Page 138 of Burn Bright
“Yeah, okay, that’s great.” She face-palms herself. “IfaintedonBenCobalt.”
I look up at Beckett for clarity, and he introduces, “This is Roxanne Ruiz. Ballerina.”
“Hi,” she squeaks out. “And I already said that…” She shuts her eyes like she’d prefer to disappear.
“I would’ve introduced you earlier,” Beckett tells me, “but she had to run out to meet with her family.”
Beth Anne presses a hand to her collarbones. “You scared the shit out of me when I couldn’t find you.”
Roxanne blows out a long breath, still not fully a hundred percent yet. “I walked out here to take a call, and I was burning up. It’s colder outside, so the temperature change got to me.” It is a brisk night, but she’s still shy about it.
“Rox, it’s fine,” Beth Anne assures. “We’re all just glad you’re okay.”
“I’m scared if I stand, I might get light-headed,” she mumbles into her water bottle. Her cheeks are on fire.
“Blood pressure thing?” I ask Beckett and back up.
He nods. “Vasovagal.” Then he easily lifts Roxanne in a cradle, his arm under her legs and another behind her back. So routine that I wonder how many times he’s done this.
Beckett has a whole world in ballet I’ve never delved this deeply into. The desire to be an integral part of his life is overwhelming. It slams into me and lifts the carriage of my body. I love feeling closer to Beckett. I would’ve givenanythingto tag along on his adventures in New York when I was a kid.
I’m here now.
I want to murder the ugly monster that says I shouldn’t exist in breathing distance of him. There hasn’t been a moment whereI haven’t wished it dead. I wish it never arrived. I wish it never crawled out beneath my bed. I wish it never stood in the corner of my room and grew.
I hope it’s shrinking. Until it’s so small, I can squash it beneath my foot. But it’s terrifying because when have I ever willingly exterminated something? Is this thing alive in me?
Beckett’s yellow-green eyes zero in on me. Confusion draws on his face. “What were you doing out here?”
“Saving the day,” Beth Anne answers for me. “Roxy might’ve had a full-blown concussion, if your brotherwasn’there.”
I nod slowly, but I don’t speak. Beckett is staringthroughme like my intentions are visible etchings in my agonized heart. I was leaving without saying goodbye. And he knows that’s out of character for me.
“Let’s call a cab and get her home,” Leo says, “because I, for one, Roxy socks, do not want a run-in with your Russian family after you fainted.”
I don’t hear the response. I’m the forceful gust being propelled away by my own need.
“Ben!” Beckett calls out. “Can you wait a minute for me?” I take too long to respond, and he shouts—literallyshoutsin a way that Beckett almost never does, “S'il te plaît, attends une minute!”Please wait a minute.
His friends go wide-eyed and still. They’ve likely never heard him raise his voice. It’s a well-regarded fact among the public that Beckett is like idle water while the rest of us are the tempest—the turbulent, torrid storm.
All the ballet dancers are staring at me.
I nod tensely, solidified to the sidewalk. “Désolé.”Sorry.
“Ne t'excuse pas,” he says much quieter. Softer.Don’t apologize.He takes a tight breath before he disappears around the corner with everyone. For the first time in a long while—I’m alone.
Truly alone on this sidewalk.
Beckett knew he’d be risking that by leaving me. I hear Eliot in my head, “Tu n'es jamais seul.”You are never alone.
No bodyguard. No people. The air is much cooler out here than in the crowded club. I close my eyes for a second, trying to hear the birds. But the sound of exhaust, of a faint ambulance siren, and squealing clubgoers around the corner murders the chance.
When I snap my eyes open, I hear footsteps behind me. Novak readjusts the radio on his waistband. Before our eyes crash together, I look away and listen to an impulse.
I stride down the sidewalk and head toward the nearest station. I’ve always liked Novak, but knowing he probably ratted out my bartending job to my parents is fuckingunnerving.
Maybe that’s why I have this itch to run.
