Page 10 of One Short Summer

Being there for me without being pushy.

Giving me space when I feel like I can’t breathe, the inability to dance after my accident ripping a hole in my soul I haven’t been able to patch up just yet, making me more quiet than I used to be.

Staying silent when everything in my head becomes too loud.

It’s like he knows exactly how I work when I have no clue myself, feeling lost more often than not.

Clearing my throat, I push away the unexpected bout of emotion. I’ve been feeling a little better the last few days, ever since Gabe brought up the trip, and I don’t want to ruin that by giving in to my sadness again. It likes to unexpectedly drag me under, tying me to the bottom of the darkness, until I can’t find my way out anymore.

Instead, I’m hanging on to this newfound light like it’s my new lifeline, because in a way, it is.

After a deep inhale through my nose and a loud exhale through my mouth, I feel composed enough to give him the answer he’s been waiting for. “I guess I just needed to know if there was more out there than being a background dancer. And as much as I love New York, I’ve always had the urge to see more, to travel the world.”

“That does sound exciting.” His words are quiet, and I wonder if he sometimes feels like he might have been missing out by living in Brooksville most of his life. Even though he gets to travel for his book signings.

“It is. I mean, it was. It gets tiring over time, something your brother knows too well. Even though he’s experienced it on a much bigger scale, of course. I’m just a tiny sparkle in the sky.”

When I face him again, there isn’t the smirk pulling up the corners of his mouth that I expected. Instead, his face is smoothed out into an almost emotionless mask.

He turns my way for a moment before focusing back on the road. “Are you serious right now? I’d pay a lot of money to see you in any show. Like,a lot. You’re an incredible dancer, Monica, and you know that. Don’t undersell yourself.”

Whoa. What on earth was that?

My thoughts pull me under for a moment, telling me dancing is a thing of the past, but I try my best to shake them off. Maybe it’s not over yet. Maybe. I focus on the words he said because they’re safe—a lot safer than my dark thoughts. “How do you know anything about my dancing?”

He swallows loudly and looks like he just got caught doing something naughty. “I might have looked you up online and watched a few videos.”

To say I’m surprised is an understatement.

Usually, most people aren’t interested enough to look me up.

Dancing is one of those things that only seems to be of interest to people who are actually into it. It’s not like football or baseball, where people still watch together and get excited over a game, even though they don’t always watch it. Or like music, where you often check out new musicians to see if they appeal to you.

So, this is interesting, especially since he hasn’t mentioned it yet either. Not once in all this time.

“Gabe Mitchell, have you been YouTube stalking me?” I bite my cheek to keep from laughing when I see the tips of his ears turn pink for the second time in less than thirty minutes.

“Not exactly. I mean, I did watch your videos, but…” He rubs the skin at his shirt collar, and I decide to cut the poor guy some slack.

“Seriously though. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I know you don’t really like talking about it.” This time, he shrugs, but this is a big deal to me.

The fact that he knows me so well, including things we don’t even talk about but he rather knows from observing me, is still overwhelming sometimes. Charlie has always been my best friend, and she knows me better than most other people, but she isn’t as intuitive as Gabe. Sometimes it’s almost as if he’s in tune with my thoughts and feelings, knowing exactly what’s going on with me, occasionally even before I know it myself.

“Thank you.” I don’t know what else to say, so I stay quiet.

Several minutes pass as we both remain silent, the rock station Gabe changed the radio to at some point serenading us with an old power ballad.

“Monica, youwilldance again. You know that, right?” His voice is strong and steady, so full of confidence that my heart skips a beat.

I shrug my shoulders but don’t respond.

I want to believe it.

I want to believehim.

But I’m afraid it’s too late.

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