“Don’t fuck with my brother,” Nikolai forces. There it is.
John lets out a humorless laugh. “Oh God, you have no idea.” He shakes his head repeatedly. “Timo chases after me—because I am the only man on the strip that says no to him. Think about that for a second. Are you letting it process? Because there are some gross fucking tobacco-spitting, fifty-year-old men here.”
He really hates tobacco. It’s the only thought that stops my stomach from roiling.
Nikolai is unmoving, still glaring. A pit wedges in my ribcage.
“WET T-SHIRT CONTEST!” the DJ announces in the mic.
“Fucking cliché,” John says under his breath, but raises his beer to me in goodbye now and steps away from our table, predictably heading to the stage.
Nikolai focuses back to me, switching the ice bag to my other hand.
“I’m sorry John insulted your family,” I say in a cringe.
“He’s not the first Masquerade employee to hate us. But most of them have better sense than to insult me to my face.” The ill-will must derive from the “special treatment” they think the Kotovas receive. Both Timo and Luka are allowed in clubs and on the casino floor.
I wonder though if they’re just highly persuasive.
“Thora!”
My name and that voice reroutes my attention. And Nikolai’s. Our heads turn at the same time. A few feet from my table, I see the very familiar gymnast, and my heart explodes with emotion.
Shay.
Just like that, my old life slams into me at a hundred miles per hour.
Act Twenty-Six
Too excited to stay put, I run up to him, his smile growing brighter as I near. I stand on my toes to hug Shay around his broad shoulders, reaching his five-foot-seven self.
“Miss me?” he whispers in my ear, reciprocating the hug with a tighter one around my waist. Almost four months without any familiarity, after spending nearly eight years being surrounded by Shay and gymnastics and my parents—his sudden presence, it overwhelms me. He knows my answer by the escaped tears that land on his shoulder.
I squeeze him, just to ensure he’s not a mirage. “You’re really here.”
I can’t believe he’s here.
“Only for a few hours.”
“What?” I thud to my feet, disappointment flooding me. I try to stay positive. Three hours is better than nothing. Most definitely.
He holds my face and wipes the wetness beneath my eye. “I know. It fucking sucks. But the only way I could get my parents to pay for the ticket was for the ‘benefit of my career’.” He uses air-quotes. “I’m on my way to L.A. for an interview with USC. They have a job opening up in January since some athletic trainer is leaving. I made sure there was a layover so I could see you.”
I can’t contain my smile, and we both start inspecting each other, as though to spot the differences. “Your hair…” I touch the much shorter light brown strands.
“Just cut it.” He squeezes my bicep. “Damn, Thora.” My arms are much more defined and muscular than before. The mention of me, of my change, pulls my mind in focus. And my stomach drops. I’ve been completely oblivious of the person I ran away from.
I turn my head to the table, and Nikolai’s strong jaw tics, his stormy grays puncturing me with skepticism and hurt.
Shay is just my friend. But I imagine the situation reversed, and I can feel my insides heaving in distraught—at the idea of Nikolai running up to another girl. Her arms flinging around him.
I’ll make it right.
But what’s worse: Nikolai isn’t alone right now. Timo stands next to him, clutching an orange mixed drink and throwing daggers into me. From someone usually so happy—it stings cold.
“There’s someone I want you to meet,” I tell Shay as I rotate back to him.
His gaze darts between me and the Kotovas, piecing together what this is about before I can even introduce him. “No,” he groans. “Thora, you didn’t.”
My heart lurches. “Didn’t what?” Please don’t look at me like that.
His face is bent in disappointment, as though I took a wrong path. You didn’t. You’re where you’re supposed to be, Thora James. My cheerleader is waving her pompoms in my face.
“Please tell me you’re not with him.” I follow his accusatory finger to…Timo.
“No…I’m not with him…” My smile has vanished, replaced by fear. I take a couple steps from Shay, and my gaze connects with Nikolai again. He can read me past recognition, approaching my side quickly and without falter.
I know how this looks to Shay, someone thousands of miles across the country.
Girl moves to Vegas to follow her dreams.
Girl gets trained by Guy.
Girl falls for Guy.
Girl forgets about her dreams in favor of love.
But I moved to Vegas to join Aerial Ethereal. Nikolai is helping me do just that, and he’d rather me succeed than start a relationship. Circus or a man. I’m choosing the circus. Now. And forever.
And if I forget, Nikolai promised he’d remind me.
Shay’s face hardens as soon as he notices Nikolai. Next to me. Since the wet T-shirt contest is on the other side of the pool, there are slightly less bodies and general commotion. But eyes flicker this way, and I have the sense that people are watching us from cabanas and the water.
I swallow a lump and step forward to introduce them. “Shay,” I start, “this is—”
“Don’t say it,” Shay tells me, shaking his head with a twisted face. He’s already come to the right conclusion. That I’m with Nikolai. So his reaction—it’s a valid one. “Dammit, Thora. You’re better than this!”
His voice slices my gut.
“You must be the best friend,” Nikolai says with a great deal of disdain. If looks could kill, Shay would be dead five times over.
Shay layers on a murderous glare of his own. “And she’s never said one thing about you.” Because I knew you’d react this way.
I raise my hands between them, standing directly in the middle of two different worlds. I wonder if they will ever bridge, if they ever can. “Please, let me explain.” More and more people filter over here, with drinks in hand, to watch this “fight” that’s become a bigger spectacle than a wet T-shirt contest.
“Sure,” Shay says, his voice caged with hurt. “Explain to me how the Thora James I’ve known for eight fucking years could throw away a college scholarship for a guy. One year, Thora, you had one year left.”
“He’s training me.” Tears sting my eyes. “Okay, he’s helping me.” I am pleading with him to understand, to picture what I do. But my viewpoint is a solitary one.
“Bullshit.” He points at Nikolai now. “I see the way he’s looking at you.”
“I didn’t leave everything for a guy!” I shout back.
“Then tell me I’m wrong! Tell me that you’re not with him.”
I struggle for breath, swallowing air before I say, “I can’t…”
He rests his hands on his head like I sucker-punched him. “Goddammit, Thora. Goddammit.”
“I’m the same person.” I haven’t changed in the way he believes. My dreams are all the same.
He drops his arms. “Wake up. You’re never going to be an aerialist in a world-renowned troupe. Do you hear how crazy that is?” I’m shaking, fighting back tears. “He’s giving you false hope so he can keep you around, probably to fuck you—”