Spiral (Off the Ice, #2) (102)
“Look, we’re on the third act, and if you can’t figure it out by the end of it, that’s not my problem. But it’s time to choose who you’re doing this for, and whether they’re worth it.”
“Sage—”
“It’s your choice, Adam,” I say, cutting him off. I head onstage for act three. My and Jason’s scene goes perfectly. He reads my every move and pulls a darkness from me that sinks me into character. Adam has a small role where he watches us perform. When the curtains draw again, the crowd roars with applause.
“Now, that’s what I want to see,” says Zimmerman. “Nice job.”
The praise has Jason and me squealing all the way to my dressing room. I quickly change from the Black Swan and back into the White Swan. When my makeup artist heads out, I hear yelling from Adam’s room across the hall.
As I cautiously peek out from my door, his swings open forcefully, revealing Adam standing there with the door held wide. Ashley stands behind him, her chest heaving with visible rage.
“We’re done,” he declares, his voice firm and resolute.
The intercom interrupts their heated stare down. “Five to last act. All dancers ...”
“I’m tired of this. Tired of you,” Adam persists, his frustration palpable. “Get out.”
“But, babe—” Ashley attempts.
“Enough, Ashley!” Adam cuts her off sharply. “Leave, or I’ll tell everyone the truth—that you wanted me to sabotage Sage, just so you could have her role.”
My heart thumps slowly, the weight of Adam’s revelation sinking in. I had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed ignites an angry heat in my face. There’s a satisfaction rumbling through me when Ashley shrieks and storms off down the hall.
A sudden flurry of black rushes past me, heading straight for Adam. It’s Jason, still dressed as Rothbart, charging forward with determination. Adam staggers backward, caught off guard, and is pushed into his dressing room by the force of Jason’s advance.
“You asshole!”
“Jason,” I call, rushing inside to pull him away from Adam. “It’s not worth it.”
Jason’s eyes flare with red-hot anger. “He’s disgusting. Did you hear that?”
Adam sobs, his voice thick with remorse. “I’m so sorry, Sage. It was making me sick. I never should have agreed to do it. Please believe me.”
The tension is exacerbated by another announcement. “Two minutes to curtain up.”
I hear a distant angry voice boom through the halls. “Where are my leads?” Zimmerman’s voice carries a threat that has me stumbling out of the room.
“We have to tell Zimmerman,” Jason urges.
I shake my head. “We have to perform.”
“Sage.”
“No, Jason,” I assert firmly. “Everyone’s worked way too hard to get here, and I won’t let him disrupt this production.”
Elias was right; no one can dim my light, and I’ll be damned if I let Adam make it flicker. With that thought echoing in my mind, I stride purposefully toward where Zimmerman paces the wood floors. Relief washes over him when he spots me, and he gestures to stage left. “Go, go, go!”
And I’m off.
Emotion takes over my body, and I float with the music. Adam dances like perfection embodied. There’s not even a hint of the disarray I saw in his dressing room on his face. He pours the emotion of his performance into mine, like he’s letting go and somehow doing the same for me. I can’t help the smile that shines through when he completes a perfect lift. Not a single tremor in his hands as he executes it with elegance.
In Zimmerman’s version of Swan Lake, the lovers don’t meet their demise in the last act. Prince Siegfried frees Odette from the curse of the evil sorcerer, and she sheds the darkness of Odile to become her true self.
With each sweeping lift, I feel a sense of freedom wash over me. The panic from earlier dissipates, replaced by a serene confidence. The orchestra descends into the finale, and we complete our pas de deux. The spotlight shines down on me, highlighting our final move, and for a moment, time seems to stand still.
Like drops of water, contentment falls on my skin and cascades from my head all the way down to my toes. It’s like a wash of victory that settles deep in the crevices of my mind that constantly tell me I’m not good enough. It feels like proof. Like a lawyer who just won a decades-long court case, or a person lost at sea finally being rescued. Those emotions curl like a ribbon around my mind and my heart, and I can practically see the years of hard work emanate from my body.
I’ve waited my whole life for someone to tell me I’m worth it. Worth choosing, worth staying, worth loving. To tell me my dreams are attainable, and I wouldn’t be another fallen star with no way back. Elias has said that every step of the way, but it never truly clicked until this moment. Until I decided that I’m worth it.
The music stops and we remain frozen in place. The crowd erupts with applause, their cheers echoing through the theater. When the roses fall at my feet, a single pink peony lands at center stage. Its delicate petals seem to glow amid the sea of bloodred flowers.
Although I can’t see him, my smile grows wider. Because I know then that no matter how far we might be, there will always be a piece of my heart that Elias Westbrook is holding on to.