Page 44 of Just One Bite

Chapter Thirty-Five

Olivia

“You’re my mate,” he whispers. I think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.

I don’t stay off the forums. It’s hard when Emma won’t stop sending me things with my name in them—everything has my name in it.

I’m sitting on the ballet floor, darning a set of my ballet shoes while scrolling through it all.

My stomach is sick again. Only a handful of people in the company will talk to me, and unfortunately, Octavia is out today.

“Olivia, we need to work on your solo.” The director slaps the barre pole, and it snaps me from my spiral.

“Right.”

“You’re properly warmed?”

“Yes.” More or less. I shove my phone in my bag and tug off my leg warmers.

The music for Giselle starts, and I lift on my standing leg and lower my arms, focusing on keeping pretty lines. My first variation is perfect, but the second, I wobble, even with my partner. We aren’t synced yet, and it’s my fault. I’m the weak link. I’ve been distracted.

Keep it fluid on the top and balance. Balance. Balance. I’m a beat behind. My face slips for a second, and I’m dizzy because my breathwork sucks. I try to catch up. Push. Push. Push.

My foot slips and my balance falters till I’m falling so hard I don’t have a choice but to put my arms down to catch myself.

A sharp pain rings through my wrist, and I pull my arm up to my chest and steady myself with my eyes closed.

I don’t care because my ankle is throbbing.

“Are you all right?” Mrs. Vix asks.

“I’m fine.” I let out a shaky breath. I don’t know if I can stand, but I can’t lose my spot.

Not standing is not an option.

“Then let’s start again.”

Snickering comes from the other girls as I go to stand.

Theo reaches to help me, and I shoo him. No one thinks I can do this. I can’t show weakness here. I breathe through the throbbing, determined to push through.

If I lose my spot for the performance, I may not get another opportunity to prove myself. This is my only chance.

“Dear, be truthful, are you well?”

I place my wrist down and wince at the stinging pressure. Fia’s satisfied smile mocks me in the mirror. No. No. No. I’m not giving up my spot.

“I can dance.” I assure Mrs. Vix.

“Looks like she hurt her wrist,” the room rumbles in a whisper.

Mrs. Vix goes to open her mouth again, but the hall bell rings, and she sighs. “One moment.”

Making my way to my feet is difficult with one hand, and my fingers don’t move when I attempt to bend them. Theo grabs me by the elbow and helps me to the other end of the room, and I’m too humiliated to protest. When Mrs. Vix comes in, her eyes beeline to me.

“I’ve got a linked mate dripping water and blood in my hallway.”

When I reach the hallway, Parker’s standing in his full uniform with no shoes, like he ripped his skates off and rushed here.

His hair is wet with sweat and blood, and he’s looking me up and down like he’s worried I might die on the spot.

There’s a scratch on his cheek oozing blood but healing before my eyes.

“I’m fine,” I say, to get that look off his face.

“Let me take you to the nurse.” He almost knocks over a stone statue in the hall on his way to me.

“Splendid idea,” Mrs. Vix says .

“No, I can dance,” I say desperately. “Please don’t give up my spot.”

“Come back tomorrow, we’ll reevaluate.”

“But …”

My voice is hollow as she almost shuts the door.

“I know how much you want this spot, Olivia. Rest up. We’ll see.”

Parker effortlessly lifts me into his arms bridal style and starts toward the nurse's office. With my arms wrapped around his neck, the heat emanating from him is blazing hot.

“It’s just my wrist.”

“I know your ankle hurts.”

“How?”

He smiles. “I, uh … felt your pain through the bond and got tackled to the ground. Then I just bolted for the studio.”

“The physical pain?”

“Yeah, but mostly I could feel how upset you were.”

I lay with my head on his shoulder and move my throbbing wrist to his chest. Our first performance is in a few weeks, and if let up now, I’ll never get this momentum back. This had to happen at the worst time. I’ve lived with the fear of an injury taking me out of dance since I was a little girl.

Because what would I do?

“ Don’t worry and get yourself hurt ,” Dad would say.

It lingers like an itch at the back of my skull. Because what if? What if it crumbles? What if there is no ballet?

“I can’t believe I slipped.”

Parker’s breaths are even and steady as I cling to him.

“It will be okay. You heard her, you’ll be back to dancing tomorrow.”

I hope he’s right. Because what if? What if?