CURTAIN CALL: Driven Dance Theater Romance Series Book 1 (Standalone) Read online

  It will live on.

  Londyn, Simone, and Lexi are chatting on the roof next to the fire escape—the new hangout—when I escape the studio.

  “Guess you heard the news?” Londyn rasps. “Damn. You don’t know, do you?” She studies me as I tilt my eyes up at her. Was she referring to the fact that I had yet to look at the Drivenless tweets and the tabloids since our run-in with the reporters at the Guggenheim? I’ve been too worried about my knees—and the little preggers scare yesterday—to think about hashtags.

  “Kent’s resigning.” Londyn presses a cigarette to her lips. My heart thuds against my ribs. Come again?

  “Maybe he’ll become a used-car salesman.” Lexi slides a cigarette out of her gold cigarette case with a smirk and slides one my way. I decline. Hanging around Lexi and Londyn is like playing poker. You have to keep a straight face at all times. I switch on my phone for the first time since rehearsal ended. There’s a bunch of texts from Kent telling me he needs to talk. My heart lurches, and something heavy lolls in my gut. And I thought I was the one who had explaining to do. I can’t put this off a second longer. Being social media–illiterate is no excuse for living in denial. It’s time I checked out this Drivenless bullshit for myself and see what all the hype is about. I press my finger to the cursor and google Driven, holding my breath. I slam my eyes shut for a second. My heart pounds hard. You’d think I was being asked to dive into a tank of sharks, and that being eaten alive would be less painful than subjecting myself to this. I freeze my thumb over the phone as Lexi and Londyn skulk in the background. It’s time I face the fricking music. I press the search button, my lungs stuck in the expansion phase.

  Magically, as they do, all the taglines run down the screen: “Sexy director gets dancers to fall for him in order to manipulate them in his productions.”

  Then, there they are: the Drivenless tweets. One after the other they aim for my solar plexus.

  How ruthless could Drivenless be?

  How cutthroat could Driven be?

  Drivenless is the eyes on these perfectly white walls. Drivenless knows everything. Drivenless knew about my social media embarrassment years ago. It claimed I was the vulnerable victim whom Kent first kissed months ago with a plan to manipulate, as manipulation was the dark secret behind his success in creating emotional masterpieces. Drivenless knew that Lexi had been planning her solo show for years without including her best friend. Drivenless knew that the father who raised Cory was a reputable New York lawyer but not Cory’s biological father. Drivenless touted Katherine’s unrequited love for someone else: one of the greats, the past artistic director of Push, and Cory’s birth father. It was their secret relationship, however, that had brought Sterling to the attention of Kent Morgan decades later. Drivenless knew that Sterling had an affair with an Eastern European apprentice who stole his meds when he found out Sterling was sleeping with half of the city while coveting his ex-fiancé. Drivenless knew that Kent hadn’t been with anyone since he’d gotten engaged to Elle Vanderhyde, who helped him get where he is. Drivenless knew that they had been recently seen together, and that Kent needed more funds for the show because he was in love with the star, and that the piece was set to be his greatest of all. Drivenless knew that Driven had been struggling ever since Branwen O’Hara took off in a shiny black car to LaGuardia with Kent Morgan and a suitcase filled with sundresses and bikinis.

  Punched in the gut, I fall back onto my heels, and the phone in my fingers rings. For a moment I don’t know what to do with it, I’m so shell-shocked. I fumble with the device as it nearly slips out of my grip, and press it to my ear with a gasp.

  “Dad?”

  I grip the phone to the side of my face and walk away from unwanted ears.

  “I have been trying to reach you, Branwen.”

  Sure, he’s been calling ever since he left New York, but I’m not obliged to answer. He had his moment to bask in his daughter’s limelight when he met the great Kent Morgan and secured prime seats next to the rest of the VIPs at Lincoln Center.

  He better not say I told you so. Dad always was on top of the news, unlike me, and if he’s called to rub it in, I can’t take it.

  “I saw the tabloids and was worried you might be upset.” He inhales.

  I let out a long exhale, my eyes stinging. This is nothing, I tell myself. I have been through way worse shit before. Hell, my mom died when I was a kid. I can handle being embarrassed in the media—being betrayed. It’s not like it hasn’t happened before. Dad clears his throat.

  “I know how much you care about him.”

  All I can do is let out a sarcastic laugh. He knows me so well. The line goes quiet, and Dad sighs. “I’m sorry, Branwen. I am so sorry for everything, and I know the timing doesn’t look good, but you needed me and I should have been there for you, and I would rather tell you now than wait any longer.”

  Tension rises in my throat, making it hard to speak.

  “He called me,” Dad says. “He gave me shit after the dinner for showing up when things were going good for you and not before that, and he was right. The only reason I am telling you is because I thought you should know that he obviously cares about you, and I don’t know if all that media crap is true or a gimmick, but you should probably find out.” That, of course, is what I was about to do when Dad called me. “And if you want to come home, I’ve made up your room. You can stay as long as you like.”

  Something flutters in my chest like a moth in a pantry, and the tears, they’re coming. I turn my back to Londyn and Lexi, invaded by their curiosity.

  “You should have done that a long time ago.” I force the words under my breath. “I have to go.” Because I really need to talk to Kent, and I don’t know what to say to my dad or how to feel when he chooses now to come back into my life. And maybe Kent did manipulate me. The lengths directors are willing to go to push their dancers is all too familiar to me. “Break them down to build them up” was Raina’s motto.

  Taking a deep breath, I mentally zone into the warrior I have been forced to become.

  Londyn watches me as I walk by her to find Kent. All of the other dancers have left. I take a deep breath, open my shoulders, and stand tall as I pass her, even if I want to crawl into a hole. There isn’t anything too big for me to take. Bring it on.

  Londyn’s eyes sliver as she looks off into the distance. “Patrick and I were engaged.” Her words stops me. Her timing isn’t the best, and yet I’ve waited for so long to hear more about the real Londyn, the Londyn that hides behind the trendy clothes, chain-smoking, gossip, and whiskey drinking.

  She leans back against the railing and clears her throat. She tells me they were engaged, which doesn’t surprise me. They’re always together, and he seems to bring another side of her out. Plus they are both so insanely stylish and gorgeous, but relationships rarely work out. “Everything was good…I didn’t even smoke.” She grinds her cigarette butt into the paved step with a smirk and pulls another cigarette out of a Marlboro package. The unlit cigarette shakes between her fingers as she holds it tight to her mouth. Her eyes are shaded behind the dark, round Lennon glasses that match her sleek black clothes. “Until it wasn’t.” She cups her fingers and lights. I would like to know more, but all I can think about is ending this conversation for one reason.

  “I need to find Kent,” I say.

  Londyn cocks a brow, and her ears prick. The black cloud isn’t just hovering over her—it is floating low in her sockets.

  Drivenless claims to know everything about everyone, but it doesn’t know that there isn’t anything more painful than the truth.

  “My knees are fucked.” I suck in a harsh breath of air. “This will be my last performance.”

  Londyn’s eyes go wide, but I can’t stay.

  It’s time to talk to Kent. I scamper down the stairs with a heavy heart and head straight for the room where this all started months ago.

  Kent opens the steel door to his office. His eyes tense into mine, like I’
m the one who’s done something wrong, as he tells me he’s been trying to reach me all day.

  I refuse to let go of his intense eye contact as I swallow. “I read all of the Drivenless tweets for the first time.” I look away, my eyes stinging. “And the news stories about you… and me.” My ribs lift. I have a hard time saying it. I suck in a labored breath. “I’ve done my best to stay away from social media after what Daniela did to me, but it’s a good thing I looked.” I grimace.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning. While I thought you knew about the stories after the scene with the reporters, I wanted to tell you the latest personally.” His eyes pierce mine as he draws in a hard breath and rolls back his shoulders.

  “I’m resigning,” he says.

  “Yeah, I heard.” I smirk. That’s another reason I feel hurt. He reaches for me, presses his hands to my shoulders, and I pull away to get my bearings. “Resigning? Why, because you’ve been playing with the hearts of vulnerable and naïve young women like myself to advance your productions, and because of the small conflict of interest of you being engaged to the woman financing this production?” I smirk again, and his eyes darken. I suck in a breath through my nose and force myself to be strong. I’m used to being let down by those I care about the most.

  “I should thank you.” I force a smile on my lips. “People like you and Raina, who pushed me too far, made me the dancer I am.”

  Even if I won’t be dancing much longer, I’ve always channeled my emotions into my art. It’s what made me who I am, and why it can be used against me.

  Kent’s jaw clenches. “I only saw the tweets recently myself. I’m not a fan of social media, either. Renee manages it for me, and I’ve asked her to spare me the dirt. Maybe I should have paid attention earlier too. But you know it’s not real, and only one of the many drawbacks of being in the public eye.” He scrubs the back of his neck. His eyes look tired, and his shoulders look as though they carry a heavy load.

  I nod while trying to push air into my lungs. “What happened between you and Elle?”

  “We were together, but not for very long. She helped me and cares about me, but she’s just a friend. And she isn’t financing this production. I raised what I could of the capital that Charles pulled from numerous sources. It’s why I have been so busy. It seemed better not to have one person in charge. Now the company is in even better shape than before. But Elle and I didn’t want the same things in the end. It would have never worked out, and was ages ago. Besides, she’s nothing like you.” His gaze is dark.

  “It’s okay.” I hold up my palm, blinking. “I don’t need to know about who or what you did years ago.” The thought is too unpleasant.

  He winces, wraps his strong arms around me, and his breath whisks my neck. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

  Me too. I swallow back my emotions. I don’t know what else to say. I don’t even know if I’m mad at him. Numb would be a better word. All my life I have not been able to count on people. Why should this be any different? I pull away, and Kent’s shaded eyes pierce mine.

  “I left New York for four years after Daniela posted that horrible video of me on YouTube. And now I’m the weak idiot who fell for her hot director. I’m not sure which one is worse.” My teeth clench together as I smirk, trying on another “I’m strong, I’ll be fine” smiles that I’ve perfected as a performer.

  Kent’s eyes flicker over me with a dreaded sympathy, and I suck in a breath of hot air. I’d developed a disbelief in anything contrived on social media.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were resigning, and why would you even consider such a thing? It’s not fair to let your fans and everyone down because of some… petty scandal.” It does not seem to line up.

  “I told you I had a plan to make everything right, Branwen. I’ve made a lot of mistakes as Artistic Director. Maybe I took it on with the naïve sense that the art was all that mattered. Maybe everyone was right. I’m too young for the job. Either way, it’s putting limits on me creatively. I’ve grown a lot. I’ve learned a lot. I met you, didn’t I?”

  “You do smile more.” I shrug, not meeting his eyes.

  “But my time could be put to better use,” he exhales.

  “How do you mean?” My brow knits together. It’s hard to imagine Kent as anything other than Artistic Director of Driven. And honestly, the thought makes me sad. I can’t be responsible in any way for the world missing out on his talent. Maybe the position was limiting is artistry, which was why the name of the new production was so well suited. “I’ve been afraid of the Internet and any kind of media for years after what Daniela did to me, but it sounds like this might be the one time I really need to speak up for myself and tell the world the truth. You are simply an amazing person that I love. They need to know. But maybe my solo shouldn’t be in the show. It won’t help speculation.”

  “I don’t care about speculation, Branwen. I am resigning from Driven. I will no longer be Artistic Director by the time this show hits the stage, and you belong in this role. This is your time.” Kent wraps his arms around me, and it’s warm and safe, yet the guilt of what I have been keeping from him is fraying my heart. Once he finds out the truth, he will disown me like everyone else in my life. Because the thing we share first and foremost is the creative process, there’s a very good chance that the person he fell for was the dancer-me and not the real me. And the dancer-me is about to be put to rest forever. The thought of losing him in addition to my reason for being is too much to bear. I step back to face him and squeeze both of his hands in mine.

  “I have also been keeping something from you.” It’s hard to look at him straight as his brow knits and his eyes twist in confusion. “Only because I knew you would want to protect me, and I had to do this last show.” Tension circulates through my body as I say it, and settles behind my eyes. I’ve waited so long to say this, and I can’t hold it in any longer.

  “What is it, Branwen?” His face is riddled with worry, and it eats me up inside. There’s no holding back now. He will never forgive me.

  “Working with Raina destroyed my knees. This will be my last show, and I probably shouldn’t even be doing it, but I wanted to, because more than anything I wanted to dance for you, and for you to see something special in me. But it’s over.” Over. My heart sinks as the word hits home. “Whatever you saw or fell in love with, I’m not it, and I wasn’t honest with you.”

  Kent looks stunned. He sucks in a breath, reeling. “You kept it from me all this time?” His lip twitches, and I pull away, unwilling to see the deep disappointment in his gaze any longer. I’ve fallen from grace, and I can’t handle being in this suffocating place any longer.

  I back away through the door with knots in my chest, flying down the numerous flights of stairs and out of the building without looking back. Kent doesn’t follow me, either. I struggle to get air through my tight airways as I pass the bright lights of Times Square with its crowds of people. Carried along by the other commuters’ fast clip, a light turns red, but no one waits. We press on. Horns honk, steam lifts, yellow cabs swerve. The chariots are all lined up on the edge of Central Park along with the artists who sell self-portraits to tourists. A man dips a white top hat, and a horse lifts its chestnut tail. The buds are emerging, green spears shoot through the earth, and my heart is on fire. I follow the winding paths amongst the trees until I’m pushed out at the end of the park and onto another busy street lined with flat, tall buildings.

  Marnie is dusting off a pair of strappy Manolos when I arrive at the shoe store.

  She looks up from kneeling. “Wow.” She sighs. “You look almost as rough as you did the last time you walked in here. How many months ago was that?” It feels like forever. I’d been meaning to stop by for some time, but…

  “What did I tell you that night we went for dinner? You’d have no time once you were starring at Lincoln Center and rubbing shoulders with that hot director, so what ever happened?”

  “You haven’
t seen the news?” I’m so relieved.

  “I’ve been busy.” She looks at me funny and straightens another pair of high-heeled sandals. There are millions more just like her who don’t read the gossip columns or tweets, who have more important things to do than think about dance company–related tweets. Sometimes, inside the walls of Driven, it feels like the center of the universe, and I forget it’s not.

  “And I’ve been a bad friend,” I say, something clicking. I’d been mad at everyone for not being there for me, but maybe I hadn’t been the most reliable either.

  She waves a hand. “Bah. No one has time for anyone in this city; it’s something you get used to.” She stands up. I’ve missed Marnie, and I don’t know when we stopped calling each other; it just kind of happened. I have been so caught up with things. And I could have used a friend outside the dance world bubble.

  I remind her about the dinner I owe her, and she pulls out her phone to check out the time, and luckily she’s off in fifteen minutes, so we hail a cab to the B.Y.O.B restaurant in the West Village.

  “So tell me, did you and that hot director of yours hook up in Cayman?” She twirls spaghetti onto her fork. Wow. I let out a sigh and shake my head, and kind of laugh, a hurt sort of laugh.

  “We did… eventually, but it’s not going to work out.”

  She lifts the fork to her mouth, and I reach for my wine to take a sip.

  “You know relationships are my area of expertise.”

  I hold up my glass, and we clink. At least I’m in good hands. If I do fall apart any second, Marnie might know what to do. My eyes glisten, and I suck in a breath to keep the emotions at bay. Marnie gets it and sweeps in to tell me funny stories about her different clients—without disclosing names, of course. Then she complains about how her two younger sisters moved in with her but never pay the rent, which is why she still works two jobs. I try my best to listen, and it’s a good distraction, because talking about my heartbreak is too much right now; it’s too fresh. But my mind keeps drifting to the look on Kent’s face, the conversation with my dad, taking off in the middle of rehearsal day, and showing up at Marnie’s workplace with nowhere else to go, once again. My life is one complete and crazy circle.