#hellcheer au

"Call me when you get there, OK?" she said. Jeff, Gareth, and Doug were already at the gate, waving at Eddie to join them.

"I'll call you every day."

"Have a great trip. And break a leg at the showcase."

Eddie grinned. "I thought dancers weren't supposed to say break a leg," he said teasingly.

Chrissy rolled her eyes at him, but she couldn't help grinning back. "Stop being a smartass. Go!" With one last, lingering kiss, she pushed him toward the gate.

As she turned away, trying not to think about the train ride home or the long week ahead, she heard Eddie's voice behind her.

"Chrissy!"

She whirled around, thinking he'd forgotten something else. But no. Eddie was walking backward, his eyes seeking her amongst the crowd. Seeing her, he crossed his hands over his heart in the unmistakable mime for "love".

Chrissy's mouth fell open. Before she could recover enough to reply, a crowd of retirees, back from some winter cruise, blocked her view, and Eddie was swept up in the rush to board his flight and was gone before she could utter a word.

As she went to work that afternoon, Chrissy's mind and heart were still reeling back and forth between two states, ecstasy—Eddie loves me! He loves me!—and regret. He'd said he loved her. Yet when it mattered the most, she hadn't been able to say it back. She supposed she could call him once he landed and tell him then, but it wouldn't be the same. She would have to wait until he came back. A week had never felt so long.

As usual, she turned to dancing to distract herself. They were already rehearsing a new ballet for the spring season—Coppelia, something cheerful for once. Although she wasn't the lead, Chrissy had a pretty big solo, so she worked hard through the afternoon. But dancing seemed to have lost its magic. All she could think of was Eddie. Her strategy of attaching his memory to every place in the studio was working, but not in the way she'd intended. Instead of making her miss him less, it only made her miss him more. Robin was back behind the piano, and Chrissy couldn't wait until the break so she could come over and talk to Robin about Eddie. When she went to get some water, it reminded her of all the secret conversations they'd had around the water fountain. And her dressing room... well, it was safe to say she could never look at the moth-eaten couch in the corner the same way again.     

After rehearsal, she was on the couch with her head back and her legs on the wall to drain her feet when the door slammed open, and Katie, who shared the dressing room with her and was dancing the lead of Swanhilda in Coppelia, came bursting in. Katie's eyes and nose were red, and her chest was heaving with sobs.

"What's wrong?" Chrissy exclaimed, sitting up. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Katie answered, though her quivering lips said otherwise.

"What happened?"

"Nothing. Henry just yelled at me, that's all."

"Why?"

Katie slumped down on the floor next to Chrissy. "Because he claims that I've gained weight over Christmas break." Katie pinched her own stomach, though there was hardly anything there to be pinched. "It's not fair. I couldn't not eat Christmas dinner, you know? Not when my mom's spent so long cooking it. But I made sure to get only the white meat, and I didn't touch any of the stuffing or desserts. And I've been making up for it ever since..."

"Stop." Chrissy put a gentle hand on her friend's shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with your body. You know Henry. He's probably just angry at something else and took it out on you."

"Yeah." Katie sighed. She started rifling through her bag. "Do you ever think this is all there is?" she asked after a while.

"All there is to what?"

"To life." Katie gestured vaguely at the drab little room. "We cry and bleed and starve and work ourselves to the bone, literally, and for what?"

Chrissy stared at her friend. "For our art, of course," she said. "For perfection. For—"

"That's just Henry talking," Katie interrupted with a wry smile. "Tell me you've never once thought about quitting and leaving all this behind."

"Never!" Chrissy said, appalled. "I'd miss it too much."

But even as she said it, she didn't feel much conviction. After all, wasn't her list an attempt to get away from ballet, at least for a while, and to convince herself that there was more to life than dance?

"Well, maybe not leave it altogether," Katie said. "But there are other ways. Remember Jane Hopper? She never got promoted from corps, but she became a choreographer, and now she has her own company."

"Not everyone has it in them to be a choreographer," Chrissy pointed out.

"No." Katie dug some snacks out of her bag and sat looking at them dispiritedly, as if trying to decide if she could power her way through the rest of rehearsal with just half a rice cake and some vitamin water. "I guess I'll just dance until my legs or my heart gives out, whichever happens first."

Katie's grim prediction for the future kept echoing in Chrissy's ears as she went home to the lonely apartment. Katie was right, of course. They could try to dance for as long as they could, but they might have to stop even before their legs gave out. They couldn't all be Margot Fonteyn, still dancing Juliet at forty years old with twenty-year-old Rudolf Nureyev as her Romeo. What would they do then, when they could no longer dance?

And then Chrissy's mind turned to the question of her own future—hers and Eddie's. Even if Eddie didn't have to move away from Chicago, the inescapable truth was that his music career would take him away from her a lot. What would she do then? Wander around like a sailor's wife waiting for her husband to return from the sea, feeling sorry for herself? Or would she do the unthinkable and give up her career to follow him?   

She thought of Jason, and her conscience pricked slightly—not quite from guilt, rather something more like self-reproach—as she wondered why she'd never felt tempted to do the same when Jason was preparing to leave. The answer came, quickly and easily—because she hadn't wanted to. And because she loved Eddie. She knew that now. She loved him, as she had never loved Jason. She loved Eddie's quick smile, how it lit up his face like the sun coming out from the clouds. She loved his eyes, how they turned a warm amber color when the light hit them just right. She loved his guffawing laugh. And most of all, she loved how he made her feel secure and wanted and loved, as Jason never had. She hadn't realized it at the time, but even on that first day on the roof, when Eddie pulled her back from the brink and held her in his arms, she had never felt safer.

As if on cue, her phone rang. It was Eddie. He'd texted her earlier to tell her they had landed, but he must have been waiting until she got home to call her.

"Hi sweetheart," he said when she picked up, and Chrissy could have wept at the familiar sound of his voice. "I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No, I'm just getting ready for bed. How's LA?"

"It's actually raining, can you believe it?" he said with a laugh. "We were supposed to go to some networking thing in the Hills, but it was cancelled because of flash floods, so we're stuck in our hotel room with nothing to do. Should've brought our dice, we could've played some D&D. We're going to the main office tomorrow though, so hopefully I can see more of the city then and tell you all about it. What about you? How was your day?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about her tangled thoughts, hoping that he could help her unravel them. Please, tell me that you want me there with you, a plaintive voice said in the back of her mind. Give me an excuse to leave. At the same time, another voice spoke up, more sternly, Stop whining, girl. You belong here, he said so himself. Stay and do your job. He's going to come back. Damn her indecisive heart! Why was it so fucking hard figuring out what she wanted?

But she couldn't bother Eddie with this, not when he had other things to worry about. "It was fine," she said. "We started rehearsing Coppelia today. I'm dancing the Dawn variation."

"That's great." Eddie was quiet for a moment, and then he began slowly, "Listen, this morning, at the airport..."

"What about the airport?" Chrissy was surprised at how calm she sounded, never once giving away that she'd replayed that moment over and over again in her head.

Another moment of silence. "Nothing," eventually Eddie said. "I'll call you tomorrow, OK?"

"OK. Good night."

As she got into the bed that felt too big for her, Chrissy's eyes caught the photo on the night table—the tintype that she and Eddie had taken at the Winter Wonderland. She looked at their blurry smiles, and suddenly everything became clear to her, as if a spotlight had been shone on it. Her whole life, she had done what others told her to. Her mother, Henry, Jason. And even Eddie, too, in a way. But no more. Her mother and Jason were out of her life. She could not work under Henry forever. And Eddie, as much as she loved him, shouldn't have to think for her. She had to learn to make her own decisions. It was her own heart that was confused. She had to figure it out for herself.

***

Standing in the wings, Eddie watched the singer of some band from San Francisco called The Moth Men take a swan dive off the stage. Stage dive at an industry showcase? Fuck, that was brave. Compared to this, Corroded Coffin's performance would be positively sedated. Eddie had to remind himself that Metal Blade was looking for a variety of styles. They didn't need to all have Ozzy's level of showiness.

But that didn't stop the heavy thudding of his heart or dry the clammy, sticky sweat on his palms. The Hollywood Palladium was not a big venue, but it was still bigger than anything they had ever played at, and Eddie found himself transported back to his first piano recital at age nine, feeling ridiculously small and lost as he looked out over the crowd. He wished Chrissy were there with him. She would understand his nervousness, having been on stage herself. But she was two thousand miles away, and he wouldn't see her for another three days.

At the thought of Chrissy, something other than nervousness tugged at his heart. He'd been calling her every day since he arrived, taking care to call in the evening to not interfere with her class and rehearsal during the day, but she'd been strangely—well, not quite distant, more like distracted. There was none of the passion that he'd grown to know very well from her. Earlier that day, she had sent him a text wishing him luck at the showcase, and that, too, had seemed matter-of-fact, not unlike the ones Wayne and the rest of Hellfire had sent him.

And then there was the matter of his love declaration at the airport. He didn't know what had come over him at that moment. He only knew that he had missed his chance to tell her the previous night, and he had to do something, to let her know somehow. She hadn't replied. And when he tried bringing up over the phone later, she'd seemed to have no clue what he was talking about, so he'd chickened out. At the time, he'd thought perhaps she hadn't seen him, or he'd messed up the mime gesture. Now, a more hideous possibility arose—what if Chrissy didn't feel the same about him at all? What if she was unsure about the two of them, because he was going away? Was it because he hadn't asked her to accompany him to LA? He'd considered it, but after seeing her on stage, and especially after seeing her in the loft, seeing the way her face lit up as she watched the performance below, he couldn't do it. He'd meant it when he'd said she belonged to ballet. He knew he could never give her the same joy, the same satisfaction, and he vowed to never do anything so selfish as to make her choose between him and her art.

But oh, how he missed her! He missed her so much it hurt, like an empty void in the pit of his stomach, and it'd never felt more acute than in this moment. Pulling out his phone, he checked the time. It was almost 10 PM in Chicago. Her show should be over by now, so he could call her. But his call went straight to voicemail. He tried again, same thing. Eddie told himself not to feel disheartened by it. Perhaps her show went later than usual, or she'd forgotten to turn her phone back on, like he had.

With a sigh, he turned away, intending to go back to the dressing room—they had a dressing room!—but Jeff, Gareth, and Doug were just as nervous as he was, if not more, and spending time with them would only worsen his nerves. So, after a brief stop at the dressing room to tell them he was going out for a smoke, Eddie kept going down the hallway, toward the exit, where he knew there was a smoking area just outside the door.

The evening breeze was blessedly cool after the stale, closed air of the venue. Eddie reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, then thought better of it—he was trying to quit anyway, since Chrissy hated smoking—and took out a joint instead. That would help to calm his nerves.

He sparked up and took a deep, grateful drag. Behind him, the door opened, but he didn't look around. It might be one of his bandmates deciding to join him, or some stagehand on a smoke break. He didn't mind the company.

"You know it's also illegal to smoke weed outside in California, right?" said an all-too-familiar voice behind him.

Eddie spun around. Chrissy was standing by the stage door, her hair loose about her shoulders, a teasing smile on her lips and in her eyes.

The joint fell from his fingers. Was she truly here, or was she a mere figment of his imagination, conjured up by his intense longing for her?

"Chrissy?" he breathed, reaching for her. "Is it really you?"

She caught his hand and pressed it to her cheek. "Does this feel real to you?"

There was her skin, warm and smooth under his fingers, there was her hair brushing against the back of his hand, and there were her eyes, gazing at him with that familiar look, like Virginie in the painting. Everything else around him vanished. Pulling her to him, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, such a deep, hard kiss that their teeth were knocked together and Chrissy's shoulders were slammed against the wall.

"Ow," she mumbled against his lips.

"Sorry, sorry," Eddie said, rubbing her back. "You OK?"

"I'm fine." She laughed and kissed him again.

It was a while before Eddie felt he'd kissed her enough to fill the void within him. "I can't believe this," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"What, I can't surprise my boyfriend at his big showcase?" Chrissy asked in mock offense, but Eddie only heard the way she'd called him my boyfriend.

"No, I mean—how are you here? What about your show?"

"I asked Heather, my alternate, to cover for me," she said.

"You skipped your show for me?"

"Not just for you. Heather deserves a chance in the spotlight too." Eddie didn't care what Heather did or did not deserve. He kissed Chrissy once more, more gently this time, but no less deeply. "This is not just a pleasure trip, you know," Chrissy continued, when they eased away from each other. "I have some business in LA."

"Yeah?" He twirled his fingers through her hair, brushing it away from her face so he could kiss her yet again.

Chrissy's lips quirked with some secret. "You remember Jane Hopper, the choreographer I told you about? The one who did Salome?" He nodded. "Well, she has a company here in LA, and she just happens to be looking for a principal dancer."

She was saying it in the exact same way he'd told her about his meeting with Metal Blade, and Eddie now replied with the same word as well. "And...?"

"And I just met with her earlier today, to throw my hat in the ring," Chrissy said, excitement flushing her face. "It's not a done deal yet, but she said she'd love to have me."

"That's great!" He pulled her into his arms. "But—you're leaving Hawkins?"

"Who says anything about leaving Hawkins? I just want to keep my options open, in case you do move out here. Besides, I think it's time I branch out, try a different kind of ballet. Maybe even look into choreographing as well."

Could it be that she had found the answer to their future? And that it would be so simple, so certain? Looking into Chrissy's sparkling eyes, Eddie found that all his doubts had disappeared.

"Something for the list, then?" he said.

"Yes." She lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed his fingers. "And here's something else for the list."

"What is it?"

"I love you too."

Eddie thought he'd misheard her. Had she just said—and "too"? "I love you too"? What did that mean?

Chrissy looked at him uncertainly, his own confusion reflected on her face. "You did tell me you love me, right?" she said. "At the airport? With the mime?" She placed her hands upon her heart, in a far more graceful version of his gesture.

Relief flooded Eddie's body. "Oh, thank God you got it!" he said. "I was afraid I'd messed it up!"

She laughed. "No, you did it just right. I was only waiting until I could tell you in person."

Her laugh was like magic, sending joy and hope coursing through Eddie. "Tell me again," he said.

"I love you," she whispered. He would have to record it, so when they were apart, he could listen to her sweet voice and gain strength from it, like it was a magical artefact from one of his D&D campaigns.

"I have something else for the list too," he said, suddenly feeling shy. "Would you mind—would you mind if I dedicate a song to you during our set? I wouldn't mention you by name or anything, but you'll know it when you hear it." Eddie had written it after he'd first seen Chrissy dance the Black Swan coda and had practiced it with the guys, but he hadn't put it on the demo they sent to Metal Blade, thinking it was something he kept for himself, never dreaming that one day he would get to shout his love for her to the world.

"You don't have to keep asking that again," Chrissy said. "I always love it when you play for me."

Behind them, the door opened again, and Jeff poked his head out. "Eddie, we're on in five," he said. "Oh, hi, Chrissy," he added, as if there was nothing strange at all about her presence. "Glad you made it."

Eddie reluctantly set Chrissy back down.

"What did Jeff mean by 'you made it'?" he asked, suspicious. "Did he know you were coming? And how did you get backstage anyway?"

"I might have called Jeff and asked him to rustle up a pass for me," Chrissy explained, holding up the backstage pass worn on a lanyard around her neck.

Eddie stared at her. "You mean the son of a bitch knew all this time and didn't say anything to me?!"

Chrissy looked sheepish. "I told him to keep it a secret."

"I'm going to have to punish his character in the campaign somehow."

"You really are incorrigible," Chrissy said, rolling her eyes.

"But you love me anyway."

"I do."

"And I love you."

"You've already told me."

"But I haven't said it. And I want to add this to my list too. The first time I say 'I love you' to Chrissy Cunningham."

Chrissy's smile widened, and Eddie thought he would never get tired of seeing that crooked tooth behind her lips.

The frontman of Corroded Coffin was a bit late on stage that night, but he led the band in such a performance that the bigwigs of Metal Blade couldn't help but be impressed. And when the band launched the next-to-last song in their set, a ballad called "Swan Song", they realized that they had something quite special on their hands, though they didn't quite know where that special feeling was coming from. If they had noticed how the frontman would often glance at the wings, where a young woman stood watching, her strawberry blonde hair bouncing to the music, and how he would return to the mic with renewed energy and passion, they would've understood. But they didn't, and so the secret was shared only by those two, like a dance that only they knew the steps.

THE END

And then, almost before she knew it, she and Jason were taking their bows to thunderous applause. Seven curtain calls—two more than Giselle! Henry would be pleased—and then the conductor came onto the stage with the traditional bouquet of roses—pure white this time, dotted here and there with fluffy baby's breath, to go with her swan costume. Chrissy accepted it gracefully, and just as gracefully—no fumbling with the ribbon, no messing up the bouquet as she had in Paris—she pulled out a stem from the back of the bouquet and handed it to Jason. She would've preferred not to give him anything at all, but she knew such a blatant disregard of traditions would set tongues wagging again, and she didn't want to ruin the night. Instead, she had asked Joyce to slip a plastic rose into the bouquet, so she could tell Jason exactly what she thought of him. To others, it looked just like the rest of the bouquet, but from the way Jason frowned and rubbed the petals between his fingers, she knew he'd realized the truth. A fake flower for a fake partner. He glared at her, and she smiled back sweetly. Whatever he did, he couldn't hurt her now.

The real flower she saved for Eddie, who was waiting with Wayne and Dustin by the stage door when she came out of her dressing room. She only paused long enough to take a few selfies with some young fans and sign their programs and pointe shoes, before making her way to Eddie. He had flowers for her as well—not a bouquet, but a pot of fuchsia, their pink petals and crimson stamens shining like jewels in the cold, dark night. Trust Eddie to find fuchsias in bloom in the midst of winter. He must have put it in the van and gone to fetch it after the show. As the three of them crowded around her with congratulations and compliments, Chrissy pulled out a rose from her bouquet and gave it to Eddie.

"What's this?" he asked, smiling.   

"It's to thank you for being a good partner," she said.

Eddie's smile wavered. "Like the one you gave Jason?"

"That was a plastic flower, for appearance's sake. This one's for you."

Eddie's smile trembled again, though not with doubt this time, and he picked her up to give her a deep kiss, as if he hadn't thoroughly ravished her just a couple of hours ago. Behind them, Dustin made a gagging sound, but Eddie only yanked Dustin's baseball cap down over the boy's eyes and continued kissing her, and Chrissy was too happy to care.

"Wayne wants to treat us all to drinks to celebrate, do you want to go?" Eddie asked after he set her down. "Or do you want to go home?"

Chrissy beamed up at him. That was what made Eddie special. He was always attentive to her wants and needs, and never tried to make decisions for her, no matter how small. That was what made her lov—

She caught herself. Did she really love Eddie? Could she truly say that she loved someone after knowing him for only three months? After Jason, she was wary of making such a declaration so early. Besides, Eddie hadn't said he loved her either. Taking a deep breath, Chrissy banished those thoughts from her head. She would not worry about such things, not now.

"Home, please," she said. "It's not that I don't want to go for a drink with you guys," she added apologetically, turning to Wayne and Dustin, "but I have two more shows tomorrow, and—"

"It's OK, sweetheart, I understand," Wayne said, patting her arm. "We can celebrate any time. Go home and rest."

"Thank you for coming to the show."

"No, no, thank you for giving us such a wonderful performance," Wayne said. "I've always thought that ballet was boring, highfalutin stuff, but I really enjoyed it."

"Enjoyed it?" Dustin scoffed. "You were crying your eyes out during the last act."

"Damn true I was," Wayne said gruffly. "Can't remember the last time I cried at anything, let alone a ballet."

Chrissy couldn't imagine a higher praise than that. At least, she'd never had such praises from her own family. Her father, when he bothered to come at all, could only muster a vague "Good job, honey," while her mother always had some criticisms ready. Heart swelling with gratitude, she hugged both Wayne and Dustin and thanked them again, before heading home with Eddie.

They were getting ready for bed, with the roses in a vase and the pot of fuchsia on a windowsill where it could catch the most sun, when Chrissy remembered Eddie's job interview.

"How did your job interview go?" she asked, feeling a little guilty. Eddie had been so supportive of her, it was the least she could do to support him back. "Sorry, I completely forgot."

Eddie shrugged. "It went well."

"What's the job?"

"Oh, it's just this—thing."

Chrissy put down her hairbrush to look at him. "Why are you being weird?"

"I'm not being weird." Suddenly Eddie became very interested in his belt buckle.

"You're doing that thing with your nose, like when you have something diabolical planned for a campaign."

"Excuse me, I have an excellent poker face," Eddie said, affronted. "None of you has been able to guess the twist of Vecna coming back and controlling the demogorgons from the Abyss!"

"Because it was terrible—" Chrissy began, then she caught herself. Eddie was trying to change the subject. It might have been a long day, and she might be tired, but she refused to let him distract her. Crossing the room to Eddie, she grabbed his belt and pulled him to her.

"Look at me," she said. "What's this job that you don't want me to know about?"

Eddie lifted his eyes to hers. "Well, it wasn't exactly a job interview," he said. "It was a meeting. With Metal Blade."

The name rang a bell in her head. "The record company?" she asked. He nodded. "Was the meeting about a... record deal?" He nodded again. "And?" she prompted.

"And they really like our demo and wanted us to play for them at a showcase," Eddie said in a rush, as if he could no longer hold it in.

Chrissy's mild irritation disappeared, replaced by excitement. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed. "Does that mean they're going to sign you?"

"Looks like it."

"That's amazing!" Wrapping her arms around him, she gave him a squeeze and a kiss. "I always know you can do it!"

"I couldn't have done it without you," Eddie said, his eyes sparkling like stars in the dim light of their bedroom. "It was you who lit the fire under my butt and convinced me to take Corroded Coffin seriously."

"So all that time you guys were rehearsing—"

"It was for our demo, yeah."

A memory resurfaced in Chrissy's mind, an irritating memory of red lips, red nails, and a long black leather trench coat.     

"Did you meet with that A&R woman, the one we saw outside The Hideout?" she asked, letting Eddie go.

"Yeah, why?"

She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "Nothing. Are you going to be working with her from now on?"

Eddie tilted his head at her, and then a grin slowly spread across his face, just like when she'd asked him about Robin. "Are you jealous?"

"I'm not!"

His grin remained. "Do you know how adorable you are when you get jealous?"

"Don't try to change the subject," Chrissy huffed. "I have pretty good reasons to be jealous. That woman was totally flirting with you when she gave you that card."

"Was she? I didn't notice."

"How could you not?! She was all over you."

Eddie's grin went from teasing to affectionate. "I guess I only had eyes for you," he said. His soft voice went straight to her heart and made Chrissy's irritation vanish completely. She let him draw her into his arms. "You have nothing to worry about, OK?" he said, kissing her. "Not from Ms. Warner, or any other woman."

"Maybe I need a bit more convincing," Chrissy whispered, smiling against his lips.

Eddie laughed. He picked her up and carried her to bed, shedding his clothes along the way.

"When's the showcase?" Chrissy asked later, as they lay snuggled in each other's arms, after she had been thoroughly convinced of Eddie's devotion—several times.

"Next Saturday," Eddie replied. "But we have to meet with the execs first, so we're flying out there a couple of days early."

"Out there? Out where?"

Eddie looked slightly uncomfortable. "Los Angeles," he said.

Chrissy's heart sank. She remembered Eddie had told her that Metal Blade's HQ was in Los Angeles, but it hadn't occurred to her that he would have to go there.

"I'm sorry I'm going to miss next week's shows," Eddie continued.

"Never mind that." She wasn't thinking about her own shows. "I'm sorry I'm going to miss your showcase."

"It's no big deal. You've been to our shows, this is just like that. Nothing special."

"But it is a big deal." She brushed his curls away so she could caress his cheek. "You were here for my big debut, and I want to be there for yours too."

"I don't mind, honestly." He kissed her palm and pressed her hand against his cheek for a moment. "There are going to be other shows in the future."

But something was still bothering Chrissy, and it wasn't just the fact that she was missing Corroded Coffin's first big show. Then, the next day, during company class, she heard Nancy give Jason a stern talking-to for his tardiness—he looked like he'd spent the night drinking—and suddenly Chrissy realized what it was.

What was happening with Eddie now was exactly what had happened with Jason. Her boyfriend was getting a big opportunity and leaving her.

Even though she was certain Eddie would not behave in the same way Jason had, Chrissy couldn't help feeling bitter at the irony of it all. She'd tried so hard to put the whole thing with Jason behind her, and now, just when she'd finally met someone nice and kind and apparently as crazy about her as she was about him, Fate dealt her the same hand.

"Eddie," she said later that evening, when they were in a diner, having a quick bite between the matinee and the evening show, "what happens after the showcase?"

"Hopefully, we're going to record an album, do some promotion, stuff like that. One of their biggest bands is going on tour later this year, and the plan is for us to open for them during the East Coast and Midwest legs, see how the crowd responds. If they like us, we're going to support them for the rest of the tour..."

"Will you have to move to LA?"

Eddie shrugged. "I don't think so."

"But what if you have to?"

The anxiety in her voice made him look up. After watching her for a moment, he crossed the booth to sit next to her.

"I won't," he said, pulling her into his arms. "Lots of bands are based in Chicago, and the company has an office here. Don't worry."

She nodded, slightly appeased, and dropped the matter at that. She didn't want to appear whiny or clingy, or worse, for Eddie to think she was guilt-tripping him. But the thought was still there in the back of her mind, like a thorn that refused to be dislodged, spreading its poison throughout her body. What if Eddie did have to move to LA after all? What if he decided that he wanted to? Would he ask her to follow him? Would she agree? What if he met someone while he was out there? That A&R woman—what was her name? Paige something?—was still circling him like a goddamn bird of prey, calling, texting him at all hours. Chrissy trusted that Eddie would never cheat on her, but how could she know for sure? Their relationship was so new, and their future was still up in the air. What if—what if—what if—those questions kept churning over and over in her thoughts, gnawing away at her. Only when she was dancing did she manage to escape them.

Normally, she would talk to Eddie to relieve her worries, but she couldn't now, not when Eddie himself was the source of worries. And Eddie had his own worries too. He didn't say anything, but she knew he was nervous about the showcase. He spent most days rehearsing with the guys and agonizing about what to pack, having never traveled outside of Chicago before. Chrissy did her best to help him, but she couldn't do much, distracted as she was. They were like two balls of nerves orbiting each other, pulling at each other, making each other spin faster and faster with no hope of slowing down.

Monday was Chrissy's day off. Eddie was supposed to fly to LA the next day, so they had dinner with Wayne and then turned in for an early night. Eddie finished packing, while Chrissy kept herself busy by sewing her pointe shoes. They talked about silly little things, her reminding him to pack sunscreen, him jokingly asking her what kind of touristy junk she wanted him to bring back from Hollywood. But there were other things, more important things that she wanted to say but couldn't find the words, more important things she wanted to see in his eyes, even if he didn't speak them.

At one point, Chrissy looked up just in time to see Eddie put the Dio shirt she'd given him for Christmas into his bag, almost reverently.

"You're taking that?" she asked, surprised.

"I'm going to wear it at the showcase, for good luck," Eddie explained.

"Really?"

"You don't think I should?" Eddie looked at the shirt again. "Why? What's wrong with it?"

"It's OK for a show at The Hideout, but for a showcase at the Hollywood Palladium, you'd want to look your best, don't you?"

Eddie came to kneel in front of her, taking her hands in his. "I'm going to wear it, because it's your present," he said. "It'll make me feel like you're there with me."

Something in the way he said those words, in the way those beloved eyes looked into hers, went straight to her heart like the sweetest arrow, making her want to kiss him or sob into his chest and beg him not to leave her even for a second. But she did neither. Making up her mind, she put her needle down and rose to her feet.

"Come on," she said, pulling at Eddie's hand. "We're going out." She was done with all this moping around and feeling miserable.

Eddie scrambled to follow her. "Where?"

"To the theater."

"But it's your night off."

"I want to show you something."

There was no main show at the theater on weekdays, but there would be student recitals. Chrissy ushered Eddie in through the stage door. She did not stop at the theater's entrance with its noticeboard announcing a student performance of Balanchine's Jewels, but took him backstage, where all the riggings for the lights, curtains, and scenery were set up. From here, they could hear the lively score of Rubies, the second act of the ballet, coming in from the front of house. She found Sam, head of the fly crew, sitting at his desk, frowning over his lighting charts, running a hand through his sparse silvery hair. He looked up at the sound of them approaching, and a smile broke out on his friendly face.

"Hello to my favorite ballerina," he said. Sam had been working at Hawkins for longer than Chrissy was alive and was about the only person allowed to call her "ballerina". He nodded toward the stage. "Here to check out the next generation?" 

"Actually, can we go up to the loft?" Chrissy asked. Seeing Sam's doubtful eyes on Eddie, she quickly added, "Just for the last act."

Sam waved to the small door behind him. "Be careful, OK?" he said.

"We will. Thank you!"

Taking Eddie's hand, she led the way up the stairs, up, up, up, until they reached a tiny door. Faint applause indicated that Rubies had ended, and soon after, the score for Diamonds began.

"Where are you taking me?" Eddie whispered.

"Shh." Chrissy pushed open the door. Music spilled out, as if they were sitting right by the orchestra pit, and an extraordinary sight greeted them—a space as large as the theater itself, crisscrossed by a system of catwalks and thick with ropes and pulleys suspended from beams as far as the eye could see. It was like being in a very symmetrical and industrial forest.

"This," she said proudly, "is my favorite place in the theater."

Eddie's eyes widened as he took in the fly loft. Chrissy stepped through the door and onto a platform extending above the stage, which gave her a direct view of the dancers below. "When I first started coming to Hawkins as a student, I would spend all my breaks up here, watching the student matinees and the dress rehearsals..." She realized Eddie had not followed her to the catwalk. He was still standing by the door, hugging the frame. "What are you doing?" she said.

"I'm—uh, admiring the view."

"But you can't see anything from there!"

"I can see the flies from here. That's good enough for me."

She went back and tugged at his hand. "Come on. It's perfectly safe."

"Nah, I'm good over here," he said, holding fast to the door.

"Remember the Centennial Wheel? You did great up there."

"That was different. We were enclosed in the gondola. Here, we're all exposed. And the platforms aren't even solid!" Eddie stared at the wired surface of the catwalks, looking positively green.

Chrissy put her hand on his. "Do you trust me?" she asked. Eddie lifted his big, round eyes, looking strangely vulnerable in the murkiness of the corridor, to her face. Wordlessly, he nodded. "Then close your eyes and take my hand."

He complied, as trusting as a kid. Holding his hand in a firm but gentle grip, she guided him through the door and onto the platform. There, she rested his hands on the railing. "You can look now."

He opened his eyes slowly, his hands not releasing their white-knuckled grip on the railing. Then his gaze fell upon the stage under their feet, and his mouth dropped open. Chrissy smiled to herself. That bird's-eye view was the magic of the loft. It was the reason she loved this place more than anywhere else in the theater. When watched from the front, the performance was simply a tableau, an unfolding scene of people moving from left to right or back to front, pretty but conventional. From this height, the stage became a living map, and the dancers' movements were a kaleidoscope of shapes and lines. It was especially mesmerizing when the ballet included a large corps, like Diamonds.

They fell quiet, watching the performance below, though in truth, Chrissy was more focused on watching Eddie than the ballet. She did her best to commit to memory every little detail, the way his curls framed his handsome profile, the way his eyes reflected the lights, the way his plump lips parted in fascination as the corps fanned out in intricate, synchronized formations around the two principals, the way his fingers no longer gripped the railing but flitted over it as if he was playing along to the music. Sensing her gaze, Eddie turned to her, and her cheeks warmed as their eyes met. She thought she'd get used to his eyes by now, but somehow he still had the power to make her blush.

"When I was a kid, I used to come up here and pretend I was a puppet master," she said, turning away to hide her fluster. "I would memorize the choreography so I could make the dancers move where I wanted... What?" she asked, a tad defensively at Eddie's smile.

"Nothing. I love it when you talk ballet, that's all." He looked around the loft before returning his gaze to her. "You belong here," he said.

"I've never brought another person up here, you know. Not even Jason."

"Another one for the list then." Turning back to her, Eddie asked, "So why now? Why me?"

"Because I want to make new memories with you." She hadn't thought about it, but now, as she said it, she realized it was true. Almost everything they'd done together, all the items on her list, had been Eddie bringing her into his world. Now she wanted to bring him into her world, so when she walked the hallways, rehearsed in the studio, tried on the costumes, or performed on stage, she could feel his presence there with her. "Because I want every square inch of this place to remind me of you, so I wouldn't miss you so much even when you're not here."

Eddie's eyes sparkled again, not with the reflection of the stage lights this time, but with a light from inside, warm and full of affection. "If you keep talking like that," he said in a low rumble, like he didn't trust himself to keep his voice steady, "you're going to make it very difficult for me to leave."

"Oh no!" she said quickly. "That's not what I meant at all. It's just—we've had so little time together, and now we're going to have even less."

"I know, sweetheart, I know." Drawing her close, he kissed her hair, her temple, and her cheek, stopping at the corner of her lips. "But we still have tonight," he murmured against her skin. "So what are we going to do to make this place more memorable?"     

"I have no idea. What do you have in mind?"

A smile tugged at Eddie's lips as he brushed his little finger over the back of her hand suggestively. Chrissy widened her eyes in understanding. "Really?" she asked. "Here?" But even as she acted shocked, the insistent caress of his finger was making her pulse race.

"You don't want to?" Eddie said.

Her pulse was everywhere now—in her heart, in her ears, on the back of her hand where he was touching her, and between her legs. "I do. Always."

Eddie's smile turned naughty, sending a burst of liquid fire through her. "What's the problem then? Nobody's coming up here, right?"

"No, not in the middle of a show. Their controls are down there."

"So, what is it?"

"I mean—"

She looked around the loft with its forest of ropes and pulleys and its maze of catwalk, stacked with weights and sandbags to be added to the pulleys for balance when necessary. It certainly was not the most romantic of places.

"The way I see it, we've done it in the costume vault and your dressing room, and we almost did it in the studio, so why not here?" Eddie said. "Sure, it's not the most comfortable, but we never let that stop us, do we?"

Chrissy grinned. "You're incorrigible, you know that?" she said, leaning forward to kiss him.

He smiled into the kiss. "From what I remember, you were the instigator in two out of those three times. So between the two of us, who's the incorrigible one?"

A giggle escaped her, and Eddie covered her mouth with his to hush it up. With their lips still locked, he walked her toward the far wall, where he lifted her onto a waist-high pile of sandbags, so her back was against a supporting column.

"This is crazy," Chrissy whispered. This wasn't what she'd had in mind when she brought Eddie to the theater. She'd never even considered herself the kind of person who could be driven by wild lust into doing unhinged, uncomfortable things like having sex in the fly loft. Or the costume vault. Or her dressing room. But she had. And was. What did that say about her? About her and Eddie?

"You make me crazy," Eddie said.

She could say the same thing about him. But he was kissing her again, and everything that was not him—the rough sandbags underneath her, the freezing steel column at her back, the music and the stage below, even her confused thoughts—all fell away. There was nothing else but his eager mouth on her, and his impatient hands skimming over her body, reaching under her sweater dress. The feel of his steel rings on her inner thighs made her whimper, and she rolled her hips against him, desperate for some friction. When he finally touched the hot, damp lace between her legs, pulled it down and over her boots, and tossed it aside, it was all she could do not to moan out loud. She had to remind herself that they were barely fifty feet from the stage, and any of the dancers only had to look up to spy them.

"We have to be quiet," she panted.

"I make no guarantees," Eddie said with a soft laugh, pushing her dress up above her hips. Goosebumps pebbled her skin when the cold air hit her thighs, but they quickly disappeared when Eddie settled between her knees. Despite their less-than-ideal surroundings, despite the fact that they might get caught any moment, he seemed determined to take his sweet time, mapping her body with his hands and mouth just as he had their first night together, memorizing her by touch just as she had memorized him by sight a few minutes ago. Chrissy arched her back, twining her fingers into his curls to press him against her, closer, tighter, more.

Release came a moment later, stars bursting behind her eyelids like the sparkles on the diamond costumes of the dancers below. But it did not bring relief. Instead, fear seized her again, and she pulled Eddie back to her, locking her arms and legs around him, pressing her forehead against his shoulder, afraid he would disappear if she let go.  

"You will come back to me, will you?" she asked, her voice tinged with desperation.

"Of course I will!" he said, kissing his way up her breasts and neck, his lips hot through the wool of her sweater dress. "It's just a meeting and a show. I'll only be gone for a week."

"No, I mean—after that—"

He looked at her then. Seeing the fear in her eyes, his face softened. "I'm always here for you, OK?" he said, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek. "Yeah, we'll be on tour and stuff, but if you need me, I'm just a phone call away. And if we're on tour during your off-season, you can even join us."

Chrissy smiled as hope sparked in her heart once more. "Maybe I can be your backup dancer."

"Yeah. Like Alice Cooper and his wife."

"... Who?"

"Oh, sweetheart." Eddie chuckled. "There's so much I have to teach you about rock music."

Their lips found each other once more, and all talking ceased after that. As the music reached its finale, it seemed to accompany them on a dance of their own making, toward their own climax, and the cheers that followed were also for them, as they brought each other to the edge and back again. 

"See? How can I not come back to you, to this?" Eddie said in her ear, once the applause died down. Cupping her face in his palms, he looked into her eyes. "I lo—"

He never got to finish. From outside the door came Sam's voice, getting closer and closer, "Hey, you kids OK up here?"

Chrissy had never moved so fast in her life. While Eddie pulled up his jeans, she jumped down from the sandbags, smoothed her dress, and snatched her underwear, forgotten on the catwalk. It was too late to put them on, so she shoved them into Eddie's hand, just as Sam pushed open the door.

"Show's over," the old man said. He narrowed his eyes at them, and Chrissy did her best to lean against the column nonchalantly, as if she had just been showing Eddie around.

"Yep, we're leaving," she said, taking Eddie's hand to lead him out. Belatedly, she realized he was still holding her discarded underwear. Seeing her eyes widen in horror, Eddie looked down at the handful of lace and cotton in his hand and quickly stuffed it into his pocket. Chrissy could only hope that the loft was dim enough. "Thank you, Sam. Bye!" she said over her shoulder as she and Eddie booked it for the door, giggling as they went.

If Chrissy had wanted to make the night memorable for Eddie, then this certainly fitted the bill. They were still laughing about it when they got home and went to bed. It wasn't until she was falling asleep that Chrissy remembered what Eddie had been saying before Sam interrupted them. Had he tried to say he loved her? Should she ask? But Eddie was fast asleep, and he had an early flight the next day. No, it could wait. He would come back. She would ask him then.

Chapter 17

Here is Balanchine's Diamond in full. There are some overhead shots in it to give you an idea of the view from the loft.

Chrissy pulled her robe closer and strained her neck to watch the plaza outside. Some theater goers caught sight of her and glanced at each other in surprise. No doubt they had recognized her from the huge posters hanging on either side of the entrance and were wondering what the Swan Queen was doing there, half-dressed, her makeup half-done. She paid them no attention. Where was Eddie? What kind of job had an interview on a Friday night anyway? She'd tried asking, but he had only shaken his head and said, using his usual excuse, "I don't want to jinx it." She understood the stress he was under. After leaving Hawkins Ballet, Eddie had been picking up some shifts here and there at Upside Down Board Games, courtesy of Kenny, but he wanted something more permanent, something related to music. And Chrissy didn't want to stress him out more, because now that her parents had cut her off, she also had to think, for the first time in her life, about saving up and supplementing her income during the off-season—by applying for a guest artist spot at another company, or perhaps even teaching. So she hadn't pressed him for an answer.

From the hallway behind her, Chrissy could hear the stage manager calling for places in five. With a sigh, she gave up her vigil and was about to head back to her dressing room, when she heard a voice behind her, "Chrissy!"

Spinning around, she saw Dustin and Wayne coming through the door. Eddie had told her that they were coming to the show. She had given Eddie the three comp tickets she usually got for her family, and since the other members of Corroded Coffin and the rest of their D&D group were all busy that night, Eddie had given the remaining two tickets to Wayne and Dustin. Chrissy had promised to get the others more tickets for any night they wanted to come, happy to do it because this was the first time she had friends outside of the company that she could invite to the show. As for himself, Eddie had insisted on taking the comp ticket for opening night only. For the rest of the run, he would buy tickets with his own money, to show his support.

"Are you planning on coming to every performance then?" Chrissy had asked.

"Of course I am."

"But it's a lot of money! Even the nosebleed section is forty-five dollars a ticket. That's over four hundred bucks for the remaining nine shows!"

"I don't mind," Eddie had replied. "My girlfriend's the principal dancer in the biggest ballet in the city. Of course I'm coming to every performance. It's worth it!"

The way he'd said my girlfriend had been so natural and matter-of-fact that Chrissy had forgotten everything else.

Now, Dustin ran to her. "Sorry we're late," he said, panting. "I had to finish something up for class, and then I had to pick Wayne up—"

"Where's Eddie?" Chrissy asked.

"He couldn't make it."

Chrissy's heart sank to the bottom of her pointe shoes. "What?!"

"He's still going to be here for the show," Dustin said quickly. "But his, um, the job interview ran later than he thought, so he can't be here to wish you good luck."

"He asked us to do it for him," Wayne chimed in. "So good luck, sweetheart! Or however you say it in ballet."

"We do say 'Good luck' too." Chrissy tried to muster up a smile and hide her disappointment.

"He also sent you this." Dustin gave her a little box.

Chrissy opened it. Inside, nestled in black velvet, was a pair of delicate silver earrings in the shape of fuchsia flowers, with a note that said, in Eddie's messy handwriting, Good luck to my Tiny Cosmic Dancer. From your Piano Man.

Her smile was not forced now. She took out the earrings and put them on. Odile's costume did include a pair of dangling earrings, but no one would notice that she was wearing a different pair than the one Joyce provided. As for Odette, her ears would be hidden under the feather headpiece anyway.

"Thank you," Chrissy said to both Dustin and Wayne. "Enjoy the show, OK?"

With smiles and goodbye waves at her, they made their way into the theater, while Chrissy hurried back to her dressing room to finish her makeup.

And then, in almost no time at all, she was stepping out of the wings and onto the stage to the prologue music. There wasn't much for her to do during the prologue, where the choreography was pretty straightforward—the most complicated part was the transformation, whose success relied on the two dressers waiting in the wings. Once Billy-as-Rothbart lured Chrissy into his cavern, they would have about ten seconds to take off the wig that was hiding her bun and change her out of her princess dress into her Swan Queen costume, with its iconic tutu and tiara. Chrissy simply let them do their job, only checking the earrings to make sure they stayed in place while the dressers were putting the tutu on her. Once the applause had faded, she retreated to her dressing room to wait out the long, rather tedious Act One.

She couldn't sit still. The bare cinderblock walls of the dressing room seemed to be pressing in on her, making it hard to breathe. She checked her phone—no message from Eddie. She tried calling him—it went straight to voicemail. That, of course, didn't mean anything. He might have arrived at the theater already and simply turned his phone off. Just to have something to do, Chrissy went back to the wings, weaving her way through giggling corps members, and looked through the little peephole there, cut into the wall so antsy dancers could check on the audience while awaiting their entrance. But the audience appeared to her as one faceless mass, blurred by the darkness and her own nervousness. She touched one of the earrings under her headpiece, finding courage in it. He hadn't forgotten—the earrings and his message were proof of that. No, he was simply—tied up—somewhere. But where?!

She turned and almost collided with Jason, who had just finished his Act One variation. He looked at her without the usual hostility of the past few weeks. "Nervous?" he asked.

"No," she said shortly. She would not give him the satisfaction of crowing over her.

"Good. You'll be great out there, I'm sure."

With that, he returned to the stage, leaving Chrissy to narrow her eyes after him. Why was he suddenly nice to her? Had he finally seen the error of his ways, or was he scheming something?

Act One was wrapping up, and Chrissy tried to put Eddie's strange absence and Jason's suspicious behavior out of her mind. It was time for Act Two. This was her grand entrance, this was what all those long months of hard work and heartache had been leading up to. She had to focus. Touching the earrings one last time for good luck, she stepped into the spotlight.

But even as she danced her way past the corps, looking impeccable in their tutus, which were similar to hers except not as elaborately decorated, Chrissy could feel the old fears resurfacing. Everybody's eyes were on her—not just the audience's, but also the corps', and Jason's and Henry's from the wings—and their scrutiny made her want to crawl out of her skin. Only her professionalism kept her going through the movements that had become second nature to her after months of rehearsing. She knew her dancing was mechanical, passionless—and from the displeasure in his eyes, Henry knew it too. She could only hope that the audience didn't see it.

The call for intermission couldn't come soon enough.

Back in her dressing room, Chrissy reached for her phone, wanting to see if there was any message from Eddie, while at the same time shedding the white tutu to change into Odile's black one for Act Three. Before she could turn her phone on, the door behind her opened. Could it be—?

She whirled around, only to let out a sigh in disappointment. It wasn't Eddie. It was Jason.

"I'd appreciate it if you knock next time," she said coldly. She turned her back against him and continued undressing. There was no need to act shy or coy around Jason. He'd seen everything there was to see anyway—everything, except for what mattered the most.

"Can we talk?" Jason asked.

"I have nothing to say to you," said Chrissy.

"OK, can you just listen then?" Jason tugged at the front of his white velvet doublet, a nervous gesture that she'd never seen from him. "Look, I'm really sorry about—about everything that happened between us. I'm sorry you felt cast aside."

Chrissy had finished with her Black Swan costume. She started on her makeup, wondering why Jason's apology had such little effect on her, despite having waited to hear him say it for months. Perhaps because it wasn't much of an apology. It was "sorry you felt this way", not "sorry I did this to you." No taking accountability whatsoever. Typical of Jason. Or perhaps she no longer cared.

Jason waited, and when it became clear that Chrissy wasn't going to say anything, he continued, "I've talked to Monsieur Lefèvre about you. Well, actually, I've sent him a couple of videos of your rehearsals. I hope you don't mind."

His audacity made Chrissy drop her eyeliner. "When did you record me?" she said, affronted.

"It doesn't matter," Jason said, his own arrogance coming through again. Chrissy suspected this whole contrite act was just that—an act. But what was he getting at? "The point is, Lefèvre's impressed. He says they may be able to extend the offer to you."

Chrissy's heart jumped. An offer from Ballet de l'Opéra national de Paris? Thousands of ballet dancers dreamed of it and never touched it. And here she was, with an offer from the directeur de la danse himself? For a moment, she was back in that graceful, romantic old building, this time not as a mere visitor, but as a part of it. 

"Not as a full-time dancer just yet," Jason added quickly. "Perhaps as a guest artist, to start with. He thinks they have a good chance of drawing a younger audience to the theater with the two of us as the faces of their new season, you know, America's sweethearts..."

Sweetheart. That word, the term of endearment that Eddie always called her, broke the spell and brought Chrissy back to reality. She glanced at Jason in the mirror. He gave her what he clearly thought was a charming, seductive smile, but now that she'd seen through him, she saw that smile for what it really was—a mask used for manipulation, with nothing real beneath it. So he thought he could bribe her into taking him back, didn't he? Just so he could further his own career? That was all she ever was to him. A stepping stone, a tool for him to secure his position. He never cared about her. All he ever cared about was himself.

Well, she would set him right.

"No, thanks," she said, picking up her eyeliner again.

"Are you crazy?" Jason said, his mask cracking a little, showing the nastiness underneath. "Do you know how many dancers are scrambling to even get an audition with Lefèvre? He's breaking hundreds of years of traditions to give you a direct offer, and you turned him down?"

"I'm turning you down," Chrissy said, finally turning around to face him. "And you forget, there is no more 'us'. I'm with Eddie now."

Jason's face twisted in anger, but only for a second, before he carefully rearranged his features into something more pleasant. "Oh yeah, Eddie," he said dismissively. "Where is he? Don't tell me he can't be bothered to come here to support you on opening night. Did he even send you flowers?" 

Chrissy opened her mouth to retort, but the words didn't come. Jason had caught her. She had been asking herself those same questions.

Catching a glimpse of the fleeting doubt on her face, Jason smiled again. "You see, Chris, that's the trouble with dating someone outside of ballet," he said. "He'll never understand what you have to do, what you have to give up for greatness... unlike me." He took a step closer. "We made a wonderful team, haven't we? We can be that team again. If you give me another chance. Please."

Chrissy pushed his hand away. She would no longer waste her breath arguing with him. "Get out of my room, or I'll scream," she said, doing her best to keep her voice steady, though inside, she was already screaming.

Eddie, Eddie... Where are you?!

***

Eddie squirmed in his seat, fighting the urge to glance at his phone. He knew he was already too late to meet Chrissy by the stage door, but at this rate, he might not even make it to the theater in time for the prologue.

Not noticing Eddie's discomfort—or noticing it and choosing to ignore it—Ms. Warner took her time turning off the projector's screen before swiveling in her chair to face him and his bandmates, lacing her crimson-nailed fingers together. "Well, I think it's safe to say that my boss likes you guys," she said, smiling. "And if you perform at the showcase as well as you did on your demo, I'm sure the other execs would agree."

Jeff, Gareth, and Doug exchanged excited looks. Their future was so close they could practically taste it. Eddie shared their excitement, though his was considerably dampened by his worry about making it to Swan Lake on time.

"My office will be sending you your plane tickets within the next two days, and we'll finalize your travel plans then," Ms. Warner continued. "Any questions?"

Eddie glared at his bandmates, feeling like he had in school, when there would always be that one annoying kid who had a million questions right before the bell. Thankfully, the guys knew about the show, so they all shook their heads.

"Well, in that case," Ms. Warner said brightly, "see you in LA! Should be a nice change from this, right?" She gestured to the snow-covered city outside her window.

"We can't wait," Jeff said.

At last, at last, she got to her feet, and the guys followed suit. Eddie was ready to bolt, but Ms. Warner was not done with them yet. "Would you like to go out for a drink, to celebrate?" she asked, looking at him. Then, noticing the others' glances, she added, a tad reluctantly, "All of you. My treat."

"That sounds great, thank you, but I have somewhere I have to be like... now," Eddie said.

"Oh." Ms. Warner's red lips turned down in disappointment. "Maybe we'll save that drink for after the showcase. I can show you—I mean, you guys—the best spots in LA—"

"Greatthankyoubye!" Eddie grabbed her hand, gave it a quick shake, and, pushing his chair back, he ran out of the office at top speed.

"Tell Chrissy that we wish her good luck!" Gareth called after him.

The bumper-to-bumper traffic of a Friday night in downtown Chicago greeted Eddie as soon as he stepped out of the building and onto the sidewalk. If he tried to maneuver his van into this, he would never get out. Luckily, the Metal Blade office and Hawkins' theater were both in the Loop. Bending his head against the icy wind, Eddie ran for it. He would get there far quicker on foot than in a car.

The prologue music had already begun by the time Eddie ran into the theater, huffing and puffing like a steam engine. Just in time. He hadn't missed the transformation. If it hadn't been for the prologue, he would've gladly skipped the entire Act One, but he didn't want to miss a single second of Chrissy on stage. Whispering his apologies to the ballet patrons, all dressed up to the nines for their night out on the town, he picked his way through the dim theater until he came upon his seat. 

"We thought you were a goner," Dustin said out of the corner of his mouth as Eddie plopped into the seat next to him.

"Me too, man," Eddie replied, still trying to catch his breath. "Me too."

A snooty-looking woman sitting in front spun around to glare at them in disapproval. Eddie mouthed "Sorry" to her before turning his attention back to the stage. Chrissy-as-Odette had just been lured into a cave by a mysterious gentleman. Seconds later, the gentleman reappeared at the mouth of the cave, revealing himself to be the evil wizard Rothbart, followed by Odette herself, now fully transformed into the Swan Queen. As she fluttered her fingers down her face in a gesture of despair—the mime for "crying", which Eddie still remembered from his lesson—a murmur of awe went around the audience, impressed by the transformation. Eddie beamed with pride, as if he himself was responsible for it. Chrissy had told him how it was done. Some companies projected an image of the transformed Odette on a screen, while others used doubles—one dancer to play the human Odette, and another to play her in swan form. Creel, being a stickler for detail, had insisted on a quick change instead, to make sure Chrissy appeared in both forms. Eddie was glad of that. If they had used a double, he would've been able to tell that it wasn't Chrissy, even from a distance, and it would've ruined the magic for him.

And the magic continued. Eddie thought he would hate Act One, because it was the one where Chrissy didn't appear. It was true he didn't relish watching Carver jump and twirl around the stage for half an hour, but he couldn't help being taken in by the movements, the costumes, the spectacle of it all. He thought he would hate the music too, having suffered through it during the rehearsals, but the musician in him loved it. It was completely different from a rock concert, and it was similar at the same time—it sent his blood pumping and made him feel like he could crank out a full album in the next hour or so. He could see now why Chrissy loved it so much, why she was willing to suffer so much just to be on that stage.

Then Act Two began, and he forgot everything else. He had seen Chrissy dance many, many times, but it was nothing compared to this—on stage, in full costume, with an orchestra backing her. This was where she belonged. As she flew and fluttered across the stage in her white tutu and sparkly tiara, she practically glowed. It was—and the DM in him railed at such a repetitive, unimaginative choice of description, but the artist in him knew there was no other word for it—magical.  

Yet something was not quite right. It was there in the set of Chrissy's shoulders, in the way she held her arms, in her eyes as she looked at the audience. The mesmerized audience only saw Odette, fragile, nervous, unsure if she could trust Prince Siegfried, but Eddie, who had seen her as a girl so anxious that she was unable to even set foot on the dance floor, who had seen her as Prom Queen, who had seen her as Salome, saw the difference. Chrissy wasn't acting nervous. She was nervous. But why?

She cast another look at the audience, her eyes roaming over them as if searching for someone. Was it him? Shit. He'd meant to send her a text once he arrived at the theater, but he'd kept his phone off since the meeting and forgotten to turn it back on. Now he pulled it out, and, hiding the eye-searingly bright screen under his jacket, turned it on. There were six missed calls from Chrissy, and several texts. Shit, shit, shit. No wonder she was so downcast. She thought he wasn't there.

As soon as the dancers had taken their bows and the curtains came down for the intermission, Eddie rose from his seat. He'd borrowed a Hawkins Ballet crew pass from Robin just in case, and now, putting it around his neck, he made his way backstage, through the familiar labyrinth of hallways that led to Chrissy's dressing room. Nobody stopped him. Nobody even glanced at him, too intent they were on whatever it was they were doing.

At the door of Chrissy's dressing room, he knocked. The door was opened, and Eddie's smile died on his lips. A bizarre scene appeared before him—Jason at the door, and behind Jason, Chrissy was sitting by her dressing table, her face murderous, her fingers gripping her makeup brush as if she was going to stab someone—Jason, or possibly himself, Eddie wasn't sure—with it.

"What are you doing here?" Eddie and Jason said at the same time.

Eddie would've laughed at the absurdity of it all, but at that moment, Chrissy's face brightened up like the spring sun after a long winter. "Eddie!" she exclaimed and ran to him, jumping up to wrap her arms around his neck.

"Sorry I'm late, sweetheart," he said, returning her embrace while still glaring at Jason. "And sorry I didn't call you earlier. My phone was off."

"That's OK," Chrissy said, burying her face in his chest. "You're here now, that's all that matters."

"Hey!" Jason interjected. "We were in the middle of a conversation here!"

Chrissy turned to glare at him. "No, we're done," she said and indicated the open door. "Leave. Now."

"You cannot be here," Jason said to Eddie. "Henry told you—"

"He doesn't own the building," Eddie scoffed. "But go ahead and squeal to him like the little rat that you are, Carver. See if I care."

Jason looked from Eddie to Chrissy, his face twisted into something ugly. "This"—he spat at Chrissy, while pointing at Eddie—"is all you're ever going to amount to. You two deserve each other." He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

"You OK?" Eddie asked, once Jason had gone. "What did he do?"

Chrissy let out a short laugh. "He told me the Paris Opera Ballet will offer me a guest artist spot because they want to market him and me as America's sweethearts," she said.

"Jesus." Eddie shook his head. "The guy doesn't know when to give up, does he?"

Chrissy sighed and put her head on his shoulder again. "And I still have nine more shows with him."

"Look," Eddie said, "forget about Jason. You were amazing out there. Just keep dancing like that, and you'll do great."

"I wasn't great. You must have seen how stiff I was during the variation—"

Eddie put his hand under her chin, raised her face to his, and gave her a soft kiss, cutting her off. "Dance like you danced Salome, then," he said.

Chrissy's eyebrows went up.

"Salome?" she said, her eyes sparkling with wicked intent as if she was reliving their adventure in the costume vault. "I think I need a reminder..."

Her suggestive grin was back, sending the familiar fire through his veins. How could he say no to her, when she looked at him like that?

"Do we have time?" he whispered, even though they were alone.

"Odile doesn't come on until twenty minutes into Act Three."

"Only twenty minutes?"

"Shut up and kiss me." She reached behind him and turned the deadbolt, locking them in. "But don't ruin my make-up."

The click of the deadbolt went through Eddie like electricity. "I'll do my best," he said. Leaning down, he kissed Chrissy's neck, placing his mouth snugly on the sensitive skin between her ear and her jaw, before biting gently on her earlobe, making her gasp. "Those earrings look great on you," he murmured.

"I love them," Chrissy said, tilting her head to give him better access to her throat. "Where did you find them?"

"You're not the only one with contacts to track down vintage pieces, you know," Eddie said, skimming his lips over her bare shoulder.

"Don't think you can just buy me something to apologize every time you mess up."

"OK. I'll apologize in another way then." He dipped his head lower to explore the tops of her perfect breasts, which peeped out from the neckline of her costume. Chrissy let out a small whimper of pleasure, but it turned into a sound of exasperation when Eddie kept lingering over her breasts.

"If you keep going at this pace, I'm going to miss Act Three," she said.

Eddie grinned. "Getting impatient, are we?" He spun her around and pressed his lips to the wisps of hair on the nape of her neck, trailing his mouth down her graceful, supple back, while his fingers worked at the hooks of her costume, undoing them. Chrissy gasped again as he slipped his hands under the bodice.

"You're getting quite good at taking off ballet clothes," she said.

Eddie smiled against the dip between her shoulder blades. "I've had a lot of practice."

His hands roamed over her waist, one reaching up for her breast, the other going down, past the waistband of her tights, past the curve of her hips and the smooth skin of her inner thighs, going lower, lower, until he found the slick, velvety warmth between her legs, and Chrissy's gasp turned into a needy whine, only for Eddie to pause and pull back.

"Too hard?" he asked, mistaking her sound of protest for complaint.

"Not hard enough," she growled.

Reaching a hand behind her, she pulled him close, anchoring herself to him while he stroked and strummed and caressed her. Eddie's glance strayed to the mirror on her dressing table. If there was something more gorgeous than the sight of Chrissy clinging to him and falling apart in his hand, then he didn't know it. The sounds she made, getting more and more urgent by the second, were more beautiful than any songs he'd ever played, and even though the grinding and rolling of her hips against him were driving him crazy, he would not, could not stop this for anything in the world.

Chrissy stopped it for him. Her whimpers became a breathless moan, and her whole body shuddered so hard that Eddie had to tighten his grip around her waist, afraid she would crumple to the floor.

A knock on the door jolted them both out of the spell. "Places in five, people," said a voice, the stage manager's, Eddie presumed.

"Be right there!" Chrissy panted.

Eddie let go of Chrissy's waist and did up the back of her costume, but she had a different idea. Whirling around, she seized the front of his jacket to pull him down to her, and crashed her mouth to his.

"The guy said—" He pointed helplessly to the door.

"I told you, Odile doesn't come on for another twenty minutes."

"I thought you didn't want to ruin your make-up."

"I don't care."

Covering his mouth with hers again, she walked him backward until his calves hit a couch in the corner of the room and he stumbled into it, pulling her into his lap. Somehow, between themselves and their frantic, desperate fumbling, they managed to get her tights off and unbuckled his jeans. Chrissy braced her hands on the back of the couch on either side of him, and Eddie's hands went to her back, holding her to him as they started moving together. The world suddenly seemed so small, small enough to fit inside this tiny dressing room, shrinking down the blooms of heat where their bodies touched and joined, shrinking down to her eyes, blazing blue as they looked into his, shrinking down to the breath they shared. In the theater above them, the overture of Act Three was starting, but down here, they were already reveling in all the movements of their own symphony, until the music itself was drowned out by their cries of ecstasy.

Chapter 17

Shaking the snow from her coat and hat, she reached into her coat pocket and closed her fingers around the little box Eddie had given her before she boarded the train, finding comfort in it. It was his Christmas present to her. They had decided to exchange presents before she left, so it would feel like they were with each other for Christmas. Eddie had been rather apologetic when he'd given her the box, saying it was nothing special, but Chrissy was certain she was going to love it, just as she hoped he would love what she had given him.

As she stepped through the door, the house assaulted her senses with all things Christmas. Every available surface was hung and draped with wreaths and garlands of evergreen and holly, all of them dripping with tinsel and baubles. The spicy scent of Christmas candles permeated the air, like inside a department store during the Christmas rush. Voices and snatches of Christmas music were coming through the living room door, so Chrissy made her way toward it.

"Hi, I'm home!" she announced in as bright a voice as she could muster up. Then she took in the group of people sitting around the coffee table, and the shopping bag full of Christmas presents slipped from her hand and fell to the floor with a thud.

Her parents were sitting on the couch. Her younger brother, Ryan, was lounging on the floor, eyes glued to his phone. But on the armchair opposite her parents, and just now turning around to face her, was the one person she wasn't expecting to see, the last person she wanted to see—

Jason.

"Hello," he said with his usual smile, as if he were in the habit of dropping by every day. "Welcome home. How's the train ride?"

Ignoring him, Chrissy turned to her mother. "What is he doing here?" she asked.

"His folks are going on a cruise in the Caribbean. I felt terrible about poor Jason having to spend his last Christmas at home all on his own, so I invited him to stay with us," Laura explained matter-of-factly. Anyone who heard her would've thought that Jason was a little boy, no older than ten.

"Without telling me?!" Chrissy hissed.

"This is my house," Laura said, her lips thinning. "I can invite who I want."

For a moment, Chrissy stood stock still in the doorway, too stunned to even speak. Jason was looking at her apologetically, like he hadn't had any choice in the matter, but Chrissy never believed that for a second. They were in cahoots, Jason and her mom, always were. She turned to her father, whose attention was fixed on the TV, and then to her brother, who hadn't even looked up since she walked in. Typical. They were always too happy to let her bear the brunt of her mother's anger if it meant they would be left alone. She could see how the next two days were going to turn out—Jason would find excuses to get her on her own and try to wear her down with his sweet talk and declarations of love, and her mother would nag and bully Dad and Ryan into supporting her, so they could all force Chrissy to get back together with Jason.

She'd die before she let them gang up on her like that.

Bending down, Chrissy scooped all the presents back into the shopping bag—they didn't deserve those presents now—and secured the strap of the overnight tote on her shoulder. Then, without another word, she walked out.

The moment she opened the front door, a howling wind hit her, hurling icy flakes in her face, stinging, blinding. It had been snowing steadily since she left the train station, but now it had turned into a full-blown blizzard. Stubbornly, Chrissy leaned into the wind and stepped out of the door, but she barely made three steps down the driveway before the wind and the cold forced her back. Turning her back against the storm, she found Jason behind her, his arms spread in a reconciliatory gesture.

"Come on, Chris, don't do this to yourself," he said. "Let's join your family and have a calm and rational discussion about this."

Oh yeah, Chrissy had a very good idea what his "calm and rational discussion" would be. It would at best leave her angry and upset, and at worst make her doubt herself and think the whole thing with Eddie had been a mistake. But what choice did she have? She glanced at the swirling wall of white behind her. There was no way she could walk to the train station, and no Uber would pick her up in this kind of weather. She was stuck here as long as the storm lasted.

Reluctantly, she closed the door. A smug smile broke out over Jason's face. Ignoring it, Chrissy swept past him and climbed the stairs with the dignity of an exiled queen. At least she could enjoy Jason's stunned look as she slammed shut the door of her childhood bedroom.

The room was all pink and lace and frills—it had been decorated by her mom, and by the time Chrissy had grown up enough to care, she had moved away to the city, so it had been left as it was—but at least it provided her with a sanctuary. She locked the door behind her and leaned against it, suddenly exhausted.

Her phone rang with 'Tiny Dancer'. Eddie. God, how she missed him! Just seeing his name on her phone was enough to send a wave of longing through her and drive away the red haze of anger that Jason and her family had caused. She hit Accept with a trembling hand.

"Eddie?"

"Hey, did you get home OK?" he said. "I saw the storm warning so I want to make sure." She could've wept at the sound of his voice, so warm and reassuring. It was almost as good as having him here with her. Almost.  

"Yes, I'm home. The storm hit after I got off the train."

Eddie must have heard the held-back sobs in her voice, because he quickly asked, sounding worried, "Are you OK? What happened?"

"I'm OK. Nothing happened, just... My mom invited Jason to spend Christmas with us."

"What?!"

"I know." Chrissy sighed. She didn't want to whine to Eddie, but at the same time, it felt good to have someone she could vent to. "I would've left immediately if I could, but with this blizzard—"

"Stay where you are. I'll get there as soon as I can."

"What? No! You can't go out in this, Eddie, it's too dangero—"

But he had hung up.

Chrissy tried calling him back. He didn't pick up. She texted him, telling him not to worry about her and that she could take care of herself, though she knew it was hopeless at this point. Eddie had gotten it into his head that she was a damsel in distress, and he was determined to be her knight in shining armor, blizzard or no blizzard. She threw her phone on the bed, frustrated with both herself—why couldn't she have kept her mouth shut about Jason?!—and Eddie—why did he have to be so damned gallant? How could she live with herself if something happened to him? 

For the next couple of hours, Chrissy wore a groove into the carpet of her bedroom, pacing back and forth, her mind a vortex of half-formed thoughts, as turbulent and shapeless as the howling storm outside. She kept imagining horrible scenarios—Eddie crashing his van on the icy road, his curls sticky with blood, his big brown eyes staring, unseeing—and scaring herself so much that she had to start exercising to distract herself. A part of her was so worried about Eddie, it was like there was a wild animal gnawing at her insides, while another part wished he would arrive soon and get her out of there.

Around noon, Ryan was sent up to tell her lunch was ready. She screamed, "Go away!!!" and heard his footsteps scurrying back downstairs. She felt a little guilty about that—after all, Ryan was the only brother she had, and he had no fault in what happened. He could hardly go against their parents, not when he still lived at home. Then again, he could've given her a warning, at least.   

A while after that—she didn't know how long, for she had lost all sense of time—the storm abated. The wind slowed, and the snowfall was little more than a few flakes here and there, drifting lazily in the air like they were dancing in The Nutcracker. Hope surged within her again. If Eddie was sensible, he would wait out the storm somewhere. Winnetka was only a half an hour drive from the city on a good day, and even on a day like this, it shouldn't take more than forty-five minutes or an hour at the most. He could be here soon...

At that very moment, as if summoned by her thought, the screech of brakes, mingled with the blaring sound of heavy metal, was heard outside.

Chrissy rushed to her window. There was Eddie's van parked at the gate, and there was Eddie, all wrapped up against the cold, getting out.

Chrissy had never danced Romeo and Juliet, but leaning over her window, looking down at Eddie as he walked up to her parents' house in the snow, she could imagine how Juliet must feel, standing on her balcony, looking at Romeo down below. Picking up her bags, she unlocked her door and ran downstairs. Her dad was emerging from the living room, looking annoyed about having to answer the bell.

"Who on Earth would come at this time?" he mumbled.

"I got it, I got it!" Chrissy cried. She opened the door before her father even touched the handle, flew down the steps, and threw herself into Eddie's arms. 

It was a while before her trembling ceased. When it finally did, she jumped at Eddie, whacking him on the chest and shoulders.

"You—stupid—asshole!" she yelled, half crying, half laughing. "Don't scare me like that ever again! Do you have any idea how worried I've been?!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," said Eddie, his voice muffled by the scarf around his face, as he wrapped his arms around her again. "But I couldn't leave you here."

"I'm glad you're OK," Chrissy said, burying her face in his chest, taking comfort in his familiar scent. She longed to pull down his scarf and kiss him, just as she'd done with their first kiss, but she was aware her family and Jason were staring at them from the door. Eddie had already gone through enough to come here for her, she didn't want to get him into more trouble. Reluctantly, she let him go.  

"Ready?" Eddie asked.

"Yes."

Chrissy turned around to pick up the bags she'd left on the front steps. She was met with her mother's glare. Behind her mother was Jason, his eyes fixed on Eddie, full of hatred. No doubt he had recognized Eddie. Her father and Ryan crowded at the doorway, curious about the unfolding drama. Those looks made Chrissy pause momentarily.

"Who is that?" Laura snapped.

Chrissy hesitated. "My friend," she said eventually, lowering her voice so Eddie wouldn't hear. And if he did hear—well, she hoped he would understand she had to lie to protect him. "I'm going back to the city with him."

"You're not going anywhere!" her mother hissed. "It's the holidays. Your place is here, with your family."

"Fine," Chrissy said. She nodded toward Jason. "I'll stay, if he goes. He's not family."

"Don't be ridiculous," Laura said. "Jason's your fiancé, of course he's family!"

Chrissy stared at her mother, her mouth falling open. She didn't know whether her mom was delusional, or whether she was hoping that by continuing to act as if nothing had happened, she could gaslight Chrissy into taking Jason back. Chrissy only knew that there was no reasoning with her.

"Goodbye, mom." Bags in hand, she turned her back on them and walked toward Eddie.

"Christine Elizabeth Cunningham!" her mother shouted. "If you think you're too good to stay in this house, then you're out of that bungalow in the city too. You'll never see another dime from us!"

Chrissy didn't stop, didn't even turn around. Keeping her gaze on Eddie, holding on to his eyes for strength, she walked to the van. Eddie took the bags and opened the door for her, and she got in. She could feel her mother and Jason's eyes boring holes into the back of her head, but she didn't once look back as the van drove away.

Finally, as they reached the highway, Chrissy allowed herself to let out a long breath.

"I think this should go on the list too," she said with a shaky laugh.

"What? Not spending Christmas with your family?"

"Well, that too. But also standing up to my mom. Like, really standing up to her." She put her hand on Eddie's. "Thank you." She meant not just for picking her up, but for giving her the strength to leave as well.

Eddie gave her hand a squeeze and held it fast, like an anchor holding her to the Earth.

"Do you want to go to Wayne's, or do you want to go back to Logan Square?" he asked. Before she left, Eddie had told her that he would be spending Christmas with Wayne.

The thought of going back to Logan Square made Chrissy feel sick. "I'd love to go to Wayne's, if he's OK with it," she said.

"Of course he is! He'll love to have you." Eddie was quiet for a moment, contemplating something. Then he said, "Do you think your mom will actually kick you out of the bungalow?"

Chrissy shrugged. "She might." She was no longer in any illusion about where her mom stood. At the end of the day, Laura would always pick status and appearance over Chrissy's well-being.

"In that case, would you like to move in with me?" Eddie asked. "Robin's lease is up in January, so she's moving to Vickie's place, and she said I can have her apartment." Chrissy turned to him, astonished. He added, looking embarrassed, "I know it's small compared to your house in Logan Square, and there are no vegan cafés nearby. But we can have the bedroom, now that I'm a full renter. No more sofa beds." When Chrissy said nothing, he continued, "Or maybe it's too soon. I mean, I understand. We've only been together for a couple of weeks—"

"No, it's fine," she interrupted. "I'd love to move in with you." He smiled, looking so adorable in his relief that she longed to kiss him again, but she didn't want to distract him from the road. Picking up his hand, she pressed her lips to his knuckles and his palm.

They arrived at Wayne's just in time for dinner—deep-dish pizza again, though Wayne promised there would be a turkey for Christmas Day. Chrissy didn't realize how famished she was until then. She devoured her slice and even ate part of Eddie's, because he was too busy making faces over it. Afterward, they spent a cozy evening exchanging presents. Wayne told Chrissy that her being there was already a gift, but she insisted on giving him the scarf she'd meant to give her dad. Eddie's present for her turned out to be a set of D&D dice, deep black with sparkles all over them, like a star-strewn sky.

"They remind me of the dress you wore that night I first brought you here, remember?" Eddie said.

How could she forget? It had only been a few weeks ago, though it seemed much longer, because so much had happened.

"They're beautiful," she said, giving him a kiss.

Then it was Eddie's turn. He took out the T-shirt and stared at it. "A Dio shirt!" he exclaimed, as delighted as a little kid. "From their last show with Heaven and Hell! Holy shit! Where on Earth did you find it?"

"I have my contacts," Chrissy said with a wink. In truth, her "contact" was only Bev, who'd helped her track down the shirt after she found out they were one of Eddie's favorite bands. "I'm sorry the condition is not great."

"Are you kidding?" Eddie put the shirt on top of his sweater. "I'm never taking it off," he declared, much to Wayne and Chrissy's amusement.

It was one of the happiest Christmas Eves she'd ever had. There was still the Christmas dinner the next day, and a whole week of winter break with Eddie, and all the time with him after they moved in together... When she arrived at her parents' house and found Jason waiting there like a curse, Chrissy hadn't dreamed that the day would turn out so well.

That night, as they settled into bed at Eddie's place, it suddenly hit Chrissy that this might very well be the last time she'd seen and spoken to her mother. For some reason, she burst into tears at the thought—perhaps it was the contrast of how happy the evening at Wayne's had been, which made her mourn not what she'd lost, but what she could have had, what she'd never had.

Her sobs woke Eddie up. "What is it?" he asked, alarmed. "You OK?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she said, sniffling. "I was just thinking of my mom, that's all."

"She'll come around."

Chrissy let out a mirthless laugh. "You don't know her." Her voice cracked. "Why can't she be happy for me? Nothing I do is ever good enough. Why?"

Eddie pulled her closer, cradling her against his chest. "I believe some people aren't meant to be parents," he said. "Look at my old man. I'm never going to see him again, and I'm OK with that." But his eyes were glistening in the dark, and Chrissy had the feeling he was trying to convince himself as much as her. "None of that is our fault. None of that is your fault."

Chrissy wrapped her arms around him, tightening her embrace, as if by doing so, she could squeeze all the sadness out of both of them. Gradually, the pressure around her throat eased up, and she fell asleep in the safety of Eddie's arms.

***

Laura made good on her threat to kick Chrissy out of the Logan Square bungalow. After the New Year, Chrissy got a letter from their family lawyer informing her that she had to vacate the premises by the end of the week. She tossed it in the trash, along with all the things she didn't want to keep, as she prepared to move in with Eddie. They had been helping Robin pack up her stuff, and now that Robin had moved out, it was time for Chrissy to bring her things to the Chinatown apartment. For once, Chrissy was glad she hadn't fully unpacked since moving out of Jason's place back in October.

Robin's wrist had healed, but she needed a few weeks of physical therapy to fully regain movement in her fingers, so Eddie continued his accompanist's duty at Hawkins Ballet. Chrissy was grateful for that. During tech week, she would be rehearsing on stage with the full orchestra for the entire day and couldn't see him, so it was nice knowing he was in the same building. Even though they saw each other at home every night, the thought of Eddie being close by always calmed and comforted her.

They were going through some tendus during the last company class before tech week began, when the doors of the studio burst open and in strode Henry, his face thunderous. That look could only mean trouble, but what kind? And who would be the victim?

Not even bothering to apologize to Nancy for the interruption, Henry looked toward the corner of the studio and barked, "You, there!"

The dancers standing in the corner looked at each other, panicking, not knowing which of them Henry was speaking to. Shaking his head impatiently, Henry pointed at the piano. "You! Accompanist!"

Chrissy's heart thudded painfully. What could Henry want with Eddie?

"The name's Munson," Eddie said, scowling.

"I don't care," Henry snapped. "Get up, and get out. You're fired."

Chrissy's blood drained out of her, leaving her cold and frozen to the spot. Fired? Why?

Eddie had the same question. "May I know why?" he asked.

"When I took over Hawkins Ballet, I pride myself on holding the company to a high standard of behavior," Henry said. "That goes for both my dancers and staff. And if one of them ever uses drugs or brings drugs into the studios, they're out."

Drugs? The other dancers murmured to each other, sounding both horrified and curious. Drinking anything more alcoholic than champagne was acceptable only during the galas and fundraisers, so drugs were completely out of the question—or one had to become very, very good at hiding such a habit. No one would be so foolish to play with fire like that. Out of the corner of her eye, Chrissy caught Jason looking smug as he watched the scene unfold. Panic rose within her. No, no, no... What had Jason found out about Eddie? Had he tattled to Henry?

"I don't do drugs," Eddie said.   

"No?" Henry crossed the room, approaching the piano like an avenging angel. "Do you deny going up to the roof to smoke marijuana? If I ask you to show me your bag right now, am I not going to find marijuana in it?"

The barre was freezing cold under Chrissy's sweaty palm. Jason must have seen them on the roof that first day somehow, because as far as she knew, Eddie hadn't been back there since, and although he still smoked now and then, he never did it around the studio.

"I don't have to show you shit!" Eddie said. "And you can drop the law and order act. Weed's not illegal."

Henry's lip curled up in contempt, as if he thought the legalization of weed had been a big mistake. "No, but it is illegal to smoke it in public or at a place without a license, which the studios don't have. Which makes your consumption of it here illegal. You see, Mr. Munson, I know the law too. I can have you arrested. This is a mere slap on the wrist."

Guilt pricked at Chrissy's conscience when she remembered how she'd once threatened Eddie with this very thing. She'd never dreamed that it would really happen.

Nancy reminded Henry that they were in the middle of class and needed an accompanist.

"I'll get you another!" Henry snapped, and Nancy backed down with her jaw set in an angry line. Henry turned back to Eddie. "Leave now. If you step one foot back inside my studios, I'll make sure you'll never play piano in this town again."

Eddie shrugged. "That's fine with me," he said, getting to his feet. "I can play other instruments."

Some soloists giggled at this, which earned them a face-melting glare from Henry.

Eddie gathered up his music sheets. He sought Chrissy's eyes, but she barely saw him, as all her attention was focused on Jason. Conniving, cowardly asshole! Jason was leaving for something far bigger and better, but it wasn't enough for him. It wasn't enough that he got her disowned by her parents, he had to go after Eddie as well. What she would do if she could only get her hands on him! Some of her murderous rage must be showing on her face, because Jason's arrogant look faded and he suddenly became very interested in his dancing slippers.

Eddie was already walking out the door.

"Eddie!" Chrissy called, running after him. "Wait!" He turned back as she caught up with him. "Eddie, it wasn't me, I swear. I never told anyone about the roof—" Even though it didn't matter, she felt like she had to explain herself. She couldn't stand it if Eddie thought she was to blame in any way.

"I know you didn't, sweetheart," Eddie said with a quick smile and a low voice. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

And, looking at his smile, Chrissy realized what she had to do, what she should have done on Christmas.

She got on pointe, took Eddie's face in her hands, and kissed him, hard.

It was like the first time she'd kissed him in the studio. For a second, Eddie was motionless, as if the kiss had been a magic spell rooting him to the spot, and it took him a while to gather himself and kiss her back, with one hand on the small of her back and the other in her hair, angling her face so their mouths fitted together better, every movement of his lips and tongue anticipating hers. Yet it was different too. Back then, she had been hesitant, full of nerves. Now she didn't care if the entire company could see them—no, scratch that, she did care, she cared a lot. She wanted them all to see her with Eddie and realize there was no getting between them.

When she finally let go and settled back into first position, Eddie looked over her shoulder and grinned.

"I'll see you at home, OK?" he said, not bothering to lower his voice this time.

"See you at home."

With one last peck on her lips, he walked away, his head held high. Chrissy turned around and faced the company, who was, to a person, staring at her, mouth agape. Smiling triumphantly, she returned to her spot at the barre.

A moment later, the accompanist, whom Henry had pulled out of the children's class, hurried in to pick up where they'd left off, and company class resumed. But something had changed. Chrissy could feel it from the top of her head to the very tips of her toes as she moved to the music. No, not something. Someone. She had changed. All the stares, all the whispers that she used to be scared of, now slid off her like water off a duck's back. Or perhaps a swan's back would be the more appropriate analogy in this case. Funny how this had all started when she made a deal with herself that day on the roof, vowing to become the best Swan Queen that Hawkins Ballet had ever seen. Now she could finally see it through. And she had Eddie to thank for it.    

Chapter 16