Page 166 of Dance of Ruin

Now, when I step into his—our—apartment, it feels lived in.

Like home.

I drop my ballet bag by the door, peel off my hoodie, and stretch out my shoulders and triceps. For once, I didn’t stay late, pushing myself to the brink of collapse chasing some invisible, ever-moving goalpost, trying to outrun my imposter syndrome.

Weirdly, I feel okay about it.

I quietly thank Dove and her little pep talk the other night for that. Then I make a mental note to ask her if she wants to hang out some evening soon.

Know your worth.

I’m trying, Dove. I’m trying.

I head to the bathroom and let the shower scald my skin until I’m a loose-limbed prune. When I step out, I throw on cotton shorts and one of Nico’s T-shirts, which falls to mid-thigh on me and smells faintly like him. Fuzzy socks complete the chic ensemble, and I pad back to the living room, fall onto the couch, and turn on some mindless reality TV.

New, improved Naomi takes the damn nightoff.

I glance at my phone. Nothing from Nico, which is a little strange. He usually tells me when he’s going to be out late.

Just as I’m debating texting him, an incoming message lights up the screen.

Dad

Naomi. I need to speak with you urgently.

I stare at it, old instincts bubbling up, that frantic pull tofix things, to be the daughter he wants.

Dad

Honey, please. It’s very important.

I hit the lock button and flip the phone face-down on the table.

That’s anotherNew Naomithing I’m working on: choosing myself.

I sink onto the couch, Nico’s shirt warm against my skin, hair damp at my neck.

The reality show is even more boring and mindless than I thought it would be. So a minute later, I pick the phone back up and click on my text thread with Vaughn.

Weird.

He still hasn’t responded.

He wasn’t required for the latter part of rehearsal today, but he always sticks around, even just to be a pain in my ass. But today he didn’t, and there’s still no reply to me asking him where he went.

Me

Okay, lol, last minute booty call, I assume.

Me

But srsly, dude, text a girl back. You’ve been AWOL for hours.

Me

Blink twice if booty call has you tied to a chair or something, lol.

Still no reply. I stare at the phone, an uneasy feeling creeping down my spine. Not quite fear yet. Just the beginnings of a bad feeling.

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