Page 7

six

Olive

“Hey, Mom,” I say, flopping myself across the crushed velvet sofa in her office.

“Good morning, Liv!” she replies enthusiastically.

My mom has always been a positive and upbeat person, but since I opened up to her five years ago, she has tried to be extra chipper, almost like she’s hoping that positivity will rub off on me.

I understand where she’s coming from, but I don’t think I’ll ever again have the outlook that seventeen-year-old Olive had.

“It’s freezing outside,” I laugh. “Not the greatest of mornings.”

“I disagree. I love Tuesdays.” My mom looks up from her desk and shoots me a soft smile. “That’s when my daughter comes to work with me.”

I smile at her in return, happy that we’re working on getting closer again.

It’s not like it’s her fault we’re not as close as we used to be—that’s all me. My mom was basically my best friend. But there are things that you still can’t share until you absolutely have to… which is exactly what happened between us.

In hindsight, I know I should’ve spoken to my mom immediately after everything happened. She would have been nothing but supportive. But I shut everyone out instead of opening up because my friends made me believe everything was my fault.

When I finally opened up to her a year later, it was done from the discomfort of my hospital bed.

I had no choice, but I’m glad that part is over with.

It still took years for me to really start heeding Corinne’s words, but since I finally started really trying to better myself about six months ago, I’m miles better than I was even a year ago.

“It’s been really nice to be back,” I say softly. “I’m finally starting to feel more normal again.”

“That’s all your dad and I want for you, sweetie.”

“I know.” I play with the hem of my pink ballet skirt to avoid making eye contact. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to get here. I feel like I lost six years of my life.”

My mom immediately rises from her desk chair and walks over to sit next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

“You don’t need to be sorry, Olive. Trauma impacts everyone differently.

You processed everything when you were ready, and we’re just happy to see our bright and beautiful daughter again. ”

“Violet’s always been there, though,” I say with a light laugh. I’ve had more than my fair share of tense and serious moments over the past six years. I’m so tired of them.

She playfully squeezes my arm. “I have two bright and beautiful daughters. But this one” — She pulls me in tighter. —“lost her light for a while. She’s finally shining again.”

“Ballet has really helped with that,” I admit. “I can just forget everything and dance. Lose myself in the movement.”

“And have your lessons with Sage been going well?”

I can’t help but smile. “Sage is just the sweetest. I’m kind of obsessed with her.”

My mom laughs. “She really is just adorable. I had a feeling she’d be the perfect student for you.”

“She is. She tries so hard, too. I can’t wait to see how good she’ll be at the recital in the spring.”

“Rory is sweet, too, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “I really like her. She was on her honeymoon last week, so Sage’s dad brought her.”

“Oh, Lane!” she chimes. “He seemed like such a nice guy when I met him earlier this year.”

“He does seem nice,” I say softly.

Lane seems very nice.

He looks very nice, too.

That’s kind of my problem.

I haven’t seen him since Sage’s lesson last week, but for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about him.

I should have recognized those hazel eyes when we met at Urban Grind. They’re the same ones his daughter has.

But it’s that damn smile that keeps replaying in my mind. That cocky side grin that lit something up in me when we met. The flirtatious grin he gave me when he recognized me at Sage’s lesson.

Why can’t I get him out of my head?

He’s almost a decade older than me. We’re in very different places in life.

I’m a twenty-three-year-old woman with baggage who is just getting back into the world after shutting myself out. He’s a thirty-two-year-old professional baseball player who has the world’s cutest daughter.

So, if we’re so different, why do I still feel a pull toward him? Why do I want to know more about him?

This feels dangerous to me. The last time I truly got to know someone and let my guard down, I spent the next six years trying to find myself again.

I can’t put myself through that. I can’t do that to my family. That time was obviously hard on me, but it was really hard on them, too.

Lane seems sweet, and he’s undeniably attractive, but despite what Corinne said at my appointment yesterday, I’m not sure I can let myself get any closer to him.

I was a bit nervous about today’s lesson, but it’s thankfully not been as awkward as I anticipated. I believe that’s solely because Rory is back from her honeymoon, so she’s here right now, though Lane did decide to join again.

Regardless, it’s giving me somebody else to talk to so I don’t make a fool of myself in front of Lane.

Those two are watching as I crouch down in front of Sage, taking her hands in mine as the lesson is almost over.

“You’ve done a wonderful job today, Sage!” I say happily, and Sage gives me a toothy grin. “Let’s see if you can put these moves together now.”

“Otay!” she says brightly, and I swear I melt from how fucking cute she is.

“Plié.”

Sage lowers herself, bending her knees not quite outward but a close enough attempt for a child that’s not even three.

“Relevé.”

She rises up onto the balls of her feet, awaiting her next instructions.

“And sauté.”

Sage springs herself up into the air, pride clear on her face when she sees my smile. Her dad, though, looks at me in confusion.

“Sauté? She’s not a piece of chicken.”

Rory and I both double over in laughter.

“Sauté is more than just a method of cooking,” I chuckle, standing up and straightening out my skirt. “It’s a French word that means ‘to jump.’ It’s also the ballet move your daughter just demonstrated by jumping into the air.”

“I can’t believe you just compared your daughter to a piece of chicken,” Rory laughs, shaking her head as she does.

Lane scoffs. “I said she’s not a piece of chicken, thank you.”

Sage runs ahead of me, jumping into Rory’s arms as I walk over to stand in front of her and Lane.

“If you keep coming around here, Hotshot, you’re going to learn a bit of French.”

Rory bites down a smile as Lane raises his eyebrow and shoots me his signature grin. “Hotshot?”

I immediately heat all over, no doubt blushing a deep shade of scarlet. “Oh! I-I just—”

“Baseball hotshot,” he replies smugly. “I get it.”

I groan and cover my face with my hands. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe that just slipped out.”

“Not into nicknames, huh? That’s gonna be a problem for me, Ballerina.”

I lower my hands and catch his eyes, and all I can feel is that same pull I felt at Urban Grind.

What is it about Lane Brooks that has me acting this way?

“This is fu-... flipping adorable,” Rory chimes, a cheeky smile crossing her face.

“No swearing in front of Sage, I’m guessing?”

Lane sighs. “My daughter is a ducking parrot.”

“Quack!” a little voice cuts in, easing some of the awkwardness I feel.

“Good to know,” I breathe before turning my attention to Rory. “How was your honeymoon, Rory?”

“Amazing!” she replies excitedly. “Aruba is absolutely beautiful. Cole and I had such an amazing time.”

“I’m doubting you two left the bed very much,” Lane chuckles, and Rory just rolls her eyes.

“Cole is your husband, right?” I ask.

“Yes,” she smiles brightly. “You'll have to meet him sometime.”

“He’s one of my teammates,” Lane interjects, and Rory stifles a laugh. “He’s our shortstop.”

“I’m going to be honest,” I admit. “I don’t know what that means.”

Lane puts his hand over his heart as though I’ve hurt him. “Are you not a baseball fan, Ballerina?”

“I’m not much of a sports fan in general,” I shrug. “My focus was always on ballet.”

“Well, I happen to be the best player in the league right now.”

“Is that so?” I eye him curiously.

Rory laughs derisively. “It’s not so. He’s a great player, don’t get me wrong, but he doesn’t even have the best stats on the Stars right now.”

“Wow, Fisher. I had a chance to sound better than I am, and you blew it for me.”

“Pierce,” Rory corrects. “Rory Pierce. Haven’t been Fisher since the spring. Now come on, Brooks. Stop trying to impress Olive, and come get lunch with my husband and me.”

Impress me?

Why would he be trying to impress me?

She has to be mistaken.

I’m pretty sure I’m not anyone’s ideal woman. Not with all of my emotional baggage.

“It’s great to see you again, Olive,” Rory smiles. “You’ll have to excuse that one.” She jabs her finger at Lane. “He’s not fully trained to deal with the public yet.”

Lane rears his head back and laughs heartily. “Remind me to never have you be my wingwoman.” He turns to me now. “It’s, uh… nice to see you again, Olive.”

“You, too,” I smile softly. “I’m guessing I’ll see you at Sage’s lesson next week.”

“Definitely. I’ll be here.”

Silence falls over us now as we awkwardly gaze at each other.

Am I not the only one feeling this between us? Is Lane feeling it, too?

I already don’t understand why I can’t get the man who’s almost a decade my senior out of my mind. That wouldn’t help this at all.

But I can’t deny it.

There’s something about Lane that’s pulling me in. Maybe we could be friends. It’s not like I really have any of those.

And it’s totally normal to think about how hot your friends are, right?