to tell Madame or one of the other instructors that I was coming to class high. I’d add that to the list of things that I hoped someday could happen—that I could trust someone.

“Okay,” she said with a small frown. “But, I’m here if you ever need anything.”

I gave her what I hoped looked like a real smile, because I wasn’t trying to hurt her feelings.

And then I got back to warming up.

Before my accident, the morning “company class” had been a chance to get ready for each day. It was when the entire group got together and worked on refining our skills outside of our preparation for a particular show. It was a time I could turn off my mind and slip into my rhythm.

It had been years since that was the case, but I still missed the feeling of having a set time of day I could let go of my worries.

Without that time, all I had were my worries.

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