Thick Love (Thin Love, #2)(101)
Aly never closed the door when she danced, often fussing about how hot the room got, but the truth was that she got too lost in whatever routine she was practicing to remember to adjust the AC. That night the light filtered out into the lobby, and the music that wafted in the air was a song I’d never heard before, with a voice I couldn’t place. Right there, against the half window in the lobby, the one that looked directly into the studio, I watched her. Sometimes I felt like that’s all I did. Watch. Trying to figure out what thoughts she had spinning behind those green eyes and wondering where the hell she got the patience to put up with me.
I had seen many, many brilliant things in my life, in my travels, things that would take away your breath, things that would make never question if God existed. But none of them could match the magic of Aly when she danced.
“Wow,” I said, my breath frosting the window, when Aly glided across the hardwood, leaping until her feet and legs stretched off the ground in what I believe was called a jete. Every step was practiced, timed perfectly with the music, but it was her expression, that pained, lost emotion moving across her features that left me breathless. Then I listened to the lyrics of the song, frowning when I understood where that emotion had come from, realizing I was the cause of it.
You hold me without touch
You keep me without chains
I never wanted anything so much
Then to drown in your love
And not feel your rain
She’d had chains just like mine. But what bound Aly wasn’t shame and guilt. What held her was something I thought I could never have again. Her chains were made of hope. They were forged from the hope that I’d stop wallowing and look down once to see her smile. They were made from the strongest stuff imaginable.
Aly danced away from me, her back slick with sweat and I moved into the doorway, hoping not to scare her, desperate to take that sadness from her features. A smooth arch of her back, arms over her head, one leg lifted high as she turned and Aly jerked in surprise, her limbs falling to her side as she noticed me.
She was panting, with her hair in a loose ponytail, the sheer, short skirt she wore bustled against her legs as she watched me and the pink leotard was dotted with faint spots of dampness. The quick darkening of her honey skin made her look younger and, I guessed, the feeling she got from being alone, from losing herself to the movements of the dance and the lull of the music, created some unnamable energy around her. It relaxed her features and had her carrying herself with less tension.
She was beautiful.
“Is Keira okay?” she asked. When I nodded, the line between her brows eased. “Is the baby?”
“They’re both fine.” I didn’t smile at her, or try to charm her, but my gaze stayed on hers as I looked for any shift in her expression that told me she didn’t hate me.
She held that gaze a second longer than I expected and then looked down, walking toward the stereo to kill the music.
My footsteps were soft as I walked inside, still Aly didn’t watch me in the mirror or pay much attention to anything other than the buttons on the stereo. She deflected, hid when she needed to, I knew that right then it was her primary need.
“I’m glad they’re okay,” she said, still messing with those buttons.
“Me too.”
She must not have expected me come so close. When I moved behind her, standing in that perfect spot, her fitting naturally under my chin, Aly’s body took on the rigid bearing it got whenever she was angry.
I had to break the silence. “I wake up every morning and think about you.” I didn’t like the way she closed her eyes when I said that. There was something on her face then, a twin to that pain I’d seen as she danced. “Every damn morning.”
Her laugh was sharp, held no humor and the sound of it had me frozen to the floor when she turned around and stared up at me with eyes that were more like daggers than stars. “Every morning?”
“Yes. Every…”
“Just me, Ransom?”
When I didn’t speak, Aly sighed, stepped out of my reach. “It’s okay to think about Emily.” I came forward, wanting to touch her, but Aly shook her head, held me back. “What’s not okay is to think about some version of me that you’ve invented, the Aly who always takes you back even when you’re a bata.” She looked down at her fingers, head shaking like she couldn’t get her thoughts to settle. “I’d rather you see the real me. I’d rather you think of me how I really am. I forgive you over and over, but I won’t let you keep at it. My forgiveness, my patience, isn’t infinite.”
“I know that, baby.” She let me pull her close, hold her face up. “I know who you are. I know you deserve better than what I give you.”
“Do you?” She pulled her face from my palm. “I’m not so sure, Ransom.” Aly stepped back, held herself close but kept her gaze on my face. “I watched when you weren’t looking. I waited, but I didn’t pine for you. And now, I’m not going to let you push me away and think I’ll always be here waiting for you to get your head right.”
“Aly…”
One shake of her head silenced me. “I…I love you, but I’m starting to realize that when you love someone, really love them, sometimes you have to walk away. Especially when they are destroying themselves. Sometimes that means you have to love yourself more.”