Page 41 of Guarded Hearts
“Ahh,” Mia cried, bouncing up to me. “You’re here, and you’re off your crutches.”
I smiled and avoided making eye contact with Pasha and Tyler, who were following her. Gerald had stayed back by the entrance to the VIP section, probably vetting anyone who dared to gate-crash until Mia and Tyler left. “I have a brace now.” I stuck out my foot, which showed my flat shoes and the matching black brace.
“Where are you sitting?” Mia scanned the VIP area and then seemed to catch sight of everyone else. “It’s so nice to be here because I want to be here and not because I’m being paid or for my fans. I just really wanted a night to hang out with everyone.” She reached back for Tyler’s hand, and he came to her side. “Do you think everyone will mind if we sit with them?”
“Not at all,” I said, leading the way to the huge booth.
Mia wasn’t as uptight as she’d been on the last tour, when her mother was running the show. Unless she’d been drinking or on something, she’d been hard to be around. She’d never felt like a fully realized person to me. She’d been a puppet with her mother pulling the strings, and once those strings were cut, Mia hadn’t collapsed; she’d learned to soar.
On this tour, everything had been different. In many ways, Mia’d become more like a friend than a boss, even if I was still very aware of our dynamic, of the fact that she could fire me at any moment for any reason.
As we approached the table, people began to shuffle around, making space for me, and when it became apparent that Mia and Tyler might stay as well, the scramble to make room became more frantic.
“I won’t stay all night,” Mia said, sliding into the booth and dragging Tyler behind her. “I promise.”
I squeezed into the end of the booth on the other side beside a man I didn’t recognize. He thrust his hand in my direction and introduced himself. I was only half paying attention as he began to talk because Pasha was hovering not far from the booth and almost directly in my line of sight. I wasn’t going to let his presence ruin a good time. I flicked my hair over my shoulder and leaned into the guy next to me, determined to give him my focus.
Chapter Seventeen
Pasha
Ihated the way she wouldn’t look at me. Not a glance, not a nod of acknowledgment. Nothing.
At first, after the talk with Mia, after I’d reread the contract I signed with the HR firm, I’d decided some distance would make me feel better, put the risks and rewards in perspective. I didn’t want to be fired, and Alyssa couldn’t afford it, quite literally. Mia had asked me to cool it, and so I had, but every time I saw Alyssa, it was like being kicked in the nuts.
She’d been mine, and now she wasn’t. After the hospital, she’d been so cool—icy, even—that I’d taken the hint. We didn’t need to talk—we were just done. Maybe Mia had spoken to her too.
When she’d stumbled on her first step off the stool at the bar, I’d lurched forward, just catching myself in time before I’d charged over. My movement had drawn Mia’s eye to Alyssa before she’d had a chance to search the room for the other dancers. Of course she’d dragged us all over to her.
Had I been honest with Mia at the hospital, she’d know the proximity to Alyssa was like giving an alcoholic a drink to hold and telling them not to take a sip. At this point, I didn’t just want a sip. I wanted the whole damn bottle. It seemed impossible to miss someone so much who was only a few feet away.
Shift change arrived at two in the morning, and I was tempted to tell my replacement to go back to the buses, take the night off.
Alyssa was still drinking and flirting with the same guy who’d been sitting beside her most of the night. Staying here was torture, but leaving, not knowing if she’d leave alone or with him, would be worse. If she went home with him, then whatever we’d had between us couldn’t be salvaged. Maybe she was already back with Ricky.
After filling in my replacement and checking in with Gerald at the door, I sidled up to the bar and found a stool that let me get drunk and keep half an eye on Alyssa.
Obsessive and inappropriate, but I was past the point of caring.
Physical confrontations I could do, no problem. Emotional ones were hard, even with therapy, even with English lessons. As soon as my mind was overloaded, I wanted to speak in Russian. Drinking wasn’t going to help that instinct. If I drank enough, maybe I’d stop wishing for things with her that weren’t going to happen.
I’d made a promise to Mia that I’d let Alyssa be until after the tour, and the notion that maybe I should leave Alyssa alone, period, had crossed my mind. There were only two weeks left, but Alyssa didn’t want me, didn’t care. After speaking to me once in a hallway, where I’d tried to explain that we needed to keep focused on the important things—the dance performance, her getting better—she’d iced me out. We were back to strangers, and I fucking hated it. Now that I knew what it was like to be with her, this strain between us was worse than never knowing.
The more I drank, the more my thoughts spiraled. When she rose from her seat in the booth and steadied herself, and the guy she’d been talking to seemed to be offering to take her somewhere, she shook her head. She tapped her watch, pointed at her ankle, and smiled. She wasprobably using her physio as an excuse for leaving. Amy rose in the booth, but Alyssa waved her down too. A chorus of goodbyes sounded, and then she hobbled toward the exit.
I had two options. Follow her or stay here and get drunker.
When the guy in the booth got up and ran after her, my decision was made. Whether it was wise or not, I was following. I threw some money on the bar to pay for my drinks and tailed Alyssa and the guy to the crowded front entrance. There, the guy had Alyssa’s phone in his hands. Jealousy, hot and fierce, bubbled inside me. Was he giving her his number? Did shewanthis number?
She hadn’t seen me yet, and the smart thing was to leave through a side entrance, go back to the buses, and sober up. She glanced up, over the other guy’s shoulder, and our gazes locked. My gut clenched at the anger sparking from her eyes, but then she shook her head and gave the other man her full attention. They hugged, and then she limped toward the exit, not bothering to acknowledge me a second time.
Anger and frustration spilled over. Going outside was a bad idea. We’d cause a scene. My anger had been reflected in her eyes when she’d looked at me. My feet were moving me out through the exit, even though the rest of me wanted to throw on the brakes.
At the curb, she stood scanning the street. She either ordered a taxi or was hoping to catch one sailing by. Her back was to me, and there was still a chance to avoid a confrontation. My heart wouldn’t let me leave—it strained in my chest, aching for a closeness I couldn’t have.
“Alyssa.” Her name was a rasp of frustration, of desire, of heartache.
She turned, arms crossed, lips pursed, jaw clenched. “Why are you following me?”
