The Right Moves (The Game #3)(21)
Author: Emma Hart

I find her a good few feet away from the majority of people here. She’s sitting on one the back of one of the benches, her feet on the seat and her elbows on her knees. Her hair is swept to one side and tucked behind her ear, giving me a perfect view of her profile as she gazes out at the city.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she asks, turning her face towards me.

“Yeah,” I reply, not taking my eyes from her. “Yeah. It is.”

She stares at me for a beat before looking away again.

“This doesn’t look like somewhere you’d hide.” I climb up onto the bench next to her, perching on the back the same way she is.

“Sometimes the best hiding place is in plain sight.” She smooths her hair back around her neck when a breeze sends it flying, peering sideways at me. “How many people do you think you walk past every day that are hiding from something?”

“Point taken.” I nod.

“I come here to remember that life goes on. It’s always so busy; the promenade is always full of people, cars are always racing over Brooklyn Bridge, and New York is always alive. Sometimes your world just stops, you know? And that’s when I need to remember its still turning.”

I don’t reply, instead watching the sun drop down even further. Gradually, one by one, the buildings of Manhattan begin to light up. The sunset is washed out by the brightness of the buildings reflecting both in the water and against the sky. Shades of orange, pink, purple and blue fill the sky behind the city as the artificial lights mix with the natural one, creating something I’m sure you can’t see anywhere else in the world.

I don’t reply, even as the colorful sky is taken over by the inky blackness of the night sky. There are no stars here, their light drowned out by the city.

“You asked me if I’m okay,” Abbi says, breaking my reverie. “I don’t know how to answer that. Sometimes I am, sometimes I’m not. Sometimes I don’t even know myself.”

I wait for her to continue, watching her as she fiddles with a lock of her hair.

“I was diagnosed with depression a year ago. It’s not something I usually tell people, but after Tuesday, I feel like you have a right to know.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything.”

“No, I do. You deserve to know this much, at least.” She takes a deep breath, finally looking at me properly. Her blue eyes are wide and earnest, completely clear of everything but a tiny dot of fear. Fear of what, I don’t know. I just know I see that fear.

“I don’t know what happened on Tuesday. The panic attacks… They kind of come along with my depression, and there’s always something that starts them. Usually I can feel when one’s coming and stop it, I can fight it, but I couldn’t on Tuesday. I haven’t had one for weeks now, and I have no idea what caused the last one. I guess I was lucky it happened when I was in a place where there was someone who knew how to calm me down.”

I scratch my nose, remembering how swiftly Bianca moved to her side. “Bianca was with you in seconds, and asked me to carry you into her office. No one really noticed – and she didn’t want you in full view of everyone.”

“Thank you,” she whispers. “For getting me out of the studio.”

“It’s okay. Really.” We both smile at each other. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead. I can’t promise I’ll answer, though.”

“Warn a guy next time, can ya? You scared the shit out of me. I’ve been wondering if I’m really that bloody bad at dancing.” I wink at her, and she laughs quietly.

“That’s it. It must be your dancing. Why didn’t I think of it before?” She shakes her head. “I’m gonna have to talk to Bianca and get her to find me a new partner.”

I half-smirk, happy to see a light back in her eyes. “Shut up,” I mutter.

Her lips twitch with a suppressed grin. “I really want some ice cream. Let’s get some.”

“You realize it’s almost nine p.m., don’t you?” I raise my eyebrows at her.

Abbi shrugs, jumping up from the bench. “It’s never too late for ice cream. Especially not from Holly’s place.”

“Of course,” I mumble as I get up. “An ice cream parlor open at nine o’clock. Bloody Americans.”

“I heard that, freakin’ British,” Abbi replies, her cheeks twitching with the fight of a smile. “It’s perfectly normal for an ice cream shop to be open at this time. At least, it is if you’re Holly’s. I actually have no idea about any other places.”

I shake my head, completely amused, and follow her away from the promenade, leaving behind the bright skyline. She runs her hand along the bushes as we walk, and I wonder if that’s one of her little quirks. She did it with almost every bush and tree we passed in Prospect Park, too.

I watch her as she picks off a leaf and tears it up, sprinkling the ripped pieces on the pavement as we walk.

“What did that leaf ever do to you?” I ask, drawing level with her.

She glances my way. “It was in my way.”

“And the pavement deserved being covered in the leaf?”

“The pavement?” She smiles.

I rub my hand down my face. “The pavement. What we’re walking on. You know – the paved thing?”

“Oh. You mean the sidewalk.”

I stare at her. “Why the hell do you call it a sidewalk?”

“Because it’s at the sides of the road and you walk on it?” Abbi snorts, stopping outside a building with a sign lit up announcing it as Holly’s Ice Cream Parlor. “I have no idea. I didn’t call it that. I told you before, it’s not my fault if you Brits don’t talk properly.”

“I’m not getting into this again.” I push open the glass door of the building and let her pass through. “Not when I’m still trying to understand why anyone would eat ice cream at this time of night.”

“You don’t have to understand it. You just have to do it. Ice cream tastes best at this time of night.”

“Okay. I’ll take your word for it.” I look at all the names on the boards hanging behind the counter, then at the freezers in front of me. And drop my jaw. I’ve never seen so many types of bloody ice cream in my life, and I have no idea what any of the dishes on the board are called.

“You’ve never been to an ice cream shop before, have you?” Abbi asks me in a voice that says she thinks I’m completely hopeless.