Page 95 of Pas de Trois
“It is.” Nearly a full minute goes by before the pain flows to a gradual stop and I’m able to stand upright. My fingers scramble to gather my layered tulle skirt, clawing it upward to peek beneath—it’s the same blush-colored gown with long lacey sleeves that I wore to the O’Sheas’ last quarter. “Something’s happening. I’m leaking.”
“Is it…Did your water break?”
“I don’t know. I think it must have.” Whatever is leaking from me is clear and I don’t know what else it would be. It just keeps flowing in a continuous trickle down my legs.
“Okay.” I sense the fear in Ezra’s voice, and it makes me scared, too. “This is it, Anya. We have to go. Now. This is our only chance. All you have to do is get changed and get in the car, okay? Can you do that?”
“Yes,” I rush out. “Yes, of course I can. I will. We have to leave tonight. There won’t be another opportunity. I’ll wait here. Go get the backpack.”
Ezra takes off, jogging up the side steps onto the stage, then disappears behind the curtain. I wait, breathing through the pain, my eyes hyper-focused on the seat of Nikolai’s chair beside me.
I’m cursed.
He’s cursed me.
Will I ever be able to escape him?
Tears pool in the corners of my eyes as I wait.
All I can do is wait.
Wait for Ezra to return.
Wait for the next contraction.
Wait for success or failure.
Wait for life or death.
I’m terrified. There’s no better word for it. It’s all happening so fast and I have no control over any of it.
Ezra comes rushing back with a black backpack slung over one shoulder. We’ve packed our essentials in that single black bag—clothes to change into, cash and Kostya’s credit card, our fake passports, some diapers and basics for the baby…just enough to get us through the airport.
That’s all we’re leaving with—that and hope.
“Hey.” Ezra bends and meets my eyes, surely sensing my fear. “We’re gonna make it, baby. We can do this together. I’ve got you.”
I hold him there with my eyes for moments longer than we have to spare. But I need this—I need him connected with me. I need the power he always feeds me with his brilliant green gaze.
His cheeks lift as his signature disarming grin appears. “We’ve got this,” he says.
With that and a deep, steadying breath, I find my courage. I nod and rise from my bent position. “Okay. Just leave my change of clothes in the bag,” I tell him, “I might have to…The baby might come and I’ll just have to take my jeans off again. The dress is easier.”
His eyebrows slant toward his nose, erasing his smile as he pulls his clothes from the backpack. “Okay. Yeah, but I need you to put your sneakers on, okay?”
He helps me into my shoes, throwing on a T-shirt for himself and shoes of his own. We didn’t have enough room in the bag for winter jackets to fight the bitter January cold, but it doesn’t matter. We won’t be outside long.
Ezra slings the backpack over one shoulder and takes my arm, guiding me up the red-carpeted aisleway. As I look ahead, to the doors leading out into the foyer, the truth hits me square in the chest.
We’re leaving.
We’re escaping.
This is really happening.
I’ll never have to see this stage and all the horrific ghosts of my past partners again.
At the top of the aisle, Ezra tells me to wait while he pulls open the door to peek into the foyer for Kostya and the all-clear. I turn back for a moment, for one last look at the stage that was built for me, at the place where I danced for Nikolai. I feel the tug of something, a sharp yank on my heartstrings that draws my attention back to Nikolai’s seat. When my eyes fall upon that spot, my heart drops into my stomach. I swear I can feel him there—Nikolai.
