Page 26 of Devoted

I stare at the screen, complete disbelief keeping me frozen. It can’t be. Maybe I could argue with myself—no way could Cannon be this boy—but the scar lifting the dancer’s lip is all too familiar.

How did Erik C. Petrov become a grumpy bodyguard who wears Hawaiian shirts?

How did a dancer with his talent and support walk away? Dasha Petrov was his mother. Tears prick the backs of my eyes. I was devastated when Father told me I had to quit ballet. I’d cried for days. Losing the studio has left me empty. But Cannon had the ballet world at his fingertips and then he left. How devastating. What was that like for a kid to learn about his mother? Cannon couldn’t have been much older than eighteen.

He talked about feeling responsible. Is this what he meant? He grew up in the school his mother opened after she retired from professional ballet in her early thirties, but then he’d gone to a prestigious ballet academy in New York.

Cannon crosses through the living room to go to the kitchen. It’s almost time for lunch.

I deliberately set the tablet down. His past is none of my business. The questions are bursting out of me. I don’t understand why he’s burying so much of his life and acting like it never happened.

Has he worked through any of the loss? Or did he carve his childhood out of his life as soon as the key turned in his mother’s cell? I stand and blurt, “I remember you.”

He goes so still my heart ceases to beat and my chest tightens. Oh, God. I should’ve left it alone. What if I bring all the trauma back?

When he turns, I can see him. The virtuoso prodigy. He’s grown up and lost his joy, but the serious athlete who’s taking responsibility for his mother’s crimes is there.

His gaze drops to the tablet and hardens. “What, exactly, do you remember?”

“I admired you.” I still do.

“You shouldn’t have.”

“Why? You didn’t have anything to do with what went on. You were a kid.”

He stalks toward me. I clench my fists to keep from sinking into the couch and burying myself under the covers. “That place was my home. The person doing the awful shit was my mom. Everything I got was earned at the cost of someone’s innocence. Their life.”

I saw in my research an investigation was opened when a girl killed herself. She sent her parents a suicide note, and the rest was documented in news articles and clips. I hadn’t made the connection. She wouldn’t have been just some student to him. They would’ve known each other. They might’ve been friends.

“You were still a kid, believing you should’ve been able to trust your parents.”

“Parent. My mom couldn’t get the life she wanted with my dad and hurt him so bad he had nothing left for me.” He pivots to walk away, but I can’t leave it at this. I ripped off a Band-Aid, and I can’t let him deal with a festering wound all alone. Like he probably did when he was younger.

“Is that where you got your name from? Is that your dad’s last name?”

That gets him to stop. When he faces me, all I see is tired resignation. “Lannister is the only thing my dad gave me. Cannon is an old family name, but it’s my middle name. Erik Cannon Lannister. Erik C. Petrov was a stage name, one my mother wielded like the con artist sex trafficker she was. Cannon’s all I kept from her and from my childhood.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Trust me, swan.” He traces a finger down my cheek. “So am I.”

“You don’t dance anymore.” I don’t have to ask.

“The day I learned why Karina died was the day I tossed my slippers into the garbage and found the nearest recruiting station.”

I cup his face, wishing I could kiss the pain away. “You haven’t told anyone? You haven’t talked to anyone about the pain inside you?”

“Saying how shitty I feel doesn’t exactly compare to what the other kids went through.”

“Oh, Cannon.” I tug his head down to mine. I thought he’d fight it, but he comes like he’s seeking the comfort he claims won’t help.

We don’t kiss. His head is on my shoulder, and I hug him.

Hasn’t anyone told him it’s not his fault?

“She used me to attract students. She was my first instructor, after all.” His bitterness breaks my heart.

“She was evil.”

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