Infini (Aerial Ethereal #2)(36)

It shouldn’t be this painful.

He was allowed to move on. We both were ordered to. I should be traveling forward like him, not barreling into the past.

Luka comes to a stop a foot from me. Not shying away, he drinks in my features and his grays tenderly stroke my cheeks, my lips and eyes.

Touch me. I inhale.

He inhales even more powerfully.

Touch me.

His right hand instinctively rises up. Towards my cheek.

I step forward.

He steps forward. Our legs collide, and then he hesitates. I hesitate. We remember where we are. Who watches. He’s not able to touch me that way.

Luka tightens his hand in a fist before it drops to his side. His brows cinch, face pained, but I nod once in understanding. We’re working. We can’t really reconnect here.

We’re not even allowed to reconnect outside of the gym. This work relationship is what we’ve been granted. It has to be enough.

My dry eyes burn like I need to release four-and-a-half years of pent-up emotion, but my body knows it can’t.

Luka tries to smile, and then he dips his head to me. “Tell me what to do.” Work.

Work.

So I explain the jugging trick in detail, and he asks a few questions about timing and jumping. Cordial, easy enough.

After I answer, he nods and says, “Just squeeze your thighs when I need to rotate. If you want me to shift at all as I jump, dig your right heel in my chest to go right. Left to go left.”

“That’ll work.” I like this system more than Dimitri’s “call-out” method. I’m sometimes deep inside my head during routines that I forget to use my voice. Using my body should feel more natural.

Geoffrey shouts, “Any day now!”

Luka’s lip quirks, almost laughing at the absurdity. It makes me less stressed, and then he takes two balls out of my hands.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“You said six-ball, six-up was more manageable, so let’s do six.” He listened to me from earlier?

I try to restrain my smile. You haven’t changed, have you?

Do you ever think of me?

Do you even still love me?

Or am I just a heartbreaking memory?

My own lips inch up but falter. “Luka Kotova, already testing the choreographer’s limits.”

“Yeah.” Luka’s smile brightens the angelic creases of his face. “Because he’s not the juggler. You are.” At this, he chucks the two extra balls at Dimitri, who easily catches both.

Now I’m left with six. Which will make our chance of success a lot greater.

Luka stares fixatedly down at me. “Ready?”

I nod, and in one sudden motion, he clutches my hips and lifts me onto his shoulders. I sit securely on Luka, three balls in each of my palms.

He grips my calves so I won’t fly off of him.

Then he jumps, and the power of his muscles, his legs, funnels through his body and up into my limbs. I breathe controlled, easy breaths. Knowing he’d protect me before he’d drop me.

Twenty-feet high, I push the first pair of balls into the air. Then the second pair.

Four balls soar in a clean arc. I concentrate solely on my juggling props, not even sure how high we are or how many bounces we’ve completed—I just catch the balls and then rapidly push up one pair after the other.

All six balls soar out of my hands. High, high above me.

I squeeze my thighs.

Luka spins three-sixty, and I never take my eyes off the balls. I grab them as they fall, using one finger to clasp the third ball to my right palm.

He effortlessly deadens his momentum, and we come to a stop on the trampoline. I smile because it worked. It’s also a better indication that the trick can be done.

From the floor, Geoffrey assesses us, fingers to his jaw. “It needs more polishing, and you have to increase the difficulty within sixty days. No exceptions.”

My smile fades, and I just nod. I’m about to slide down Luka’s shoulders, but he’s already hoisting me off and placing me in front of him.

I want to peek at Luka, but I shouldn’t tempt it. Should I? I hesitate. I waver. Look at him.

I give in, and I brave a glance backwards.

He’s already staring at me. He’s already smiling, and his lips only pull higher as our eyes meet again. Are you single?

Are you the same as you were?

I open my mouth to ask one of my many questions.

“Baylee, let’s chitchat over here,” Dimitri calls out.

I drop my gaze instantly, jostled back to reality. Dimitri motions me to the other side of the trampoline, and Robby and Abram “oooh” like I’m in trouble.

On my way there, I slyly flash them my middle finger, and they subsequently laugh, which I expected.

Dimitri meets me halfway, and seriousness drapes over us. He lowers his head, no one able to overhear. “I’m in a fucked-up spot here. I love that kid.” He gestures with his head to Luka.

“I know,” I say. “I’m not asking you to choose me over him…” Why does this feel like a second divorce all of a sudden? Like Luka and I are splitting up again and all the people that mean something to us have to choose sides?

We did that once, but Dimitri has always sat in the middle. He was the one person we both kept equally in our lives.

Dimitri cocks his head. “Outside of cousins and brothers, I’ve worked the longest, side-by-side with you. That makes you family to me.”