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York turns to Dax. “Are you sure you ain’t up for some tap dance?”
“Nope.” Dax shakes his head, and leans back against the mirror, his long legs stretching out in front of him. “Ain’t my style.”
“Don’t knock it until you try it... Then again, it takes someskillto dance like this,” York states with a cheeky wink before he starts tapping a series of impressive steps that make me dizzy just to watch. He’s a genius, there’s no denying that.
“Fucking show-off,” Dax grumbles, folding his arms across his chest. “Come on then blue balls, let us see what you got. Stop pissing around and turn the damn music on.”
York presses play, and a familiar tune starts playing out over the speaker.
“No. Fucking. Way.” Dax laughs raucously. “A very nineties tune, mate. You know you really were born in the wrong fucking era.”
“It only came out the year before I was born, so itismy era, sort of. I fucking love this song.”
York steps into the middle of the studio and starts to tap, grinning the whole time asYou Get What You Give, by the New Radicals plays. He’s beaming, his feet tapping perfectly in time to the beat. It’s just what I needed. Something uplifting. Something to put a smile on all our faces.
Picking up his jaunty vibe, I join York in the center of the dance floor, copying his sequence of tap steps then interspersing them with some of my own.
“This song is making my ears bleed!” Dax shouts out over the music.
“You wouldn’t know good music if it punched you in the face!” York replies, giving Dax the finger. “Let’s show the fucker what he’s missing.” He takes my hands, twines his fingers with mine, and brings me around to face him, tapping with a lightness and a joy that I can’t help but smile at. I concentrate on his footwork, overwhelmed by his gift. There’s no way I can keep up.
“Your feet are ridiculous,” I mutter.
“Eyes on me, Titch,” he says, lifting my chin with his fingers and pinning me with his glacier-eyes. I’ll never get used to how he takes my breath away every time he looks at me. “Let your feet do the talking. It’s just me and Dax. Shake off your worries, Titch. Don’t think too hard.”
“But what if Zayn doesn’t—”
“No. Zaynwillcome home, Xeno will make sure of it. Now fucking move your feet!” he demands with a squeeze of my hand and a determined grit of his jaw. Jumping back, he flings his arms wide and sings along to the song as he taps with lightning-fast feet. For a moment, I watch him, awed by his talent. But this isn’t just about showing off, this is so much more than that. This is his way of relieving his stress, his worries. This is York funneling all his fears and turning it into something uplifting. He dances as though every step will ensure Zayn’s safety,believingthat Zayn will come home unharmed.
There’s a power in that, in his belief.
It rubs off on me.
Behind us, Dax is bopping his head, watching York with respect and love. He catches my eye and winks, encouraging me. God, my heart feels so full despite the circumstances.
I feel the absolute love they all have for one another, for me. I feel their hope for our future, and all of a sudden, I’m that fourteen-year-old kid again. I’m that courageous girl following her heart and believing in four boys who brought sunshine and happiness to her life at the moment she needed it most.
My Breakers. My whole fucking heart.
Right then and there I make a decision to trust in the Breakers, inus, and I sure as fuck won’t give up. Jeb can go fuck himself. David can rot in hell. The Masks can try and do their worst. And Santiago Garcia, he’s going down.
Grinning, I dance as though Zayn’s life depends on it.
Ifeelthe music. Ihearthe beat. Itrustin their belief.
With every sequence of steps a feeling of hope fills my chest, giving me the strength to face an uncertain future head on. We dance with abandon, with impact, with positivity and a determination to let go of our fears so that we can be there for Zayn when he returns.
He’s going to need us. He’s going to needmeto be strong.
“That’s it, Titch, move your damn feet!” York yells.
The song tells us all not to give up, to feel the music, to dance.
So, I do.
I dance until my worries are beaten into the floor beneath my feet and I’m the woman Zayn needs me to be.
Strong. Fierce. Determined.
