The Right Moves (The Game #3)(20)
Author: Emma Hart

“What started it?”

“I… I don’t know,” I answer softly, looking out of the small window behind her desk. “I haven’t had an attack in weeks. I usually notice when they’re coming and I can fight them, but this one just hit me. It came on so suddenly I didn’t even realize until it was too late.”

Bianca nods slowly. “Call Dr. Hausen and speak to her about it, Abbi. I know you don’t want to, but you need to figure out why it happened and why you couldn’t stop it.”

“I know.” I pull my gaze back to her. “Can I leave early? Please?”

She takes my hand. “Of course you can.”

I call Dad and ask him to come and get me when she leaves the room. Time seems to drag as I wait for his message that he’s outside. When it comes, I grab my things Bianca brought in for me and leave the studio. Dad asks me no questions as I silently climb in the back seat, bring my knees to my chest and hug them. I lean my head on the top of my knees and look out of the car window as he pulls away from the red-brick building.

I can’t remember the last time I felt as out of control as I did today.

Chapter Ten – Blake

“Fuck it!” I drop the spoon for the fifth time tonight.

“You wash your damn hands with butter before you got here or what, kid?” Joe hollers.

“Might as well have,” I grumble, bending to pick it up. I throw it in the sink and take another clean one from the rack. My pan on the hob starts to bubble frantically, and I rush over to the cooker to find the rice I was cooking boiling over.

“Shiiiiiit,” I hiss, turning the gas off and taking the handle of the pan. I empty it into a colander in the sink and look at the bottom of the pan. There’s half an inch of rice stuck to the bottom, and my body deflates. I knock my head against the standing fridge next to the sink.

Hard.

Joe puts a hand on my shoulder. “Look, Blake, I don’t know what’s going on with you tonight, but perhaps it’s best if you leave early. We’re quiet for a Friday and you’d be taking off in an hour anyway.”

“No.” I shake my head, grabbing a scouring pad to clean out the pan. “I’m good, Chef. Really. I’ll finish out my shift.”

“Son.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Go home. No good you being here and beating yourself up every time you make a mistake. Get yourself a good nights’ sleep and come in here tomorrow for your lunch shift, alright?”

I sigh, drop the scourer, and nod. “Got it.”

He pats my back a few times and disappears back into the main kitchen area, yelling at Matt. I pull off my chef clothes and shove them in my bag, leaving the stifling building in record time.

There’s a chill in the evening air when I step outside, and I breathe in deeply and gratefully. My steps are slow and lazy as I make my way home, my head somewhere up in the clouds. The waning light doesn’t bother me as I trundle through Brooklyn’s streets. I notice nothing and nobody around me.

All I can think of is a pair of blue eyes, wide and frantic. All I can focus on is the fear and confusion that glazed them over, clouding them until they were barely recognizable. All I care about is that she’s okay.

My craziness is made worse because she wasn’t in class yesterday. Because Bianca just shook her head with a hint of sadness when I asked where she was. Because somewhere in the back of my mind, I recognize the fear that shone in her eyes. I recognize the panic, the painful tears that dripped from her eyes, the heartbreaking shaking of her body as I carried her from the studio to Bianca’s office.

And the sobs. I recognize the body-wracking sobs because I listened to my sister cry them for months.

Every minute we spend together, I see more and more of Tori in Abbi. But I also see something Tori never had – a spark. It’s a spark that holds an honest to God dream.

Yesterday though… There was no spark. Every bit of light in Abbi’s body went out. She was a different person – there was no fun glint in her eye, no amused smirk, and no sarcastic comments. The shadows that hide in the depths of her eyes took her over completely.

The way Tori’s used to.

I have no idea why Abbi broke down; all I know is that I want to know. I want to know why she fell apart, why someone who’s so silently strong had a moment of such crippling weakness. And I want to make it better. Something about her is so endearing I can’t help but be pulled in by her – I can’t help but want to want her.

I want to hold her waist as she gets lost in the dance. I want to spin her round en pointe until she doesn’t know which way is up anymore. I want to lift her above my head and dance her across the stage so gracefully she believes she’s flying.

I want to take the tears and the pain and change them into a smile and happiness.

Maybe that’s why, when I enter my apartment, I change into a polo top and jeans and call her number without a bloody clue what I’m gonna say to her.

“Hey,” I say softly when she answers.

“Hi.”

“You weren’t at class yesterday… I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I…” She pauses, and I swallow as I wait for her reply. “I know it’s getting late, but I thought of another place to show you in Brooklyn if you want to see.”

I don’t miss her avoidance of answering my question, but something in me hopes she’ll talk more if we’re face to face.

“I think I can deal with that. As long as we don’t meet at Whole Foods again.”

“No… No Whole Foods. Promise.” If I didn’t know better I’d swear she was smiling a little.

“Where to then?”

“Brooklyn Promenade.”

~

I climb from the taxi and get my first look at the promenade. Directly across the East River is the lower Manhattan skyline on backdrop of the setting sun. I stop for a second, staring dumbly at the golden hues of the sunset crawling across the sky, only broken by the towering skyscrapers. Brooklyn Bridge stands to my right, stretching across the river, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m looking at one of the most amazing things on this side of the Atlantic.

I draw my eyes away and look to the actual promenade. Benches stretch along the length of it, backed by trees and dimly lit lampposts every few feet. Couples, families and groups of friends stroll up and down the promenade, some sitting on the benches. They’re all laughing and joking, and I walk behind the benches on a search for Abbi.