Page 4 of Protecting Jess

How did he answer that?

There was a certain gleam in his teammate’s eyes, as if he was finally going to get some hot gossip to share with the rest of the guys.

One thing Finn had always prided himself on was his honesty. The guys knew he came from a wealthy family. Knew who his dad was. What they didn’t know, was too much about his family.

They knew he had a sister, but not that his parents weren’t his birth parents. Or that his childhood with his aunt hadn’t been the greatest after his parents died. He’d long ago accepted it and moved on. He now had a good relationship with his aunt.

Fuck, did that mean Aunt Poppy and Slick were here to see Jess perform?

No, if Aunt Poppy was coming, she would’ve told his mom, who would’ve called or emailed him to see if he’d be around so his aunt could see him.

“Yeah, I know her,” he murmured.

Two

Jess straightened her costume and adjusted her bejeweled hair clip. She was ready for her solo.

So far, the evening had gone off without a hitch, but the second she stepped on stage, a sense of inevitability hung in the air. Of what, she had no idea, only that something was going to happen.

It’d taken all her willpower not to let her apprehension affect her performance. Her routines and her fellow dancers always came first, so Jess had dug deep, like she had when Bartholomew had been at his worst. She pasted on a classic fake dancer’s smile and strutted her stuff.

Now, it would just be her on stage. She wouldn’t have the rest of the company to give her that extra boost of confidence.

The first bars of her music rang out through the speakers of the theatre, and Jess glided onto the stage and took up her position.

Hundreds of eyes watched her and, like always, it was hard to make out the faces of the people in the audience due to the lights blazing down on the stage.

Yet, as she often did, she scanned the crowd before starting her choreography, looking for a friendly face. As usual, all she saw were blurred faces. It should’ve been comforting, and it was—to a certain degree.

The music reached the starting point, and Jess leaped across the stage, putting everything she had into this final solo for this tour. She gave herself over to the routine. She became one with the music, her movements effortless.

This was why she loved to dance. Loved to be able to lose herself in the swell and quiet of the score. The flow of her body as it moved through the intricate steps of her contemporary routine. The applause and cheers from the audience when she completed a complex series of moves.

The melody wound down, and she slowed her movements until she twisted around and sank to the floor. Her heart was racing and sweat trickled down the sides of her face and the back of her costume.

The crowd clapped loudly, and she stood, this time her smile genuine as she bowed and waved her thanks.

As Jess stepped back from the edge of the stage, she heard someone yell out.

“Bravo, popsicle! Bravo!”

Her smile faltered. She had to have misheard that.

There was only one person who’d ever called her popsicle. Finn.

Her heart dropped to her toes, and she had to concentrate to not falter.

There was no way he was there. He hadn’t come to see her dance for years. Besides, if he’d had a ticket, she would’ve heard from her mom or Aunt Cerise that he was going to come to her performance.

Jess convinced herself she’d imagined her long-ago nickname, and she gave the crowd one last wave before dashing off the stage, ready to change into her finale costume.

She accepted the pats on the back from her fellow dancers as she made her way backstage. She had about fifteen minutes before she had to be ready, and she planned to make the most of it.

“My God, Jess, that was amazing.”

She made eye contact with her best friend, Kaley, in the mirror. Her bestie was standing behind her, already in her finale outfit. “Thanks. It felt good.”

“I’ve seen you do that choreography for months, but tonight, it was like I was seeing it for the first time. There was so much emotion on your face, and in every move. If Madame Baxter doesn’t sing your praises and sign you to another contract, then I’m going to eat my pointe shoes.”

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