Release Read online

  “Okay.”

  “What do you think about when you’re dancing?”

  I frown, taken aback. I’m not even sure I know how to answer him. “Um … that’s a strange question.”

  His brows rise. “Really?”

  “You’re the first person who’s asked me that.” I pause in consideration. “I’ve never acknowledged the thinking aspect, not in order to explain it to someone. I mean, obviously if I’m following choreography I’m aware of the techniques, their sequence and timing, so I’m thinking about that, but it’s the feel I get caught up in, and that’s quite impossible to describe. The words, the beat of the music, the techniques, and me, all become one. I’ve performed to songs that have so much meaning, with powerful choreography that expressed them so well I’ve … cried, they were that overwhelming. Some have been more about fun, some have been rhythms without words, and they affect me differently, but it always runs so deep, like in an entirely consuming way.

  “Dance is a perfect and wonderful way to escape the world around you when you don’t like it very much …” Any further words get stuck in my throat. Dane’s looking at me as though he’s absorbing all that I’m saying.

  For a very long, very intense moment, his gaze holds mine.

  If the world outside this cafe was coming to an end right now, I wouldn’t even notice.

  Our drinks arrive, breaking the moment, and I silently thank God for the perfect timing.

  Whilst I start to stir, looking down at my swirling cocoa, I try to figure out why I feel so drawn to Dane.

  Nine: Dane

  I checked Brooklyn out on that TV talent show she was on, there’s a bunch of stuff on YouTube. Watching her perform takes me to a place I didn’t even know existed, everything from the way her body moves with the music to all the emotion her face and eyes convey. She even got me feeling fucking entranced just watching her talk about what she feels when she’s dancing.

  “Did you always want to be a dancer?”

  “Yeah, but until I was nine I wanted to be a dentist as well. My dentist was so lovely, she always gave kids rewards after their checkups, and I wanted to be just like her. When I was ten, I changed my mind. It really was all about the dance for me. I don’t even know how old you are,” she says, raising her mug to sip her cocoa.

  “Thirty-three. You?”

  “Twenty-eight. How long have you had your shop?”

  “Almost nine years.”

  “You were twenty-four when you started your own business. That’s quite an achievement. Hard work, I imagine.”

  “Yeah, but worth it. It helps working with someone who shares the same goals and ideas as me. That’s why I did it with Eric, instead of on my own.”

  “So you could’ve done it on your own if you wanted to?”

  “Yeah and I would have if I didn’t know Eric. He worked where I did my apprenticeship, so I knew what he was about way before I decided to open the shop. When my parents were alive they were quite successful, and for years I didn’t know what to do with all the money they left behind. I was scared to touch it, mostly because I didn’t want to waste it. When I realized Eric and I were still coming from the same place and shared the same visions, the shop just made sense.”

  “I don’t know a single thing about motorcycles or the shops, but your place looks fantastic. I’d say it was definitely worthwhile.”

  “Thank you. So you know about my family and where I’m from, what about you?”

  “Have you been to the UK?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I’m from a place called Angel, in north London. I’ve lived in that area all my life with my mum, dad, and brother, Tommy. He’s three years younger than me, but because he’s taller he considers himself my big brother.”

  “Where are your parents actually from?” I’m intrigued to know what influences her skin tone.

  “Both born in the UK, but Dad’s parents are Irish, though you wouldn’t think so with the surname Scott. Mum’s parents are Turkish.”

  “Right. So you’re all close?”

  “Yeah, we are. I’ve always gotten on with Tommy, but we became closer after my injury. I think it frightened him that I got hurt so far away from home. He wasn’t keen on my decision to come back. Dad wasn’t, either.”

  “But you still came.”

  She nods, frowning. “I really wanted to, and Mum thought it would be good for me. Mums know best.” That last little statement’s got her looking uncomfortable.

  “It’s all good, right? Embrace your mom. What’s the deal with your dad? Yesterday you didn’t say anything about him coming with your mom and brother for the show.”

  “Impressive attention to detail,” she says, teasingly.

  “I’m not pretending to listen when you talk.”

  She laughs lightly. “I didn’t think you were. His career is very demanding and the show dates clash with his commitments.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He’s a cardiac surgeon. He also lectures at a university and participates in other seminars – it’s a seminar that’s getting in the way of him coming. He’ll see Release when we bring it to L.A. in September, anyway.”

  “Okay. So what does your mom do when your dad’s saving lives?”

  “She saves peoples wardrobes,” Brooklyn says and she starts to giggle. “That was a terrible joke.” She’s still laughing and now I am, but my humor is for that fact that she’s laughing at herself. She clears her throat. “By wardrobe I meant closet, by the way. Mum owns a line of party dresses with her best friend. She’s fashion and accessories mad, so it’s a perfect career for her. She used to make mine and Leona’s costumes. That’s absolutely useless info for you, but I thought I’d put it out there anyway.”

  I don’t know why, but Brooklyn Scott fascinates the shit out of me. I feel like I could spend all damn day sitting here asking her questions about herself. I don’t even mind the “useless info”.

  “Why is the show called Release?” I ask. I kind of wish I’d paid more attention to the whole production now, but Brooklyn’s performances were the only ones that got my full interest.

  For a moment, she stares at me like she knows I didn’t concentrate enough, but she can’t possibly be aware of that. “Couldn’t you tell?”

  “I think I know the answer, but I wanted you to confirm it. Every dance seemed to relate to love in some way. During your bedroom dance, I figured you and your partner were a couple who were breaking up, but then you made up, so I guess it was just a fight. In another you seemed to be falling for the guy, but I didn’t get the very first performance by the redhead who danced alone. That’s why I’m not so sure.”

  “She was in love with someone she couldn’t have. The letter she ripped up at the end of the song was to the man she wanted, and doing that was her way of releasing his hold over her. The show does revolve around love; releasing yourself from a love that’s bad for you, or releasing yourself to be free and welcome love into a heart that’s resistant to it.

  “The main story is based around Liz, the redhead, who, after the first dance, starts a search for true love. You may have noticed the influence of other nationalities in the performances, they represented her searching the world, and those other dances were little stories like falling for someone and letting it happen, or fighting to save a relationship.

  “I think it’s a beautiful production with the perfect happily ever after. A real-life fairytale.”

  How fucking ironic?

  The look in Brooklyn’s eyes right now tells me she’s the total opposite of the man sitting across from her – she’s all for the love thing. I’m all for two people who are in love being together, and when necessary fighting to make it work, but it’s not for me.

  Brooklyn and I are coming from different places, we’re headed in different directions, and this right here is the ideal time for me to make that clear.

  As I already knew, and as she told me, she’s not the type of woman who just
fucks.

  I’m not the type of man who can offer a woman more than that.

  What I know today, that I didn’t yesterday, is that it’s pretty much a guarantee that if Brooklyn and I continue with whatever this is she’ll wind up getting hurt by me.

  I don’t want that.

  Something about the way she’s looking at me stops the words that were about to leave my lips; words that’ll make things clear from my side. I don’t understand why, but I can’t say them to her.

  I glance at my watch. If I wanted, I could stay here talking to Brooklyn for at least another hour. But what’s the point?

  “Shit,” I mutter, and I can’t believe I’m about to deal with things this way. Like a fucking pussy. “I’ve gotta get to work, we’re expecting an early delivery of some parts.”

  “Okay.” The softest upturning pulls at the corners of her mouth.

  She sounded so damn sweet.

  I almost wish I could be the kind of guy she deserves.

  It doesn’t help that she’s been so relaxed with me today.

  After I get the check, we head for the door. I pull it open and wait for Brooklyn to step outside. She turns to me and I tell her, “I’m gonna call you later.”

  “Sure. See you.” Turning away, she starts walking up the street.

  I cross the intersection quicker than I usually would, before Brooklyn Scott realizes one major detail in our exchange just then.

  Ten: Brooklyn

  After pressing ‘send’ for a text message to my brother, I get into bed and pull my duvet up to my neck. For a few moments, I listen to the sound of nothing throughout the apartment. Kayla and Leona are both in their rooms, probably sleeping if going by the silence.

  I try not to think, but fail miserably.

  When my brother’s first text came through, about twenty minutes ago, I stupidly got excited, because I thought it would be Dane. I don’t know why I concluded that; he didn’t say anything about texting me.

  He said he’d call me.

  Then I realized one fundamental fact.

  He doesn’t even have my number.

  If he’d somehow managed to get it, I’m sure he’d have called by now – it’s after midnight.

  Message received loud and clear.

  I can’t believe I ignored Kayla and gave him a chance, only for him to treat me like this. The least he could’ve done is tell me he didn’t want to see me again. I’d have been disappointed either way, but just leaving it like this is humiliating.

  To make matters worse, I allowed him to take up almost all of my thoughts since we said goodbye on the street. I reflected on all the things I’ve learnt about him, and became excited by the prospect of discovering so much more. He’s literally been with me all day. I’m embarrassed to say that I walked away from him feeling like I was floating. I can’t remember ever experiencing anything like that before, and it’s been a long time since I felt a deeper kind of good. I’m even more embarrassed to say that I appreciated sharing just that one snippet of his day with him.

  How foolish am I?

  Reaching for the light on my bedside table, I turn it off and hide my stupid self in the dark.

  ****

  I awake to the clock on my bedside table displaying the time 06:03 in a neon green light that right now stands out too much in the darkness of my room. If it wasn’t for those four digits I’d still think it was the middle of the night, thanks to my thick curtains shielding so effectively against the outside world. Turning away from those unwelcome digits, I pull my duvet over my head and squeeze my eyes shut.

  Minutes later, I’m still here and even more alert. Two mornings I’ve been pulled from my sleep to meet up with that prick and on day three it happens naturally, like I’m supposed to be up getting ready to go to the Purple Cafe.

  After a few more minutes, I grumble to myself knowing I’m too awake now. I know exactly what will happen if I stay here like this – I’ll waste my thoughts on someone who isn’t worth it.

  Departing from my warm, comfy bed, I pull on my fluffy yellow robe and thick cream socks and make my way to the living room. It’s around sunrise, so there’s some light, no need for an additional source. After turning on the TV, I scan the channels and stop on a music station. I sit on the sofa and watch the current video whilst trying to decide between having a coffee and waiting a little while before going back to bed.

  The creaking of an opening door grabs my attention. I’m not sure whether it’s Kayla’s or Leona’s, both sound the same. We really should oil them. It’s silent for a moment. The living room door slowly opens, and Kayla peeps through the gap. I welcome her with an apologetic smile.

  “Hey, beautiful, can’t you sleep?” she asks, her tone drowsy.

  I shake my head.

  She walks in and sits beside me and starts singing along with the music. She’s half asleep and so is her voice. “Getting used to the early mornings, huh?” she says, as another song comes on.

  “It seems so. I’m deciding whether to have a coffee or just go back to bed.”

  “Let’s have coffee. I’ll make it.” She gets up and walks through to our open kitchen.

  I let my head fall back against the sofa and close my eyes. Another bedroom door creaks open. Definitely oiling them this week. I look up as Leona walks in. Her straight blonde hair hangs loose and slightly ruffled. Her brown eyes are heavy and lack their usual sparkle.

  I smile in apology, again. “Did I wake you up?”

  “No, I heard Kayla’s door. Then I heard her singing.” She yawns as she sits down on the sofa, her pretty face scrunching up.

  Kayla comes back into the living room holding three mugs by their handles. “Since we’re all up, why don’t we have some cookies? We’ll burn them off this afternoon, anyway.”

  “Yes, please,” Leona and I say at the same time.

  I’m not hungry, but I can manage cookies any time of day. They’re my vice. And nachos made with way too much cheese.

  “You not seeing Dane today?” Leona asks, from the other side of Kayla.

  “No, he said he’ll call me.” I’m not ready for the humiliation of telling them what he’s done, especially Kayla. I know they won’t judge me, but it doesn’t lessen the sting. “Have you spoken to Xavier since Sunday?” I ask to deflect the focus from me.

  Those half-asleep eyes of hers widen, becoming excited. “We spoke on the phone last night. He sounds sooo fucking sexy. We decided to meet tonight instead.”

  “Really?”

  She nods, grinning. “He suggested it. How could I possibly say no to a man who sounds like he does?”

  I feel even worse. Why couldn’t I meet someone like Xavier? He’s obviously keen if he couldn’t wait until Saturday to see Leona.

  “Aahhh, I love first dates,” Kayla gushes, all dreamy, “the butterflies, and the guy being on his best behavior because he wants to impress you. First dates are freaking awesome. Oh, guess who wanted to take me out after the show on Saturday?”

  “No way!” I beam. Her smile says it all.

  “Yup.” Her lips stretch even wider.

  “Tell me you said yes.”

  “No, I’m going out with you. Live music and cocktails, remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember, but you don’t say no because of that. We can do it any time.”

  “I’m not ditching my girl for a guy. Even Chase Dean.”

  “On this occasion you have my permission to ditch me. At some point today, call him. I’m serious. Cookie time!”

  I reach for the packet on the table. The next music video comes on; Single Ladies.

  We can’t help ourselves, so jump up, put our beverages down, and start hitting the notes and some seriously sexy dance moves. Six-forty-five a.m., and three unattached women are dancing around their living room and singing along to Single Ladies.

  ****

  After music videos, cookies, and coffee, I went back to bed and slept through until the early afternoon. I missed class, but wo
ke up refreshed.

  I also woke up angry.

  You see, I don’t care that Dane doesn’t want to see me again. I’m glad I discovered him for the weasel he is before I got too close to him. But at some point we will see each other, and I’d prefer the first time to be something I’m in control of.

  After checking online for the opening hours to his shop, and a couple of other details, I shower and start getting ready. I’m meeting up with my dance husband, Owen, at six for dinner and drinks. That gives me time to get dressed and then I can pass by Dane’s shop on the way.

  I style my hair in a chignon and put on some black eyeliner, black mascara and a moderate layer of plum-touched brown lipstick. I team my high-waist, black pencil skirt with suede peep-toe stilettos and a fitted sheer, sleeveless, burgundy blouse tucked into the waistband, with a black bra underneath. On the way out, I slip on my long-sleeve black bolero. All this black has nothing to do with my mood, I just love this outfit.

  It’s slightly chilly as I step out, but I’ll be inside mostly and a cab will be my method of transport, so I’ll survive. As I turn on to Bush Street and feel the eyes of the man I’m passing burning into me – make that checking out my tits and hips – I realize something I’m not happy about.

  The way I’m dressed.

  Dane will think I’m some bitter bitch who’s dressed up to show him what he’s missing. That’s the last thing on my mind, but since he’s so shallow he won’t realize that what he’s missing out on goes deeper than the surface. The person beneath the flesh. Typical.

  Fuck what he thinks, it’s irrelevant.

  When I get to the shop, I enter and home in on the sales desk. The place is brightly lit with white, shiny floors. I pass a large selection of fancy new motorcycles presented like a work of art. No doubt they were arranged by the hands of a stinking gigolo.

  I keep in mind Dane’s behavior as a means to stay determined and not be intimidated by the fact that this is a strange environment and it’s his territory. Thankfully, the person on the other side of the desk is a female.

  Tone polite, I ask the blonde, “Is Dane Sinclair here, please?” I wonder if he fucks his pretty staff members. She’s quite attractive and young.