Spiral (Off the Ice Book 2)
Spiral: Chapter 24

CRYING ON MY birthday is my own little tradition. Except this year it’s less existential and more about feeling like a loser. The clock on the wall of the ballet studio glows red; it’s been three hours since I came in here. Everything I have is going into perfecting my pieces for the roles of Odette and Odile, just in case I get an invite to audition for NBT. The rest of the time I filmed content for my page and posted it to share with my followers. It’s already 4:00 p.m., which means I’ve worked away more than half the day.

Being alone on my birthday feels like torture. Though it’s not like I had special plans. I have no friends in Toronto, Sean is at his friend’s house, and even my fake boyfriend is busy watching game tapes with his team. I’m officially pathetic.

The glass door of the studio chimes, and my students slowly trickle inside. I didn’t bother taking the day off when I didn’t have any plans, but this is my only class of the day. The interest in our beginner program has been overwhelming, and when the studio emailed me about taking on additional classes, I agreed. It turns out that some of my followers live in Toronto and looked me up online. I don’t mind because with my days packed, I can actually keep my bank account afloat.

When the time ticks to four thirty, I play the music on the speakers and instruct the class to show me what they remember from our last session. I walk around the room, correcting and praising each one of my students.

“Miss Beaumont, I can’t do the extensions,” one of them says.

“I used to struggle with this too, Jamie. Let’s focus on some exercises that can support your movements.”

I show him the use of développés and battements to emphasize control and alignment throughout every movement. When he tries again, I encourage him to repeat the form to get the best extensions possible. He nods happily, and I head to the front of the class.

With a few more practice rounds, we near the end of the class, and I teach them some ballet terminology. The French is mangled on their tongues, but soon they’re pronouncing it correctly.

They repeat after me, but I pause mid-word when the door to the studio jingles and Elias walks inside. I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s wearing a blue Thunder T-shirt and jeans, hair tousled from the wind.

It’s the gasp from one of my students that draws my attention back to them. “It’s Eli Westbrook!” one of the girls announces.

The mix of ballet and hockey fans in this class never fails to amuse me. The kids stand and run up to him. Elias is so tall they barely come up to his abdomen. He looks to me with an alarmed expression, hands up in surrender when they start spewing questions at him.

“Did you drink a lot of milk to get that tall?”

“Are you dating our teacher?”

“How much money do you make?”

“All right. Leave him alone, guys.” I disperse them by standing in front of Elias like a shield. “Your parents are waiting outside.”

They groan in unison, but head out to their parents, eyes still on Elias. That’s when I spot Nina, quietly packing her things, and not partaking in the kids’ thorough interrogation of Elias.

I stop her before she can head out to where a beat-up pickup truck honks obnoxiously. “Hey, you’ve been quiet today. Everything okay?”

Watery eyes meet mine. “I’m fine. My mom signed me up for another ballet competition this week. The prize is a lot of money, and I don’t want to disappoint her.”

“You’ll do great no matter the outcome. And if you ever need help, I’m here.” I pull out one of the studio’s business cards, and write my personal number on there too. “That’s my number in case you need it.”

Her eyes flicker with an emotion I haven’t seen from her. Something like hope. But it disappears when the horn blares again and she rushes out of the studio.

When the room clears, it’s just Elias and me.

His gaze hits my legs first, and slowly drags up my outfit to meet my face. The sweaty, blotchy one that should never be looked at, much less by a man who oozes sex appeal on any given day. The perusal has goose bumps riddling my skin, making me fight a violent shiver.

“I wanted to see you.”

Is it weird that my heart skips a beat? “You did?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Sage. This is what boyfriends do.” I want to make a quip about him not knowing that, but my sunken mood wouldn’t let me fully enjoy one of his stony stares. He moves past me to look at the pictures I have pinned to a corkboard. They’re Polaroids from when I first started here, along with a few from the showcases I’ve done with my students.

“When was this?” He’s staring at a picture of me at my first performance.

“I was eight. It’s from my school talent show. My uncle made so many copies of it, I had to find somewhere to put it.” I move to my small desk to clean up the papers and put away the speakers. “What are you doing here? I was going to take the bus home because your practice was supposed to run late.”

He doesn’t answer for a long moment, but when I turn to look at him, he’s putting something in his pocket. “Maybe I want a private dance,” he says.

The question makes my face redden. It’s so intimate here, I can’t imagine having all his attention on me as I dance. There is no way he doesn’t notice the bout of heat that blooms on my chest because he stares for a whole minute—or an hour, I really can’t be sure—then looks away without mentioning it. Another drop in the bucket for his charitable efforts, I presume.

“Gotta pay extra for that, rookie,” I manage to choke out.

“Would a date work?”

“A date?” An embarrassingly giddy rush of excitement zips through me, and I pause to wonder if he knows it’s my birthday. But I didn’t tell him the date. “Shit. Did I forget about something we’re invited to?”

“No. I want to take you somewhere. We can stop by the apartment for you to change or we can go out as you are. You look perfect either way.”

The casual compliment hits my chest like he loaded it into a slingshot. I glance down at my leotard and the sheer wrap skirt, then back up at Elias, who watches me expectantly, seemingly unaware of the effect of his words.

“I brought a change of clothes.” My clothing selection is limited, but I have a simple pair of jeans and a pretty top to change into after my class.

When he nods, I go to the back room and change out of my tight leotard. When I return, he smiles. “Beautiful.”

I fidget with the fabric of my blouse. “You like the color?”

“Sage happens to be my favorite.”

When he reaches for my hand, I link mine with his. I’ve had worse birthdays.

AS WE ARRIVE at an abandoned farm area, I wonder whether he’s going to ditch me in the woods. Elias backs up the truck—Aiden’s truck—where there’s a white billboard-looking screen behind us. He hops out before circling around to open my door.

There’s a sliver of orange cast by the evening sun that still glows on the horizon. There are trees surrounding the overgrown grass area and not another car in sight. I follow Elias to the back, where he opens the tailgate, and I spot a blown-up air mattress.

My brows raise. “You know, there are better places to see me in my birthday suit.”

Elias blinks in confusion then looks at the truck bed, scratching his head as if he’s just now realizing what I’m thinking. “Trust me, you’ll like it.”

“To be fair, I’m pretty sure I’d like anything you do to me.”

There’s that unimpressed look again. “Shut up, Sage.”

I comply, only because his large hands bracket my waist and hoist me up. Elias hops in behind me, and that’s when I notice the chocolate cake. Before I can ask any questions or make another joke, bright light blinds me from the projector directly in front of us. What the hell?

When “Be My Baby” by the Ronettes plays, I freeze. I’d know that intro anywhere. I look at the white screen that’s lit up with my favorite movie.

The title card for Dirty Dancing pops up, and I realize we’re at one of the old drive-in theaters located on the outskirts of the city. I turn back to the once creepy air mattress, and now I want to cry. Elias sits there smiling, with a candle in the cake in front of him.

“Who is that for?” The words wobble off my lips, betraying my mask of indifference.

“I heard it’s someone’s birthday.”

“How did you even know?”

“I have my ways.” I pin him with a skeptical look, and his blank expression cracks with a smile. “Sean texted me,” he admits. “Now, come here.”

The command slithers right between my legs, and tries to pull my pants down. Relax, Sage. I bounce on the air mattress and wait as he lights the candle on the cake.

“I always let Sean do this part for me,” I say. My brother and I have spent almost every birthday together since he was born, and this one hurts a little.

“What do you mean?”

“Sean blows out my birthday candles.”

Elias’s gaze is pitying, and I raise a brow at him. “So, you have one day out of the year to celebrate yourself, and you still manage to make it about someone else?” He pauses briefly. “Which is sweet, by the way, but that doesn’t mean it’s your day.”

“That’s how it’s always been.”

“You mean you taking care of everyone but yourself ? Yeah, I know.”

He’s right; I do things for someone I love, but not for myself. I try to squash the thought. It’s a terrifying revelation to think you don’t love yourself the way you love others.

The candle illuminates his face. “This time, make a wish for you.”

If genies were real, I’d think Elias might be one. He’s made my birthday special. He made sure Sean got his medications. He is single-handedly making sure I have a fighting chance at starring in my dream ballet production. With everything I’ve ever wanted within my reach, I close my eyes and make the only wish I can think of.

I wish Elias makes his first career goal.

Pulling out the candle, he cuts a slice, and I take the first bite. It tastes like the cake I buy every year. The memories start flooding in. “A McCain chocolate cake? You’re spoiling me,” I say through a mouthful.

“You deserve it, but it’s not McCain.”

“It’s not?” He could’ve fooled me, it tastes identical, actually maybe even better. “You didn’t have to buy me an actual birthday cake.”

“I didn’t. I made it.”

I almost choke on the huge chunk of chocolate cake and icing in my mouth. Not attractive at all. I take my time swallowing to comprehend what he’s saying. “You baked me a birthday cake?”

He nods like it’s no big deal. “I got you a McCain cake too, but it’s at home. I thought you and Sean might want to keep that tradition between the two of you.”

At home. How did I end up fake dating the most thoughtful man on the planet? My eyes sting, but I don’t want to close them. I want to keep looking at the man who baked me a birthday cake.

He even thought to include my brother. Sean wished me a happy birthday this morning, but it didn’t feel the same. I would never tell him, but I sobbed for a good ten minutes after our phone call. “It’s weird seeing him get older, but I understand why he wanted to go to his friend’s. I mean, I didn’t want to hang out with adults at his age.”

“You’re allowed to feel hurt, Sage.”

I shake my head. “He didn’t mean to hurt me. I don’t blame him.”

“You don’t have to. He’s a teenager; of course he wants to hang out with his friends. But it’s okay to feel sad when the one person you’ve always had by your side is growing up. It doesn’t make either of you bad people.”

A harsh burn envelops my heart. “If he turns out to be anything like you, I’ll know I succeeded.”

I hesitate for a second before wrapping him in a tight hug. He does the same, holding me close enough that his lips skim the crown of my head, leaving a brief kiss in my hair.

The glow from the movie lights his face, and his eyes sparkle. Breaking the intense eye contact, I finish off my cake and lick my plate clean like an animal.

He chuckles, taking the plate from me. “Promise me one thing.”

I gaze up at him.

“Don’t check your email until midnight.”

I’m surprised by his request, and I stare down at my phone like an addict being told their next hit is getting revoked. I constantly check my emails for new auditions and the not-so-fun rejections. The moment NBT emails me, if they ever do, I want to be ready.

“Your email will still be there tomorrow. And Sean has both of our numbers. I know you already called them, but I called his friend’s parents to introduce myself too.”

My heart flutters, and I can only credit it to his featherlight words. “But—”

“And in case that doesn’t satisfy you, I got their neighbors’ contact information.”

“Eli—”

“Both neighbors. On each side.”

I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me. I put my phone in his hand and close his fingers around it. “I was going to say that I’ll leave the ringer on, but I won’t check until tomorrow. Midnight is only a few hours away.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He takes the opportunity to pull me in, allowing me to lean on him like my personal pillow. Elias fusses over the fuzzy pink blanket, ensuring it covers my legs, and situates his own pillow behind him. The movie plays, and although this is one of my favorite birthday traditions, there’s a part of me that wants to sit and talk to Elias instead. To hear his voice and the low vibration of his chest when he speaks. To let the overflow of serotonin wash over me anytime he focuses on me.

With a light brush of his lips against my ear, he whispers, “Happy birthday, Sage.”

“Thank you, Elias.”

The smell of chocolate lingers in the air as the glow of the drive-in movie projector washes us in bright light. A gentle breeze sweeps past the truck bed, and I snuggle closer to him, forgetting just for one night that this isn’t real. Because I know how long I’ll have this, and it’s not nearly long enough. But tonight, I want to spend my birthday in the arms of a thoughtful hockey player and not worry about a damn thing.

Tip: You can use left, right keyboard keys to browse between chapters.Tap the middle of the screen to reveal Reading Options.

If you find any errors (non-standard content, ads redirect, broken links, etc..), Please let us know so we can fix it as soon as possible.

Report