Page 10 of 1 Last Shot

"And you're ready to dance with my dancers? I know we're not at the level of the NYCB, but I still expect a certain level of effort and consistency."

"Of course," I hurry to assure her. "I would never put in less than you expect of your dancers. I can promise you that." When she stays silent and waits for me to continue, I add, "I don't think I want to perform in any showcases, but I want to train. Here. With your school. If you'll have me."

Mrs. Martin studies me for a moment. I think I'm half expecting her to tell me she can't bring me on, when she says, "We'd be honored to have you, of course. I hope you know that was never a question. I just wanted to make sure you were here for the right reasons."

I give her a tight smile. "I completely understand."

She lets out a sigh and seems to relax. "Look, Isabella, I know what it's like to retire from dancing. I didn't experience it the way you did, but I know what it's like to be done with dancing and lost about what to do next. Are you sure you want to be here? Are you sure you're not just here because you don't know what else to do?"

That makes me frown. And think. God knows I dissected every one of my thoughts and feelings with my therapist after the injury, so there shouldn’t be anything new here. But Mrs. Martin's question does make me double-check my reasons.

"Iama dancer," I say slowly. Purposefully. "Regardless of everything, it's a core piece of who I am. I don'twantto be without it. But…" I nibble on my lower lip in thought. "But I don't want to beonlya dancer. I moved to Philly because I wanted to find out whoelseI am, that's true. But I'm not running away from it. I'm not using it as a crutch to avoid finding out who I really am. If that's what you're asking."

Mrs. Martin nods once, her eyes searching mine. "That's what I'm asking. I want you towantto be here, yes, but I also want to make sure being here is the right decision for you. But only you can decide that."

"I want to be here. Iwantto dance. For you," I tell her firmly.

"Then that's all I needed to hear.”

Slowly, the tension ebbs from my shoulders. I manage a small smile as genuine happiness bubbles in my chest. At the prospect of dancing again.

"Do you have any interest in teaching?" Mrs. Martin asks. "We could use the help with the children's program. Or even the adults."

Thatquestion I wasn't prepared for.

I mull over the idea for a moment. It would be so easy to accept her offer. So easy to settle into the same job I've always had, the one I can do in my sleep with no stress or struggles or worries about the longevity. It would probably be the smart thing, the responsible thing, to say yes.

But… that's not why I'm here. At the school or in the city. I left New York because I wanted a change. I wanted to try new things, and find a new path. Settling into the same job would be easy, but it would be exactly that: settling.

Which is why I’ve already worked up the courage to arrange an interview as a beginner yoga teacher.

"Thank you for the offer," I begin carefully. "I'd be happy to step in occasionally, but finding a job in a different community is one of the ways Iamtrying to distance myself from dance. I'm… actually hoping I get a job offer at my interview this afternoon."

Her smile softens at my answer. "That's amazing, I hope you do get it." She stands from her seat, and I hurry to follow suit. "If anything changes, just know my offer will always stand. But for now—” She reaches out to shake my hand. "Welcome to the Philadelphia Ballet, Isabella."

* * *

I got it. I actually got it.

I'm still reeling from the fact when I reach my building's front door. My hands are shaking with excitement as I dig out my keys, and I'm so lost in my own pride, my own happiness, that it takes me several tries to even get the key in the door. By the time I do that, I hear the loud roar of a motorcycle parking in front of the building, only feet from where I'm standing.

I look over my shoulder in curiosity and freeze in place when I see Kane, who’s sitting on his motorcycle and tugging a helmet off his head.

AndGod,if I thought he was hot at the gym, all sweat-drenched and with his tattoos on display, it’s nothing compared to the sight of him straddling a bike.

I turn to face him completely. "What are you doing here?" I find myself blurting, too overwhelmed by the sight of him to be smooth.

Wrong thing to say, apparently, because his expression darkens.

"What, you think this place is toonicefor me even though it's aslumfor you?" he sneers.

I can only blink in confusion.

“I—what?”

He dismounts and grabs a gym bag from where it's stashed in one of the compartments. "Let me guess, you want to tell me that I look out of place, right?" When I only frown, he shakes his head. "I live here. Don't look so shocked that we can afford the same apartment, princess."

My cheeks warm with embarrassment, but not because I didn't think Kane could afford to live here. More like, my subconscious immediately jumped to the thought that he was here to seeme.

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