Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(74)

Not yet.

Nikolai takes a few commanding strides towards Shay, who stands his ground. My heart thrashes. They won’t fight. “What does it matter to you if I have?” He’s subtly implying: do you have feelings for her?

No. Not like that.

“She’s my best friend. If I see a guy using her, I’m going to step in the fucking way.”

“FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”

I keep shaking my head.

“This is the life she wants. Let her live it.”

Shay lets out an aggravated laugh and shouts over the chanting, “You think she wants to live this life?! The minute she doesn’t land a contract, she’s going to be back in Ohio. And you’re going to lose your fuck buddy—”

Nik decks him, his knuckles slamming into Shay’s jaw. My hands fly to my mouth. Shay rights himself quickly and throws his fist into Nikolai’s ribs.

In my peripheral, I see movement from the Kotova men, and I sprint so fast, imagining the fight turning into a brawl all against Shay. I extend my arms and all of them rock back at my appearance. “Stop.”

I can’t step between the flying fists behind me, but I can thwart a bigger fight. Out of everyone, Dimitri tries to challenge me, nearing my small frame.

I point a warning finger at him. “No.”

Dimitri seizes my wrist, tugging me to him. His glower says more than enough but he speaks, “I’m not letting Nikolai be punched by your friend.” What did Nikolai say about him: I’ve known Dimitri since I was a little kid.

I think I’ve underestimated the strength and loyalty beneath a childhood friendship.

I’m just trying to protect Shay. “I won’t let you gang up on him,” I force. Nikolai has dozens of people to back him. Shay only has me.

His fingers dig hard into my skin, my bones screaming.

Timo yells in Russian at Dimitri, his face reddening as he tries to get his point across. I see Nikolai land a right hook at the same time that Shay knees Nik in the ribs. Both blows pack a powerful punch, so much that they stagger back for a second.

“Stop!” I yell at them. My voice reaches their ears, their heads whipping to me in unison. They zero in on Dimitri’s clutch, and it diffuses their fight, redirecting their rage.

He releases his hold on me, and I walk quickly to the two guys as hotel management approaches in black suits, physically standing between them.

“Booo!” the crowd roars.

The DJ speaks into the mic, “She must have some pretty titties.” Ew. I cringe. They were not fighting over me like that. And even if they were, that’s—no. I cringe more.

I pass Nikolai, who speaks to one of the black-suits. And I make sure to brush his hand a little, just to show that I’m not choosing reality.

Not today.

I still want to dream. But my reality is also precious to me.

So I walk right up to Shay, my heart flip-flopping at his face, much more beaten than Nik’s. I’m not surprised. Even though he’s incredibly fit from gymnastics, he’s not even close to Nik’s size. I touch Shay’s cheek, the skin split open from a punch.

He winces and clasps my hand. “It’s fine…” He spits a wad of blood on the cement.

“I’ll help you clean up in the bathroom.”

He nods, accepting my offer. And I lead him out of the pool area, a series of boos following us all the way inside.





Act Twenty-Seven



Shay is leaving in ten minutes. After washing his face, we sit on the edge of the Dionysus fountain, staring at the revolving doors that lead out of The Masquerade.

Our friendship has never been this strained. Miles and miles apart and my aspirations have begun to destroy it. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He lets out a heavy sigh. “Thora…” He looks to me, his eyes reddened. “I don’t want you to make this mistake.”

“I know.” I know. My chin almost trembles, and I bite down. “But you have to let me make it.” I really, really hope it’s not one.

He rubs his eyes and then stares at the ceiling. For answers.

His jaw is already tinted red. “Your interview…” I trail off, imagining him shaking hands with the boss: split-knuckles, bruised cheek and swollen eye. His chances of landing the job are now slim.

“I wasn’t excited about it anyway,” he says under his breath. “I hate the idea of being an athletic trainer, watching other guys compete in the sport that I still want to be in—it’s depressing.”

I don’t ask why he’s taken the classes to pursue this career. His parents pushed the plan as a back-up when gymnastics ended. Shay qualified for the Olympics one year, but he never made the national team. It’s not a pursuit he’s ever tried again. He said the training was too rigorous, and he knew he wouldn’t make it a second time around.

“What are you going to do then?” I ask, my voice soft.

He shrugs and shakes his head a few times. “I have no fucking clue.” He turns and smiles weakly at me. “What a life, right—or I guess you wouldn’t know…You’ve had this crazy circus idea in your head since you were fourteen.”

“You remember how old I was this time?”

His gaze falls to his hands, his bloodied knuckles ten times worse off than my swollen ones. “I remembered before. I just hoped you’d reconsider this.” He checks his watch. “I have to go.”