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Lachlan used his muscle to get in here when security measures kept the other family members out. No one tells Lachlan O’Rourke no. The fact that he killed the gunman made the school bend the rules.
He holds up those tattooed, murderous hands and air claps for me. It’s confusing, his support. If I get this, he expects me to go.
I recall diving into his arms at Miss Theresa’s studio, and I’d give anything for him to be on stage now so he can hold me.
Shaking my head, I prepare for my leap. The part of my brain that remembered this routine takes over, and it’s as if I’m not in control of my body. With every stomp, a wash of white blinds me. Every tap feels slippery, or maybe my nerves are shot. My stomach clenches as I try to adjust, but it’s no use. With my balance on the skids, I trip and tumble across the stage.
The pain makes me cry out, my nose still sore from last week. Through watery eyes, I see my husband climbing over the seats and jumping onto the stage.
“Katya!” Lachlan is there to lift me up.
The audition is blown, but I don’t care.
The music stops, and Fern rushes over. “What happened?”
Holding me against his chest, Lachlan sneers, “She wasn’t ready. That’s what happened. You let a madman with a machine gun in here—”
“Lachlan, don’t. It’s not her fault,” I choke up.
“Don’t make excuses for them.”
My body sizzles with heat, but I realize he’s right. I’m taking the blame, even though it’s not my fault. “I wasn’t ready because five days ago, another dancer’s ex hit me in the head with the butt of a machine gun. It threw me off.” I clear my throat. “When will the judges render their decision?”
Fern rolls her eyes like I’m stupid. With competition for the conservatory so tight, messing up like this disqualifies me. Nodding, I limp off stage with Lachlan holding my hand.
“Get your stuff. We’re going home,” he says, anger humming from him.
Home…
I don’t make eye contact with anyone, just change out of my audition clothes. Lachlan waits for me in the hallway and says nothing until we get into his Wagoneer.
As I’m putting my seatbelt on, he says, “If you want that spot, I’ll get it for you.”
“I don’t want something I haven’t earned.”
“One slip up doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.”
I close my eyes. “Fine. If you want to get rid of me so bad, then do it. Get me in.”
“What?” He threads his fingers with mine. “You think I want to be rid of you?”
“I’m Russian. I understand.”
“Katriane, look at me.”
I turn my head, embarrassed to be crying from the stress. “What? Why do you want me? You don’t even know me.”
“Have you not figured out how I’ve grown to love you?”
My heart jolts. “You have?”
“How can I not? You’re perfect. Perfect for me. I’m no picnic. I come home covered in blood, rage pouring out of me, and you don’t even blink an eye.”
“I know you won’t hurt me,” I shrug.
“And that’s because you got to know me as much as I got to know you. The energy between us. I… I like it.” He shakes his head. “No, I love it. I love you.” He twists his bulky body toward me. “Katya, my world is filled with so much hate, it’s a miracle to have the chance to love you.”
“I love you, Lachlan. I really do. I only went through with this audition because I want to be a dancer. I didn’t want to give up.”
