Variation: A Novel

Dancegrl6701: Must be nice to get into every intensive you want.

Ryandnzx: Work harder.

Thirty-three.

I counted in my head as I sat on the ocean floor, my eyes closed behind the goggles, holding tight to the kettlebell weight I’d thrown in twenty minutes earlier so I wouldn’t float to the surface.

Thirty-four. The ocean roared deliciously around me, rising in a crescendo with each wave that threatened to push me to shore before ebbing again. It was the noise that finally allowed me to think, to simply exist beyond the incessant demands of everyone around me, asking when I’d be back, asking how the rehab was going, asking if I was back at the barre yet.

Thirty-five. Rather than lie, I’d simply left.

Thirty-six. The water drowned out everything but the feel of my own heartbeat and the beautiful aching need for air that reminded me I was still alive. Each time the pressure drove me to the surface for oxygen, it not only reminded me that my lung capacity was shit after going months without training, but also drove home the inescapable truth that I still wanted to live.

Thirty-seven. For a couple of terrifying months, I hadn’t been entirely sure.

Thirty-eight. Damn, it’s cold. I really should have gone with the wet suit. The water was still freezing this time of year, and my skin had progressed from prickling to numb.

Thirty-nine. My lungs burned. I was out of shape. I should be able to hang for at least a minute, if not two, even against the driving waves.

Forty—

Something grabbed hold of my waist and pulled, wrenching my hand from the kettlebell, and flooding my veins with terror. My breath expelled in a scream of bubbles and my eyes shot open, looking for a shark—

Water rushed by as I was yanked upward through the ten feet of water that separated the sand from the sun. I fought the strength—holy shit, those were arms around me—hauling my back against someone’s chest. My lungs shrieked for the air I’d so recklessly let escape, but the arms wouldn’t budge.

We broke the surface, and I gasped for air, then quickly shoved my feet into the stranger’s stomach and kicked, propelling myself out of his viselike arms and into the open water beside the pier. “What the actual hell are you doing?” I shouted, turning around to face my attacker once I was a few feet away.

“Saving you!” the man shouted, sea green eyes locking with mine as we rose with a swell and dipped back down again.

My heart faltered.

Hudson? Had I gone hypoxic and started seeing things?

Gravity wavered. That was the only explanation as to why my stomach pitched against the waves, why I suddenly couldn’t tell if the sky was above or below me, why my heart couldn’t pick a rhythm, why I ceased swimming . . . and promptly sank.

Water rushed over my head.

I startled, then kicked back to the surface as Hudson reached for me. Sputtering at the first breath of air, I batted away his hand. Like hell was I ever going to let Hudson fucking Ellis think I needed rescuing. “I’m not drowning, you asshole!”

Those annoyingly gorgeous eyes of his flared. “Are you sure about that?”

Holy shit, it’s really him. His sandy-brown hair was cropped short at the sides and only slightly longer on top instead of falling into his eyes, but his voice, the way his brow knit, even the fact that he’d jumped in the ocean fully clothed all screamed that I wasn’t hallucinating.

“Sure about you being an asshole? Absolutely. And I’m quite certain I wasn’t drowning.” The years had carved away the traces of the cute boy I’d known in his face and left the angles of a fully grown man who’d become a stranger. A beautiful man with a strong square chin, full lips I’d never had the chance to kiss, and eyes that had haunted my dreams for nearly a decade. And damn whatever was left of the broken little pieces, but my foolish heart leapt straight into my throat.

“Then what would you call whatever that was?” He motioned toward the water with his head, his arms busy treading water just like mine were. “Because it didn’t look like swimming.”

“Working on my lung capacity!” How was this even happening right now? “Unbelievable.” That’s exactly what this was. Of all the times I’d practiced what I’d say if I ever ran into him, this was one scenario I hadn’t envisioned.

Every emotion I kept locked tight in a little steel box when it came to Hudson flared to life, flooding me with disbelief, and yearning, and anger . . . so much anger. That’s what I held on to as I swam past him for the ladder mounted on the third pylon.

It had been so long that I’d felt anything but numb that the anger was a blessing.

“Wait, you were working out?” He swam my direction while I found the familiar wood and began climbing out of the water and onto the pier.

“Was being the key word there,” I said over my shoulder, continuing the ascent. The sun did little to combat the breeze on my ocean-chilled skin, and my teeth chattered as I made it to the top of the ladder, then quickly scrambled for the towel I’d wedged between boards so it wouldn’t blow away.

“The water is still in the fifties!” The wood groaned under his weight as he climbed the ladder.

“And I have three more months to rehab an injury that should take another six.” I wrapped the towel and tucked it under my arms, more than a little conscious that I wore a completely unsexy black one-piece that was better suited for a swim meet than a chance encounter with . . . well, whatever Hudson had been to me. “And who are you to lecture me about water temperature? About anything? Let alone scare the shit out of me—”

“I thought you were drowning,” Hudson repeated as his head crested the edge of the pier.

“So you said.” I tugged the towel closer. So much for that one revenge fantasy where—oh my God.

Hudson made it onto the pier, and he was huge. He’d been a little over six feet when we’d met, but he’d gained at least a few inches and a good forty pounds of what looked to be pure muscle with the way his white Bruins T-shirt clung to his chest and abs as he stood.

“I was trying to save you, Allie!” He had the nerve to look all wounded, like I was the one in the wrong here. “I thought you needed help.”

Save me? After all this time? Anger flushed up my neck, stinging my cheeks with much-needed heat. “Yeah, well you’re a little late for that. And you don’t get to call me Allie. Not anymore.”

Crap, that came out a little more aggressively than I’d intended.

His eyes slid shut like he was in pain, and he breathed deeply before opening them again, his gaze momentarily pinning me in place. “Been holding on to that one for a while, have you?”

A heartbeat passed, then a few more as I stumbled down all the possible avenues this conversation could take. I was too damn tired to fight with him—with anyone, really.

“About ten years,” I finally admitted.

“Sounds about right, give or take a few months.” The dip of his wide shoulders almost made me feel bad.

Almost. Then I remembered the hospital stay, and the rehab . . . and the funeral, and the anger overpowered the guilt with glee.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” I shifted my weight to take it off my aching ankle. The Achilles repair had been done by the best orthopedic surgeon in the country, but that didn’t mean I was happy with how long it was taking to heal, or the rather grim prognosis. I was lucky to already be walking unaided, not that I’d ever admit that out loud—especially not to Hudson.

“I live here.” He ruffled his hand through his wet hair, sending water droplets flying, then looked over the edge of the pier, into the water. “And there goes another hat.”

“Still making a habit of jumping into the ocean to rescue perfectly safe swimmers?” I ran a hand down my low ponytail, squeezing the cold salt water out of my hair.

“One, you weren’t perfectly safe the first time I jumped in after you—” He looked away from the water, obviously giving up on the hat the cove had swallowed.

“That was eleven years ago—” I argued.

“—and two, yeah, it’s my job to jump in and rescue people, but I thought I’d learned not to take my favorite hat.” He dropped his arms to his sides.

“—and I’m perfectly capable of swimming!” I finished, then blinked. His job? Silence hung between us as his words settled on me. “You’re a rescue swimmer, aren’t you? You made it.” The sixteen-year-old girl inside me stood up and cheered for him, but she was quickly hushed by the misanthrope I’d become.

“Yeah.” His lips quirked upward for a second, and he dripped water onto the pier. I probably owed him a towel or something, given that his intentions had been pure. “And you’re a world-famous ballerina.” He cocked his head to the side and searched my eyes. “Or do you prefer Seconds star?”

I huffed. “That’s all Eva. I just lend her my name and do some of the videos to help her out.” Now we were talking about Seconds? This was officially the most surreal conversation of my life.

“I figured. You usually sought the praise of one person, not multiple millions.” He twisted the bottom of his T-shirt in his hands, wringing out more water.

He did not just say that. Pretty sure my therapist heard that all the way from New York City.

“It’s only one point one million,” I said. “And you don’t know me well enough anymore to say what type I am.” Pulling my towel tighter, I walked past him on the aging pier, grateful Dad had it built twelve feet wide so I had plenty of room. “You didn’t answer the question, Hudson. Why are you at my house?”

To say I’m sorry. To explain why I never called. That was the dream, wasn’t it?

He followed me down the pier and across the wide platform that had served as the foundation of the boathouse until a storm took it out. “I’m keeping a pinkie promise.”

“What?” My eyebrows shot up in disbelief as I glanced back at him.

“I was banking on my niece being wrong, and you not being here, and now I’m scrambling for a game plan, honestly.” He ruffled the water out of his hair.

“Well, I’d certainly hate for this to be hard on you.” The sarcasm I shot his direction was strong enough to withstand the waves breaking on the beach as I started up the wooden steps that led to the house, Hudson only a step or two behind me. About halfway up, the ache in my ankle became a throb, and I gave in to the urge to limp. Just a little, though.

“I wouldn’t have bothered you except . . .” He drifted off. “Are you all right? Juniper—that’s my niece—mentioned you were here recovering.” Was that worry in his tone?

No, thank you.

“I remember her name. Caroline and Sean adopted her that last summer I was here.” Not that Hudson’s sister had known we were friends, and even if she had, she never would have let me near her baby. I glanced back to see him staring down at my ankle, where two pink scars flanked the silvery one, then continued up the stairs. “I’m fine.”

“Your Achilles? Again?”

“Again?” I whipped my head around, my wet ponytail smacking me in the shoulder as I halted the climb to stare down at him. “So you knew?” A whole other kind of scar split open inside of me, leaching scalding, fresh pain from a wound that had never completely healed. “You knew it had been torn in the crash? You knew there was a crash?” Every worst fear and ugly thought resurfaced. He’d known. He’d freaking known, and still hadn’t reached out. “All this time, part of me wondered if you were mad at me for not showing up that night, and that’s why you left for basic without saying a word. But you knew what happened to me?” His mouth closed in a damning admission of guilt. I reached past the pain for any emotion besides anger, but only found a drowned, watery sense of betrayal that I didn’t have energy for. “I think I preferred not knowing for certain.”

“Allie . . .” He winced. “I mean, Alessandra—shit, that doesn’t sound right either.” How did he have the right to look genuinely devastated?

“Don’t give me that look.” I gestured at his stupidly beautiful face, nearly losing my towel. Of course he’d gotten better looking with age while my body had all but given out on me. I wasn’t even thirty yet and I was falling apart. “You don’t get the honor of looking . . . ruined. Not when you apparently straight-up abandoned me. Do you know how many times I texted you? Called you from my hospital bed?”

The blood drained from his face. “There aren’t enough words in the English language to convey how sorry I am, how sorry I have been, and I know that’s not enough.”

There were the words I’d craved for so long, and now they didn’t matter.

“You’re right. It’s not enough. I don’t want an apology.” My fingernails scraped against the grain of the banister. “I want an explanation as to why my best friend couldn’t be bothered to show up when I needed him most. You had days before you had to report to basic.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it and looked away.

“If we’d been dating, I would have chalked it up to a really bad breakup—which is shitty enough—but losing your best friend without so much as a word?” My voice broke. There was no comparable pain. I never let anyone all the way in, but he’d been the closest.

“I was a stupid eighteen-year-old kid.” He white-knuckled the railing, and his jaw ticked. “And I made what I thought was the only choice I had, and it was the wrong one. By the time I figured out just how wrong, I was at basic and knew you’d never forgive me.”

My chest threatened to cave in.

“You were a kid? That’s the best you’ve got?” Fuck this. Hudson Ellis didn’t get to know the depth of how he’d wounded me. I forced the hurt, the sour taste of betrayal, and the dying hope that he’d had some forgivable reason for ghosting me into a mental box and locked it away just like I did the physical pain during rehearsals. I refused to let it touch me. Then I plastered a practiced public smile on my face.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“Doesn’t matter.” I shrugged, then continued up the last few steps. “Maybe it’s hyperbolic to call us best friends when we were really just a summer thing. That particular summer was over. No need to drag up the past.” The words sounded hollow, but I choked them out. I’d convinced myself to believe far bigger lies than this.

“You have every right to an explanation.”

Hold up, was that anger in his tone? I wasn’t turning around to look. The faster I got away from him, the better. “I don’t think I want one, anymore. Nothing you could ever say would make it right. So, let’s just let it go. Obviously, you were too immature to handle what happened to me. Shit happens, right? I’m only here for the summer. You should keep busy . . . rescuing people. It will be easy to avoid each other.” The breeze picked up as we reached the top of the steps and walked onto the perfectly maintained grass.

I startled.

A young girl waited for us, her hands gripping a cell phone in front of her petite frame, her brown eyes widening to the size of saucers as her gaze found mine. There was something familiar about the tilt of her button nose, the hints of copper in her eyes, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Had I met her before? At a performance? An intensive?

And what was she doing standing in the middle of my backyard?

I blinked in confusion as Hudson walked past me to stand behind the girl, putting his hands on her shoulders before turning those green eyes on me in an uncharacteristic plea. Hudson Ellis wasn’t a guy who pleaded for anything. “I’m here because Juniper wanted to meet you.”

Oh. This was his niece. No wonder she looked familiar. Of course, he’d shown me pictures when she was a baby. She’d been a cute one, from what I remembered.

Juniper stared at me and handed him the cell phone. “Did you save her?” She risked a peek up at Hudson.

He kept that beseeching look aimed at me. What? Like I was going to be a jerk to a little kid? Maybe I’d earned my reputation for being quiet, maybe even a little standoffish, but never mean. Only Hudson brought that out in me.

“I wasn’t drowning,” I answered the girl, then retucked my towel and held out my hand. Her uncle might be an ass, but that wasn’t her fault. “Hi, Juniper.” The corners of my mouth tugged upward as her face lit up. She pushed her windblown hair out of her eyes before taking my hand silently. “I’m—”

“Alessandra Rousseau, I know,” she answered with a toothy grin. “You’re the youngest principal dancer in the history of the Metropolitan Ballet Company, including your mother, who was a legend in her own right before she retired,” she gushed, her words running into each other as her grip tightened. “Your performance of Juliet was perfection, and your fouettés during Swan Lake last season were epic, and all I want to be when I grow up is you.”

Hudson winced.

What? Like I was a bad role model? I bristled, but didn’t let it show. “Well, I’m not much of a dancer right now, but thank you.” Pretty sure she was cutting off circulation to my fingers.

She shook her head with confidence, sending her locks flying again. “You’re just injured. You’ll be back by next season.” Letting go of my hand, she waged war with the wind on behalf of her hair and lost.

“You’re very kind to say so.” Crap, did Hudson’s niece have to be the sweetest kid ever? “I’m guessing you’re a dancer? Is Mrs. Madeline your teacher?”

“Not exactly.” Her teeth bit into a chapped lower lip.

I glanced up at Hudson and immediately regretted it. That face, the way he looked at me like he knew me underneath the years of layers I’d worn for everyone else, cut right through my defenses like that kettlebell through the water, and I hated it. Whatever string had tied us together all those years ago—friendship or something that could have been more—it had been unraveled to a thread, but was still there, as annoying and certain as physics. Time to snip and get it over with. Closure and all.

“This is where it gets awkward.” His focus bounced over my features like he needed to memorize everything in detail in case this was the last time he ever saw me.

“Oh, we’re just now entering awkward territory?” I arched a brow.

“Point taken.” The asshole bit back a smile. “Go ahead and ask.” Hudson tapped Juniper’s shoulders. “I did my part and got you here, but she can’t say yes if you don’t ask.”

Juniper looked up at him with the kind of trust I’d once given him, and I couldn’t help but melt a little and worry a lot. I knew what Hudson did with trust.

“So, Juniper,” I said, clutching my towel and crouching to her eye level, “what is it you’d like to ask me?”

Her gaze swung to mine, little flecks of copper catching the sunlight, and she took a big breath. “I want you to convince my mom that ballerinas aren’t all horrible people.”

Okay, then. “I’m sorry?”

“She thinks they’re all spoiled rotten, and vicious, and mean”—her head bobbed with every accusation—“and that if I do ballet, I’ll become a stuck-up snot with body issues just like the tourists,” she blurted, her cheeks turning pink. “Not that I think you’re snotty! I know you aren’t.”

“Umm. Thanks?” I stood slowly, my heart sinking at the thought of breaking this little girl’s. “Look, Juniper, I’d love to help you convince your mom, I really would. But as great as she is and as much as she obviously loves you, unless something drastic has changed in the last decade, I have the wrong last name for the job. She’s not . . . overly fond of Rousseaus.”

Caroline had loathed us all, especially my mother.

“No, it’s just your little sister she hates,” Juniper rushed. “Eva, not you.”

Hudson groaned, his eyes sliding shut momentarily.

“Well, that’s comforting to know.” I pressed my lips in a line and fought the irrational urge to laugh, something I hadn’t done in months. “Eva can be an acquired taste. Either way, I’m afraid that I’m the wrong person to ask. You’d have far better luck picking a dancer from a local family to help you convince her. And you probably need a towel.” I aimed that last part at Hudson, backing up a step and preparing to turn toward the house. Anne was due back from her appointment any minute, and she’d freak if she knew I’d been in the ocean alone without a wet suit.

“I’m used to—” he started.

“No, it has to be you!” Juniper shouted at me, panic pitching her voice higher as she broke away from Hudson. “You’re the only one she’ll listen to! Not just because you’re the best, or the nicest, but because if you tell her I should dance, she’ll let me! She’ll have to!” Each word grew more frantic until she was practically shouting.

“I don’t have that kind of power,” I said gently.

“Just listen to me!” she begged. “Someone has to listen to me!”

An ache bloomed in my chest, pressing tight against my ribs. How many times had I wanted to scream the very same thing?

“Juniper,” Hudson lectured softly, but the girl lifted her chin in the air and marched toward me.

“I’m listening,” I assured her. “Why are you so certain your mom cares what I think?”

Juniper swallowed and glanced back at Hudson, who looked as confused as I felt, then locked her big brown eyes on me. “Because”—she straightened her shoulders—“you’re my biological mother.”