“In a crosswalk,” she continues. “Rolled right into me like I wasn’t even there. Broke my femur in multiple places, my wrist, and I had to get stitches at the crown of my head.”
“You’re serious?”
“Because that’s the kind of story you make up.” She huffs, and even though I’m not looking at her, I know with complete certainty that she just rolled her eyes.
“Damn, LV. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want nor do I need your pity.”
“I can be sorry for what you went through without pitying you,” I say, fighting to keep the edge from my voice. “When did it happen?”
“Eighteen months next Tuesday.”
“That’s oddly specific.”
“Easy to remember the day everything I had worked my whole life for went up in flames.”
When I glance in her direction, she’s staring out the window.
“So, are you able to dance at all anymore?”
“You saw me tonight. All I did was stand for a bit. Imagine if I were jumping and twirling around.” She blows out a hard breath. “No, my dancing days are over.”
“I’ve never known you to give up so easily.” I want to take the words back as soon as they slip past my lips, but it doesn’t make them any less true.
London Voss is the most headstrong, determined person I’ve ever met. At least, she used to be.
“Give up?” She harrumphs. “I didn’t give up. I pushed my body past its limits and instead of succeeding, I only injured myself worse. I didn’t give up,” she reiterates. “My body did.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine.” The way she says it does not make it seem fine in the least. “Why do you still have that?” I turn my head just enough to see her gesture to my wrist.
I don’t have to ask what she means. I know she’s talking about the tattoo of her initials. And while the answer is the simplest thing in the world—I didn’t want to remove it because doing so would be like erasing her entirely—I lie just the same.
“Too expensive.” I shrug.
“Aren’t you sick of looking at it? I mean, you clearly hate me...”
“I could never hate you, London.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” she mutters under her breath.
“Are you trying to start a fight with me?” I fight the smile that tugs at the corner of my mouth.
“No. Just curious why you kept it.”
“Do you know how painful and expensive it is to have a tattoo removed?”
“Last I checked, you could afford it. And since when do you shy away from a little pain? I’ve never known you to be a baby.”
She’s goading me, trying to see how I’ll react.
“Just because I can afford it doesn’t mean I should. My priority is my business, not some silly tattoo I got when I was too young to know better.”
“So you regret it?”
“No,” I answer honestly.
