Chapter 12: Chapter Eleven

She sat in her car, inhaling the scent of cheesesteak and fried peppers and onions. Across the street, she could see him through the large glass windows of the dance studio. His head was back, laughing. He was so fucking handsome, it hurt. It burned.

“To be frank, I’d have to change my name,” she whispered, letting her lips linger over the punchline. He would love her jokes. Throaty, deep belly laughs that would turn into a smoldering gaze. He was turned on by a good sense of humor. That frigid dance bitch could barely crack a smile.

She could cut a smile into her face. Yes. That’s what she deserved. Pretty little heart-shaped mouth stretched like the Joker. Who’s laughing now?

She crumpled the greasy sandwich paper in her hands and threw it into the back seat. She had had to drive all the way into the city to pick it up, but he had posted about how it was the best cheesesteak in the city #PhillyProud, and she knew she had to try one. She thought about how she would talk to him about the differences between Tony Luke’s and Geno’s and how she had always thought the best was from this hole-in-the-wall in Wayne. He would like that, she knew.

Not like that bitch. Her lips drew into a thin line as she watched the blonde dancer spin and swivel and shake her ass in Patrick’s handsome face. “Selfish cow,” she spat. That bitch did not appreciate him. It was not fair.

Patrick. Even his name was sexy sweet.

He would see her soon enough.

****

“That’s all for this week!” Patrick clapped his hands, and the couples all turned out to take their bows. “You guys all did great. Make sure to email me if you need help with your routines for Keystone, but I expect to see all of you there.”

The bell in the Lewis High School gymnasium sounded, and the kids in Patrick’s dance elective chattered animatedly among themselves.

Some things never changed. He watched one of the girls, Lana, holding court. She reminded him so much of Anita in high school. The gentle leader. Back then Anita had glowed.

She still did. It just required a bit of polish to find the shine. Mikhail’s leaving and Nikita’s murder had dulled her. Too much work, not enough time to enjoy herself. Patrick closed his eyes. If only…

“Hey, man,” said a voice from across the gymnasium. Patrick turned to see Will Forbes, one of the high school coaches and an old friend from varsity soccer.

Will was also the only child of Lewis’s beloved Sheriff Forbes. And had apparently grown some sort of weird facial hair.

“You have a thing on your chin.” Patrick gestured vaguely with his hands toward his own face.

Will grinned and ran his fingers over the strip of hair on his chin. “Really? I kind of like it. Gives me a soulful vibe.”

“Just tell me it doesn’t require its own comb and products.”

Will rolled his eyes. “Says the ‘influencer’ who gets free products. Share the wealth, dude.”

“No one says dude anymore. This isn’t Malibu.”

“I say it like I see it.” Will shrugged. “How’s the class going? The kids all talk about it. You are beloved, if you can believe it.”

Patrick returned to packing his dance bag. He always had to bring extra shoe brushes when he taught at the high school. Anita and some of their dance friends had donated proper footwear, but none of the kids ever remembered shoe brushes.

Will scratched at his facial hair. “You free? School is out, and I could use a drink.”

When he had been competing internationally, Patrick would not drink for a week or two leading up to the comp. Best physical form and whatnot. He was older and wiser now. “Why not?”

****

They ended up at the Caf, a dive-y sort of bar across the street from the high school. Patrick was pretty sure it had not been updated since the 1970s. The ancient jukebox was covered in a thick film of old cigarette smoke and spilled booze, and the neon lights flickered persistently like a mosquito that refused to be swatted. Four o’clock on a school night was clearly not its busy time.

He noticed a blonde woman in a Phillies hat nursing something bright blue with an umbrella, a risky choice in a place like this, and the two ageless school librarians perched precariously on two of the red leatherette barstools, already two Yuenglings deep and spitting laughter.

“You guys still come here?” He followed Will to a table in the middle of the room by the bar. No surprise that the silverware stuck to the table.

Will had a craggy, handsome sort of face that straightened out when he smiled. “Yeah, my boyfriend doesn’t get it either. But it’s cheap and nearby.” He signaled the bartender, a guy of short stature and long white hair that he tied back in a ponytail. The bartender filled two pints with Yuengling and left them at the edge of the bar.

Foamy goodness, yes please. Patrick brought them over to their table. “How’s life, Will?”

Will sipped the beer and licked the foam from his upper lip. “Not too bad. Job’s good, Bobby and I are getting along pretty well. Can’t complain. Small-town life, am I right?”

Patrick tugged at the collar of his shirt. No matter how far he tried to escape, Lewis pulled him back. Not just Lewis, of course. “How about your mom?”

Will barked a laugh. “The ballbuster? She’s amazing. She’s been lobbying the township for extra money so she can finally have a detective on staff.”

“Do we need a detective in Lewis?”

Will shrugged again and downed half of his lager. “Beats me. The world is changing, right? Listen to any true crime podcast, and you’ll see nefarious activity everywhere. My mom was telling me about some drug smuggling thing over the Maryland border she’s worried about, and even ballroom isn’t safe, right? I heard about that poor woman in New Jersey.” Will polished off the rest of his beer and signaled the pony tailed bartender for a second. “You’d think people who did ballroom would be chill, like you and Anita.”

Patrick sipped thoughtfully at his beer. The two librarians at the bar were now slapping each other jokingly and calling for Bushmills. “Would you really call Anita chill?”

Will snickered and went up to the bar for his second pint. “Trouble in paradise?”

“What are you talking about?” Patrick looked over Will’s head at the black-and-white TV behind the bar. He thought all rabbit-ear TVs had died the death of disco.

Will hit him on the shoulder. “You and Anita? You two having problems?”

A lump settled in Patrick’s stomach. Maybe he should drink some more beer. “We’re not together.”

Will whistled loudly, drawing the attention of the librarians. Much as Patrick had tried, he never could tell the difference between them, though one had pointier eyebrows than the other. Pointy Eyebrows leered at Will. “Forbes!” she called out, slurring the R. “Who’s your handsome friend?”

“Maeve, it’s Patrick O’Leary.” Will gestured with his beer. “Remember Patrick? He did ballroom dance and soccer.”

Patrick nodded to the ladies, who were shimmying in an uncoordinated way. Were all former teenagers reduced to their high school hobbies?

Pointy Eyebrows’ friend wolf whistled.

“Maybe we should go,” Patrick whispered.

“They’re harmless,” Will replied. “Besides, you’ve barely touched your beer.”

Patrick sipped at the beer, which tasted suddenly stale. There was no way the librarians were involved in sending him those photos, right? Will was right. One bad turn, and he saw suspects everywhere.

Pointy Eyebrows and her friend had gotten their shots of Bushmills and were ninety percent of the way to passing out on the bar.

Will nudged Patrick’s attention back. “So what do you mean you and Anita aren’t together? I heard it from John Flaherty.”

Damn it, John. Though maybe some rumors might kick him out of friend purgatory. “We’re not. I promised to dance with her at this thing in Harrisburg in a couple of weeks. That’s all.”

Will raised an eyebrow. “That’s all?”

Patrick said nothing in reply. He focused on the black-and-white TV with the rabbit ears, though the image was too grainy to see any detail. Will watched him for a few moments, tapping his fingers on the sticky wood table.

“You know, I read some of your stuff from New York,” Will finally said. “My boyfriend wants to plan a trip now.”

New York. Patrick had gotten more work done in three months there than in three years in Lewis. And had hated almost every minute.

“It’s a great city. I got a lot of really good feedback. I can give you guys a list when you go.”

Will tilted his head curiously. “So if it was so great, why are you back? New York has a lot more opportunities for a guy like you.”

He was not sure he was actually going to say the words until they left his mouth. “Honestly, I have no idea.” He squeezed his cheeks between his palms, reveling in the pain. His mother was going to be right. He was wasting his potential.

Will polished off his second beer, then picked up Patrick’s and poured it down his throat as well. He patted Patrick companionably on the back. “You have really got it bad, don’t you, dude?”

“No, everythin—” Patrick sighed. “It’s fucking torture, man.” He covered his eyes with his hands, pressing the palms into them. “I honestly thought it was awful just being near her and not being with her, but I was wrong. It is a thousand times worse to dance with her, to touch her every single fucking day for hours on end, and she still does not want me. I think the woman could work at Guantanamo.” Shit. Had he really just said all of that out loud? He glanced around the bar, anywhere but at Will. The librarians were hanging onto each other’s shoulders, barely propped against gravity. The woman in the Phillies cap was staring at them.

She probably wanted to know why the has-been Patrick O’Leary was having a breakdown in a dive bar.

If the floor could swallow him now.

Will nudged a shot glass full of amber liquid in Patrick’s direction. He took it gratefully, though he was not the biggest fan. Toss it back anyway. Deal with the burn. It covered the ache in his chest.

“What are you going to do?” Will asked. He had gotten himself another Yuengling and took a long pull.

Patrick sighed. “I’m going to leave. I can’t keep doing this.”

Will raised both of his eyebrows and pursed his lips. “Are you still going to compete?”

The alcohol pulsed through his system, mocking his heartbeat. Would it be the same when he was not with Anita? “I promised her. I can’t break my promise.”

****

Neither of them noticed the blonde woman in the Phillies cap snap a photo before she slipped out the door.