Page 65 of Reclaim Me

He rears back, responding to the sharpness of my tone the same way he would a smack to the face. “What? Why? It’s a great opportunity for you.”

“But it’s not the opportunity that I want.”

“Rachel,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose and gazing heavenward like he’s praying for patience. “I thought we were past this whole school thing.”

“No, we tabled the discussion after you made it financially impossible for us to take on the lease, but we never got past it. I never got past it.”

“Well, maybe you should,” he snaps, and now I’m the one rearing back like I’ve been hit. Except the difference between me and Aaron is that when I get hit, literally or figuratively, I don’t just sit there and take it, I hit back.

“Hunter bought the building,” I say slowly, clearly, so there’s no mistaking the words that have just come out of my mouth. A shock of satisfaction rolls through me when Aaron’s mouth drops, and I continue. “He gave me keys to it yesterday so I could start my school, and there was a part of me that didn’t want to accept such a huge gift from him. There was a part of me that thought it wasn’t right, that was worried about how upsetting it might be for you, but now that I know you’re such a huge fan of resolving things with little to no discussion, I realize I shouldn’t have been so worried. I mean you’ve only known about it for—” I glance at my wrist, checking an imaginary watch “—about a half a minute, and I bet you’re already past it.”

Using Aaron’s shock to my advantage, I push to my feet and move over to my closet to pull down the beat-up black duffel I haven’t opened since we left New York. It hits the ground with a loud thump, and then I step over it, reaching for the shelf that holds all the leotards, tights, and dance skirts I’ve accumulated over the years and slipping on the first ones I put my hands on.

Aaron appears in the doorway just as I’m securing the skirt around my waist, finally in possession of his voice but not his common sense. “You can’t keep the building.”

“I don’t recall asking you for your permission, Aaron.”

“You can’t keep it,” he says again and, judging by the petulance in his tone, barely containing the urge to stomp his foot.

I bend down and grab my bag, tossing it over my shoulder and using it to body-check him on my way out of the closet. “Watch me.”

“Those shoes are dead,” Dee tells me, eyeing the box of the pointe shoes I’m holding in my hand through the camera.

She’s probably right, but I still put them on just to be certain. Sure enough, the moment I go en pointe I feel the lack of resistance that can only mean one thing: a soft box. Sighing, I drop back down, lowering myself to the floor and unraveling the ribbon connecting the useless shoes to my ankles. Once I have them off, I toss them across the room.

“Someone’s in a pissy mood today,” Dee observes.

Reaching into my bag, I pull out a pair of brand-new shoes, along with the tools I need to break them in. “I just didn’t have the best start to my day.”

Dee watches as I take out my frustrations on the pointe shoes, rolling back the satin of the heel to expose the shank first then using the scissors I keep in my bag to cut down the hardened material that runs from one end of the shoe to the other.

“I know that, Rae,” she says patiently, reminding me that I filled her in on my entire conversation with Aaron on the drive over. “I’m just wondering if you plan on letting Aaron ruin your first full day in your space.”

“No, I just—” I blow out a breath, shifting to my knees and putting the shoe on the ground so I can use my weight to soften the box a bit. “I don’t need his permission, you know? I can keep the building; I can use the money from my savings to pay for everything I need to get things off the ground. I don’t need his permission,” I repeat, sinking back to the floor.

“But you want his support,” Dee says, nodding. I remember a time when I was upset with her for abandoning our shared dream of being professional dancers to pursue psychology, but now I’m more grateful than ever that she did. Her degrees have saved me thousands in therapy bills.

“Yes! I just don’t understand why it’s so hard for him to give it to me.”

“Have you asked him?”

“No, because I’m tired of talking to him. I’m tired of fighting about every little thing.”

“Every little thing or just one big thing?” she asks, lips pursed because she already knows the answer. I let the question live in the air while I repeat the breaking process on my other shoe. Dee is fine with the silence, opting to fill the time typing away on her computer while I avoid giving her an answer.

“You got a busy day today?” I ask.

“A few appointments, but nothing too crazy.” She sighs and leans back in her seat. “I think I’m getting tired of Michigan,” she confesses. “It’s lonely out here.”

“Where are you planning on going now?” I ask, a smile curving my lips. Dee is the most adventurous person I know. She doesn’t mind packing up all of her shit and leaving where ever she is to start anew. It’s the thing I love most about her.

“I haven’t decided yet. What would you think about me coming back to New Haven?”

My heart squeezes with excitement at the thought of having my friend back within arms reach. “I think that would be amazing if it’s something you want to do. Riley and I would love to have you here, and I know Jayla and Sonia would, too.”

The mention of her goddaughter and niece makes her smile and then frown. “I just feel like I’m missing out on so much being out here when y’all are all over there. It was different when you were in New York because we were all spread out, but seeing you and Jayla together when we’re on FaceTime has me feeling like I’m always missing out.”

“Aww, babe, well, it sounds like you already have your answer.”

---