Page 47 of Your Echo
“But I’ll confess,” he adds, putting an extra layer of husk in his voice, “that dress of yours is making it difficult,Mademoiselle.”
“Now you’re just being—”
He cuts me off by lifting our joined hands and tugging me into a twirl. My body responds without even thinking about it, and I turn a graceful spin in my heels. I’ve never seen Ace smile so wide. He looks relieved, like someone told him the sun was never going to shine again and he just caught a glimpse of the dawn.
He pulls me toward the metro gate.
“Let’s get on a train!”
I clatter along beside him. “Which train?”
“Any train!”
We end up taking the orange line. It’s Saturday night and every metro car is packed, but somehow we find an empty seat. Ace gestures for me to take it, but I push on his shoulders until he sits down, and then I perch myself on his thighs. The panic I felt in at the party has subsided, but the rush of adrenaline it brought is still circulating in my system. I feel like I could do anything.
Ace rests a hand on my knee and brings his lips close to my ear. “You okay?”
I wrap my arm around his shoulders. “I’m okay. I know I’m all over the place tonight, but I just want to be with you right now.”
The train lurches and we ride the next few stops up the line, strangers arriving and departing all around us until the crackly voice on the speakers announces Sherbrooke Station is the next stop.
“Let’s get off here,” I tell Ace.
We get swept up in the crowd of exiting passengers. I point out the black and white ‘SHERBROOKE’ sign on the wall as we pass by.
“Does it make you feel weird, being here? I’m not even in the band, and it kind of gives mechaire de poule.”
His arm slides around my waist. “Yeah, it gives me goose bumps too. It’s like...this reminder that we started from nothing and we’ve come so far. They’ve erased it now, but I was in here one day and saw someone had written some lyrics from ‘Digging Holes’ on the wall.”
“I like that song,” I tell him. “It’s sad, but it’s...hopeful.”
So much of his music is heartbreaking.
We make it out onto the street, and again, we start walking without any real destination in mind. I don’t realize we’re heading towards Parc Lafontaine until we’re right on the edge of it. We find a bench and sit down, thigh to thigh.
I exhale. “This feels much better.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I thought I was suffocating in that fucking loft.”
I lean forwards so my hair covers most of my face. “I’m sorry I freaked out like that.”
The side of his calf rubs against mine.
“I’m sorry if you felt like I was cornering you. I just...I had to let you know.”
I nod. A pair of hardcore, late-night joggers run past us, covered in reflective spandex with safety lights bouncing on their hips.
“I’m glad you did. I needed to hear it. I guess what I was trying to say in the hallway is that I’ve had some rough patches in my life. My teens were...difficult, to say the least.Iwas difficult. I had no grasp on my priorities. As the years went on and life got messier, it started to interfere with dance. I realized I’d have to get my shit together, or I’d lose the most important thing in my life. Meditation really helped me. I found balance...or at least I thought I did. Maybe I was just burying things. Ignoring them. For some reason, you made it harder to do that, and it scared me shitless. It still scares me shitless, but maybe part of me needs it.”
I swallow and force the last words out. “Maybe part of me needs you.”
He’s silent for so long I’m scared he’s waiting for the chance to make a run for it, but then he props a finger under my chin and turns my face towards him. When he speaks, his voice is low and husky, but this time he’s not faking it.
“Do you know what I think about you, Stéphanie Cloutier-Hébert?” He traces my mouth with his thumb. “I think you’re a paper lantern.”
I stare, waiting for him to elaborate even as my lips part just slightly under the weight of his touch.
“When people look at you, they just see the soft glow. The ballerina. The pink Keds. The pretty girl who smiles a lot and volunteers in her spare time. The girl who collects donations in a coffee can. You’re...comforting, like a lantern hanging on a porch, but I don’t think even you can hide the fact that underneath that soft glow, you’re a naked, open flame. You’re passionate and unpredictable. You’re wild, powerful, and yes, you’re a little dangerous, but you are so,sofucking beautiful, Stéphanie.”
