The Bad Boy Bargain (Suttonville Sentinels #1)(35)

Faith heard what he didn’t say. She put her hand on his arm. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I do.” He flexed his hand, and his arm muscles tightened in her grip. “Cameron has a set of friends. A pack of four.”

She nodded. “Cam, Jake, Braden, and Andrew.”

“Right.” He was staring at a point beyond her shoulder. “Those four made my life miserable, and they roped a lot of people into it. Most of it was stupid bullshit—tripping me in the hall, whispering crap behind my back. Stealing my homework. I told you I’m dyslexic, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so it takes hours to do my homework, and I was making Ds in science in the spring of my seventh-grade year. Some of Cameron’s friends were in my class and caught sight of one of my tests. I misspelled every other word, reversed stuff, and missed most of the multiple-choice stuff because I couldn’t read the questions right. Anyway, they told Cameron, and he broke into my locker.

“I couldn’t find my binder anywhere. All my homework, all the stuff Grandpa had notated for me, all my tests—gone. Next day, my graded work was taped up all over the school. All those Ds. Worse, those *s had highlighted all the places where I spelled mammal ‘lamal’ and shit like that. I started tearing it down, but the damage was done. For the rest of seventh grade, I was the class idiot.”

Faith blinked, unsurprised when an angry tear ran down her cheek. “I knew he could be petty, but that’s outright cruel. I should slap his face.”

But Kyle was shaking his head. “Don’t. I can fight my own battles now, and I’d rather not have all that come up again. Most people have forgotten about it, even if I can’t.”

It seemed so unfair, though. Still, awful as that prank had been, Kyle’s anger ran deeper than what she’d expect. She could tell there was more to the story, but she wouldn’t pry. If he wanted to tell her everything, she could wait until he was ready. “I’m sorry it happened. And I’m glad we’re doing this. Cameron deserves to be shown up.”

He gave her a tight smile. “Maybe a little.”

They sat in awkward silence, but she wasn’t sure what to say. She wanted to lighten the mood, to drag Kyle out of the memories she could see were eating him alive. She wanted to make him forget Cameron and focus on her.

Which led to her blurting out, “Want to watch me dance?”

That earned her a soft smile that evaporated all the awkward the kitchen could hold. “I’d like that.”

She clenched her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling. Why did she suggest that? Dancing in a production was one thing. Dancing for one guy, alone together? That was a whole other thing. A thing her parents might have a completely different word for: inappropriate.

Then again, maybe a little inappropriate was exactly what she needed.

“You don’t have to, you know.” Kyle’s voice was kind. “I wasn’t suggesting a talent show when I roamed the yard half naked. That was just to get your attention.”

She nodded, flushing. “It worked. But no, I’d like to.” And suddenly, she really did. “Go to the porch. I need to change and grab my shoes.”

Plus going upstairs would give her a moment to breathe, which she most definitely needed to do. Once upstairs, she picked out a plain black leotard, a pink dance skirt, and tights. If she was going to do this, she had to do it right. Hair up in a bun, lip gloss, and all. And if her hands shook while tying her pointe shoes, so be it.

When she found him on the porch, he was sitting in one of the chairs across from the barre—and had moved all the other furniture against the walls. “How did you know?”

“About the furniture? I thought you might need room.”

This guy was trying to steal her heart, wasn’t he? He was doing a damn good job of it, too. Trembling all over, she went to the stereo, plugged in her phone. She found Tchaikovsky’s Fifth, the second movement, and scrolled to the last three minutes. “This is something we did for recital last fall.”

She didn’t tell him she’d been the prima of the company. That didn’t seem to matter much, not with the way he watched her as she took her place, standing in fourth position until the section of the piece she wanted started.

Relevé, arms up, turn. Madame’s voice in her head, “Float, Faith. Like a flower petal.”

And she did. The music poured through her, lifting her up. The Tchaikovsky was both powerful and delicate, making her feel strong, light. Balanced. All the sadness from the kitchen, the anger, the confusion, disappeared. In its place, she let all the happiness and contentment dancing could give settle into her bones.

After all her hours of practice, the moves were instinctive, and she forgot Kyle was there. Her mind was occupied with controlling her limbs, moderating her breathing, and ignoring the pain that came with each relevé, but that wasn’t important. Only the dance was. She moved through it, letting the joy pulse in her veins.

The music hit its crescendo, and she spun, before landing in her final position, arms extended and chest heaving.

Then she remembered she had an audience.

Kyle was staring at her, his eyes dark and intense. Nothing mocking, nothing cocky. “That was beautiful, Faith.”

She dropped her pose and stared at her pointe shoes. “Thank you.”