Page 169 of Burning Bridges Duet

Liv addresses the crowd, thanking them for coming and expressing her happiness at having them there.

“I’m happy to announce that for the last dance of the day, we have a special guest performing who’ll help me show you the beauty of contemporary dance. Please welcome Dirty Velvet!”

The curtain behind the stage falls, and my heart skips a beat. Ryder.

I haven’t seen him for four months since he went on tour with his band. After they started out, thanks to Liv, they did well. Then they released a hit single a year ago, signed a new contract with a major record label, and got big, like really big.

Not seeing him for so long was hard for all of us, but especially for Liv and me. I’d never spent so long apart from my twin, but we FaceTimed every day, and I’m ecstatic for him. He got everything he ever dreamed of and finally found proof that he’s good enough. He’s enjoyed touring but said he’s now more than happy to stay home for a while to work on their new album.

I chuckle to myself. He told me he would come home next week, but it seems like they wanted to surprise us, which they sure did.

The crowd goes wild, happy to unexpectedly be at a Dirty Velvet concert, but of course we’re the loudest.

Ryder starts playing the guitar, then the drums join in. As he begins to sing, I recognize the song as “Titanium” by David Guetta. It’s different to hear this hit from a rock band, but they’re nailing it, while Liv is performing the best I have ever seen her. Her body seems to flow effortlessly, each movement fluid and expressive, as if she’s speaking a language only she knows. I’m mesmerized by the way she moves, her limbs reaching and extending with precision and emotion. As the music swells and her movements become more intense, she starts twisting and turning before doing a split in the air. Her body seems to tell a story, each movement a chapter of her life that draws the audience in deeper and deeper.

It's as if she’s letting us see into her soul, experiencing every emotion with her. The song speaks to her, and she lets her movements speak to everyone around her here.

The world tried to shoot her down, but she refused to fall.

She’s titanium.

BONUS CHAPTER

ONE YEAR LATER

It’s been a year since we flipped Tanner Fitness into this dance empire, and we’re killing it.

Better than the old gym and studio combo ever did. Liv and Gunner are a huge part of that—her contemporary classes are packed, his Latin ones are fire, and dancers flock here from miles around because our setups are top-tier. We have no competition in a huge radius, and I’m so damn happy everything’s clicking.

Life’s good.

No, life’s fucking perfect.

For what feels like the hundredth time, I rub my eyes, staring at the spreadsheet on my screen. The numbers are finally balancing out—hell, they’re more than balancing.

They’re thriving.

It’s 10 a.m., and I’ve been hunched over these books all night, chugging caffeine like it’s my lifeline. My back aches, my curls are a mess from running my hands through them too many times, and I probably smell like stale energy drink and desperation but fuck it. I wanted this done before our big family day.

No way was I letting accounting crap ruin the vibe.

The studio’s quiet, just the hum of the air conditioning and the faint echo of music from somewhere down the hall. When River brought Liv over about an hour ago so she could get some training in, she looked fresh as hell in her dance gear, focused and already in her element.

She planted a quick kiss on my cheek and whispered, “Don’t work too hard, handsome,” before heading off to her side of the building.

After all this time being together, it shouldn’t have been a distraction, but it absolutely was. Seeing her was bad enough, but the kiss, and the way her vanilla scent still lingers, nearly wrecked my concentration.

Flicking over to the security feed on my second monitor, I check if she’s still dancing, and yep, there she is, in the main studio with the stage, moving like liquid grace.

I stare at the screen for a second longer than necessary before forcing my attention back to the numbers, my mouth still tilted into a grin I can’t quite shake.

Goddamn, it’s going really well.

I check the clock and stand, stretch out the kinks in my back—damn, I need a chiropractor—and grab my stuff. River’s due in about fifteen minutes to pick us up.

Time to drag my girl out of there before she dances herself into oblivion.

After slinging my bag over my shoulder, I lock up the office, then head down the hall. Even from here, Sam Smith’s “Fire on Fire” echoes through the narrow space, the studio door doing nothing to filter it.