“Lawson’s getting a train home tomorrow, he’ll be over to see you,” Aunt Soph tells her, and she offers a crooked smile in return. “Maybe we should go,” she says, glancing at me, then Aunt Libby and finally Uncle Dane who nods in agreement, a thankful expression passes over his face.
Sensing Aunt Libby is about to try to talk again, I get there first. “You’re right, Aunt Soph, plus I have to get to the studio. I need a couple of hours,” I tell the room at large.
When I look back to Aunt Libby, her eyes are closing as she starts drifting off. We all tread carefully leaving the room trying not to wake her.
“She’s getting worse?” Aunt Soph asks Uncle Dane. As he nods, I can’t help but think it’s a pointless question. We can all see she’s fading fast, but I know the words are to fill the void, to say something, anything.
“She’s going to die,” the words pop out of my mouth, and my whole body jerks as if in shock from my revelation.
“Olivia!” Aunt Soph admonishes me.
“No, Tink,” Uncle Dane says, using the nickname he blessed her with years ago. “She’s right. Nova doesn’t have long,” he says dropping down onto the bench in the hallway. “I keep praying she’ll get better, convincing myself we still have a future.”
“Oh, Dane,” Aunt Soph replies on a broken sigh. She seats herself next to him, and I stand awkwardly.
“I can’t do this without her,” he murmurs quietly.
“Do what?” she asks just as quietly.
“Life.”
I’ve never heard anyone say one word with more conviction and defeat, than Uncle Dane right then. He’s not a brother, uncle, or father right now. No, he’s just a man losing the love of his life.
I take two steps back and hit the hallway table causing keys to clatter to the floor. Both their heads snap my way, and I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Shaking out the weirdness, I smile sadly. “I need to go dance.”
“I know,” Aunt Soph says returning my smile. She gets me, the dancing is my release—it will help me channel all the emotions I’m struggling with. I have no right to dump them on anybody else. Everyone is going through a tough time, and Uncle Dane is breaking apart in front of all of our eyes. Rushing to them both, I kneel and lean forward wrapping one arm around each of them.
“Love you,” I whisper into my uncle’s ear. He squeezes my arm but says nothing. Pulling back, I can’t help but look in his eyes. They’re empty, hollow, and scary as fuck.
“I need to get back to her,” he tells us both. A mask slides over his face, and he changes in front of us from broken to strong, powerless to capable, and it’s all for Aunt Libby.
Both Aunt Soph and I leave calling sad muffled goodbyes to my cousins.
Walking silently side by side until we reach the corner of the street, we’re sombre and inwardly thoughtful.
“She hasn’t got long.”
“You know that for a fact?” I ask my aunt, surprised.
She nods. “The doctor told Dane today that they believe a few weeks at most.”
Feeling winded I clutch my stomach. “Oh my God.” I panic.
“Go, dance. I’ll send Toby.”
“No, I’ll be okay on my own today,” I reply.
“Has something happened between you two? I mean, you were injured in that toilet, was there more to it?” She props one hand casually on her hip, but the arch of her eyebrow is stern.
“No, I wanted to talk to him. The truth is I think he likes Shelly, which doesn’t bode well for his relationship with his brother. I dragged him in there and ended up slipping and hurting myself.” I dilute the truth slightly so she doesn’t get too pissed at her son, a look of understanding washes through her features. “You knew Toby liked Shelly?” I question, amazed, and yet already sure of the answer.
“It isn’t that simple.” Her answer surprises me.
“It rarely is, Aunt Soph.” I kiss her cheek and walk in the opposite direction ready to burn the pain away with sweat, music, and movement.
My heart constricts, and I lose my footing, falling on my arse when I walk into the studio and to the door of the room I always use. Scrambling to my feet, I peer through the glass. What I see isn’t a mirage. On the other side of the door is a sweaty, shirtless Isaac. He’s dancing to Justin Timberlake’s ‘My Love.’ The reaction from my body is instinctive as I squeeze my thighs together. Isaac is tall and built, but not in the muscle man, Hulk type of way. Most male dancers are lean. Isaac isn’t. His muscles ripple as he moves, and if you saw him outside of this environment, you wouldn’t naturally think dancer, but fuck, he can dance. I can only assume that five years away hasn’t stopped him moving, caressing the music like he lives inside of it. To me, it looks like he never stopped, he’s as quick, fit, and agile as he always was. I should have known from the other night at the club. Today his movements are different, less sensual and more popping, locking, and street dancing.
My biggest turn on is a man who can dance, but if Isaac couldn’t
