"Yeah, well, don't make any plans to go anywhere anytime soon. We're not going to let you go."
I wish Josh felt the same way. I see him down the hall, relaxed and laughing with some members of the band. He's relaxed without me. He doesn't need me.
Maybe he doesn't even want me.
But then his gaze drifts up and meets mine, and I feel it deep in my gut. The want, the need, theconnectionis there. His hazel eyes are full of … pain.
Pain that I've caused. I'm not even sure what I did, but I know I'm responsible. Suddenly my high is dampened. How can I enjoy this moment knowing that I've hurt someone I care so much about?
Someone that I love.
Suddenly, none of this matters. The applause, the accolades, the dance. None of it matters if I'm hurting Josh. If I can't make him happy, then it's not worth it.
I need to tell him this. I start down the hall, but there are people in my way. I feel like a salmon trying to swim upstream. For every person I get through, there's someone else standing there. At one point in my life, this was all I ever wanted.
To know that I was the best.
Now it seems so trivial. So frivolous.
"Thank you," I offer, smiling. "Thank you," I say to the next person. Where's Josh? How many more people before I get to him? But then I'm at the end of the hall, and he's gone.
I missed him.
I keep searching, heading back toward the stage. To the pit. Out to the audience.
"Leslie!" I turn. The voice calling my name is not Josh’s, but my mom’s. In my haste to find him, I'd forgotten they were here.
My dad pulls me into a tight hug. "Great job, honey."
Now it's my mom's turn to hug me. "You were the best!"
I cringe slightly at her words. She doesn't mean harm; she just doesn't know the pressure, the weight they carry. "I worked very hard."
I'm not going to use the “b” word.
Mom nods. "It shows. Maybe next year, you'll get cast as the lead. If you just put in a little more—"
"You must be Mr. and Mrs. Moose. Nice to meet you. I'm Josh deChambeau, the musical director here." Josh sweeps in, offering a hearty handshake to both my dad and my mom. "Leslie's been a huge asset to The Edison this year. I'm not sure that we would have made it without her fantastic performance earlier this season inThe Greatest Showman." He looks at me and offers a tight smile. "She was a sight to behold."
I smile gratefully at Josh. "Remember that summer I went to STP? Josh was there. He was my only friend there."
"Leslie was always too focused on ballet to have a lot of friends," my mom offers, excusing my behavior.
I'm about to jump in and defend myself when Josh says curtly, "Yes, I'm aware how much being the best means to Leslie. And what she's willing to sacrifice along the way."
His words sting, and instantly I blink back the tears filling my eyes.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go."
He doesn't even make up some lame excuse—he simply can't wait to get away from me. He's still mad. Or mad again. He has every right to be. I pulled him close, only to push him away so I could focus on what'simportantto me. In other words, not him.
He must feel that everything in my life is more important to me than he is.
Yet even as mad at me as he is, he still steps in to defend me. He's shown me over and over how I should treat him—how I should make him a priority—but I've been too stupid and self-absorbed to see it. Josh is just as committed to The Edison as anyone else here, not to mention his own actual show. But he still had time for me, if I had taken him up on it.
He knows how to balance. He knows how to prioritize. He knows what's important. For the first time in my life, I could walk away from all of this. Ballet no longer has a stranglehold on me, like a gaslighting partner. I'd never dance again if Josh would forgive me.
He's more important.
