Infini (Aerial Ethereal #2)(37)

I end up smiling a small smile, but whatever else he has to say, I sense that it’s not good. So I speak hushed. “It’s not your job to pull us away from each other. We’re not putting you in that position.” I think this is where his concern lies.

“I read the email.”

Okay. “Then you know we’re fine,” I whisper, glancing at the other Kotovas. They all stand at the edge of the trampoline, talking with the choreographer. Luka hangs back and constantly looks over at me and Dimitri.

“Fine? You know what you two are? You’re both floating in space in some made-up Star Wars galaxy,” Dimitri says, “and for some reason, I’ve been tasked to rescue you two shitheads from further destruction. So I’m here, telling you, to tone that shit down. Nik thinks it’s better if you do too. So do it.” He crosses his arms. “Simple as that.”

Except… “We were only working.”

“Eye-fucking isn’t working. Neither is casual flirting or smiley flirting—which you two do.”

I try not to freeze up. “Smiley flirting?”

“I’m not demonstrating.”

“Why not?”

“You’re like a sister to me, Baybay.”

I cringe at him. “Brothers don’t tell sisters to ‘not suck their cousin’s cock’—which you said, word-for-word, when I was thirteen.”

“If only you both listened to me, you wouldn’t be in this fucking mess.” He checks over his shoulder and then drops his voice another octave. “He’s a heartbeat away from tattooing your name on his ass.”

I try not to smile too much at the Center Stage quote, but I have fond memories of seeing the movie with all the Kotovas when I was twelve. They all superstitiously watch the movie the last Wednesday of every month. The one time they skipped a viewing, a little cousin fell in a performance and fractured his skull.

“Got it?” he asks.

“Don’t cross the line with Luka,” I whisper. “It’s been painfully clear from the beginning.” I leave Dimitri’s side and try to build an invisible boundary between me and Luk.

It hurts.

It always hurts. Especially when trust not only exists between us, but it flourishes, stronger and fuller than with anyone else.





Act Twelve Baylee Wright

Practice ends, and I open up my blue locker. Shower pipes groan through the cement walls, the locker room extremely full and the bathrooms in use. Most everyone keeps to themselves, coming down from the first exhausting day of the season.

I rummage through my gym bag—and I freeze.

What…is this? I frown and grab a thick white envelope that lies on my towel. I turn it over. Next to the seal, I detect the legible, unmistakable handwriting of Luka Kotova.



For all the birthdays I missed.



“What’d you do, Luk,” I whisper to myself, my lungs burning up. Gently, I peel open the seal, and my thumb skims the edges of cash. Many, many bills. I don’t even have to count to know there’s exactly a grand here.

I rock back into the locker, my knees weak. My eyes burning.

I can’t believe he did this.

Then again, I can. He’d give the shirt off his back to a homeless man. I know this, because he would do it all the time in New York. How many shoes did he kick off and hand to other people that needed them more?

In the same breath, he steals from stores too many times to count. Timo used to say that he has a Robin Hood complex, but we all know it’s even more deep-seated. Rooted somewhere that Luka barely touches.

I fan the bills and shake my head. I can’t accept a thousand dollars from Luka. No matter how sweet the sentiment. I wouldn’t even accept money from my own brother. I smooth my lips together and close the flap of the envelope just as tenderly.

My pulse rushes forward. I have to find Luka.

So I peer down each row of lockers. No. No. I can’t exactly ask anyone where he is. They’d question why I’m searching for him. I already overheard someone discussing our fake cocaine drama earlier today, and saying, “It must be so awkward for them to be working together.”

Awkward, no.

Tense, definitely.

I’m used to discretion, and I keep up the secrecy as much as possible.

After more searching, I think he’s either in the shower or already left the locker room.

Envelope still in hand, I pass the rows of lockers and head to a dark blue door that says showers in gold lettering. I push inside.

Taupe curtains enclose every individual shower stall. I scan the area, charcoal tiles wet beneath my sneakers.

Kotovas fill the space, chatting loudly in Russian, drying their hair with extra towels. Definitely semi-naked. I’m not fazed, and I don’t see Luka among them.

I walk further inside and pass the ten sinks situated in the center. A couple girls use the mirrors and comb their wet hair. I spot Zhen at a sink. He puts in a new pair of contacts, oblivious to his surroundings and me.

I’m invisible.

A wanderer. Watcher. Attempting to be a finder.

Find him. I grip the money tighter and peer at the other side of the sinks. Closer to the group of Kotovas. They don’t notice me either.

Steam builds and clams my skin. I waft the air, and as soon as my hand drops, a shower curtain whips open.