Page 197 of Ink Deep Devotion

The first time Dash shoved a sketchbook into my hand, he intended it to be a form of therapy and an outlet for me.

It was; I drew and never looked back, took it, and ran.Running was typical for me back then.

Art taught me something else. I don’t know if Dash intended it, but it worked in his favor. It showed me how to be persistent. Some drawings are easy, but others are so challenging that you want to ball up the paper and start over.

The best sketches and paintings are the ones you struggle to create.That’s what gets it noticed: blood, sweat, frustration, tears, and shouts of joy. It’s commitment.

Just like a relationship. There are good times and bad moments, ups and downs, even sideway jerks. But I committed myself to trying because Dash did what he had never done before.

No, it wasn’t him trusting me; he always trusted me. The moment we first met, he told me things that others would have killed to hear.

Dash decided to live in the moment with me. We can plan our futures but never live long enough to see them, so it’s best to live in the moment. Still plan, but make sure you live. Look at each sunrise and feel the air as you inhale it. Before you know it, it’s passed.

Dash still plans our future. He’s hired more security than most presidents have, but he holds my hand, kisses me openly, and puts me first.

Not every mission we planned went smoothly, and when it became too hard to talk, we drew. Sometimes, Dash draws me with black wings and other times I’m naked on his bed.

The best drawing was when he placed our child in my arms, stepped back, and captured the moment on paper. I framed that sketch and placed it on my nightstand.

It took guts to run, but it took a heart to turn around and confront our fears. I’m so happy I did, or I wouldn’t have the family I have today. All those people we helped wouldn’t have their families, either. We took tragedy and turned it into a ballad for others to play and listen to. We made our love into a song and dance that the world could witness and enjoy.

???

Twenty years later.

The lights dim as a spotlight shines upon the pristine stage. The orchestra begins to play, and slowly, violins fill the air, making the ballet come to life. It’s still strange to be sitting in ourprivate balcony seats and not be on the stage. Not that I want to be back spinning in my pointe shoes. I just never imagined I’d be sitting in a theater watching a ballet again.

“I don’t understand why he has to put his hands on her and pretend as if he’s helping her turn.” Dash hisses as he stares at our daughter, spinning center stage with her dance partner.

Our daughter loves ballet. More than even my mother loved dancing. The moment she slipped her foot into a ballet shoe, I saw her future. Sparks twinkled in her eyes and never dimmed. I never pushed her; I did the opposite. I tried for years to talk her out of dancing, but the moment she was old enough to go on pointe, I knew I had failed. She loved it, and who was I to kill her passion? It was my job to fan the flames and cheer her on.

I have. Dash has as well, but now that she is older and dancing ballets about love and having a partner touch and lift her, it’s starting to test his limits.

“Calm down. It’s just a performance.” I swat his knee.“And her partner’s boyfriend is in the orchestra,” I smirk as I look up at my husband. His fearsome, protective trait has never faded, but our daughter suffers the full brunt now.

“I don’t care who the guy fucks in his spare time. His hands are on my daughter.” He leans closer, elbows digging into his knees. He’s plotting murder.

Reaching out, I place my hand on his leg, ensuring he doesn’t pole vault over the balcony and kill the poor kid.“Calm down.”

“I blame your father for this.” Dash grunts

I do, too. Years ago my father showed our daughter photos of me and my mother dancing. Our daughter was just a little girl, and after seeing the pictures of us as ballerinas, she insisted she became one.

“It’s different. This is what she wants. She’s not being forced into it. Let her do what she loves.”

“I am. I’ve memorized the entire black swan show, and if I have to endure the fucking nutcracker again, I’ll call up Nova to poke my eyes out and throw them on stage! I see fucking sugar plum fairies spinning in my dreams, turning every night into a nightmare,” he grunts.

I laugh so loudly that I receive glares from the neighboring balconies.“I love you,” I whisper as I lean over and kiss his cheek.

But instead of relaxing, he stiffens when his eyes look to the left of the stage. I follow his glare and spot the silhouette of the figure I have come to memorize.

“He’s back. Again.” I whisper as a chill runs up my bare legs.

“I told you I wanted to kill him.” Dash grinds his teeth.

I shake my head,“If you kill Anders's son, he will kill you.” Anders's son has a deep love for our daughter. It started as a fascination when we visited them one summer. That turned into an obsession, and now it’s turning into something else. Something Dash and I can relate to, but as parents, we struggle to support it.

Love.

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