Page 48 of Off Balance

"Our family went through some tough times when Dom and I were kids. But our parents made sure we had everything weneeded, taught us to work hard and keep our noses clean. We were lucky to have them."

The remaining photos are mostly milestones—high school prom and graduation. Dwayne graduating from college. Dom's fight promos and pictures of him as an amateur boxer. They stop abruptly with an obituary for Damien L. Connor.

"What happened to him?"

"The stubborn old man wouldn't take money from us, not even when Dom started fighting professionally and was getting paid more. He picked up local fights to help pay the bills. He was tough as nails and hard to beat." Dwayne chuckles humorlessly, then sniffs. "He got knocked out cold during a fight. Ended up in a medically induced coma."

"That sounds familiar," I whisper, remembering Dwayne telling me about the reason Dom stopped fighting.

"Yeah, except Dad didn't wake up. He was declared brain dead less than a week later, and we had to decide to take him off life support."

A tear rolls down Dwayne's cheek when I reach over to place my hand on his forearm. He gives me a tight smile and closes the photo album.

"Our mom wasn't really the same after dad died. She worked two jobs even when she didn’t need to. Volunteered at church a lot. Always kept busy. Her and Dom had a strained relationship until a while after he stopped fighting. She passed a few years back," he explains.

"I'm so sorry," I say, emotion clogging my throat.

"It would kill her to know he's doing this stupid grudge match."

"Why is he doing it?"

"I think he thinks he has something to prove. If I believed in life after death, I'd ask Dad to come down here and talk some sense into him."

Focusing on the dates at the top of his father's obituary, my stomach cramps.That can't be right…

"How old was your father when he died?" I croak, not wanting to hear the confirmation of what I've already worked out.

"Forty-two."

The drive to the studio is a blur. I can't stop replaying Dwayne's words and worrying about what could happen to Dom if he does this fight. I've seen that prick Bo Hoyt gloating all over the press, going on about how he put "the big dog" down ten years ago, and can't wait to do it again. It seems like that guy will do anything for media attention, including threaten his opponent's life, and the press is eating it up. No one thinks Dom can win, if only because Dom hasn't stood up for himself at all. TheGentle Giantgone soft.

Hell, he only accepted the fight in a moment of weakness. It's his goddamned pride that won't let him take it back. It's pride that could get him killed.

I have to help him.

I'm so distracted when I walk through theDe Pointe Elitebuilding that I almost walk right into a tense moment between Emile and Daphne. No one is ever in the theater this early. Wehave a class that doesn't start until eight thirty a.m., and that happens upstairs in the studio. Since I've been avoiding Dom, I've started arriving at the theater at six to get in an extra hour of work before the day begins. I'm a little late today after spending the morning talking with Dwayne. It's after seven already, but I'm always the first person in the building outside of security and the cleaners.

Not today, though.

Emile and Daphne are center stage, facing the empty seats of the audience. Neither of them notice my intrusion, and at first I instinctively pull back to close the door. It feels like a private moment. Except for all the reasons it shouldn't be.

There is a small, hypocritical part of me that is hurt to see Emile flirting with someone else, but the overwhelming emotion keeping me in place is actually protectiveness. Daphne is a sweet girl. I don't want to see her hurt or taken advantage of. She's very young, and this is her first professional dancing job. Emile scouted her out of a freshman ballet class he gave some speech at, and she clearly idolizes him. Much like I did.

Watching them, I can't help but notice a pattern. Emile discovered me too, bringing me on as an intern and showing a vested interest in my success. He gave me one-on-one classes where it was hard to determine if his touches were innocent. Until one day they weren't.

I'd enjoyed the flirtation, the special attention. I wasn't always comfortable with where and how things happened, but it's not like I wasn't willing. I wanted him to want me. I wanted to please him and make him proud of me. But there was always an underlying feeling that I couldn't say no, because I owed him. Marissa had given me the impression that I wasn't his first starpupil, and that I wouldn't be his last, but seeing it play out in front of me is a punch to the gut.

I head to the gym to workout instead of staying and watching Emile's suspicious hand placement while he walks Daphne through improving her extensions.

I'll make you a star.

There's no opportunity to get Daphne alone during the company class, and the break before our first three-hour rehearsal block is barely long enough to hydrate. I finally catch up to her while we're all walking out for our lunch break. There's only an hour before the next block of rehearsals begins, and most of the company heads to the cafe across the street. The two of us are some of the only people who stay back and eat lunch on our own. Normally I appreciate the silence, but I feel like I should check in on her.

I find her in the theater, in one of the box seats, with her feet propped up on the balcony. When she sees me, she quickly pulls her legs down and crosses them demurely at the ankle. I wave her off.

"Don't concern yourself with manners around me. By all means, let's get comfortable." I gesture to the seat next to her. "Is it alright if I join you?"

"Um, sure." She doesn't return her feet to the balcony until I prop up my own, leaning as far back as I can and setting my lunch container on my stomach.

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