Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Fitch did deserve better.
He deserved picket fences and simple days.
He deserved to love someone who was clean and shiny and bright.
Ansel was none of those things.
He didn’t want to cry with his friends still here. Things were bad enough already.
He hadn’t acknowledged, even to himself, how much he’d wanted the relationship to work. Until this moment he’d honestly believed he was content without hope. Oh, how very wrong he’d been. He’d had hope, it was just disguised as something else, something slippery and unnameable. But after today, after seeing the look on Fitch’s face, there was no faith left, no wishing for a brighter future.
There was no getting over this one, no moving on with his life like nothing had changed. Everything had changed, and all because of one man.
He didn’t have it in him to pretend any longer. He was worn out.
Broken into tiny pieces that would never fit again.
There was no way he’d keep it together if he returned to his friends. They had blessedly given him privacy for the exchange, but were surely waiting to interrogate him. He didn’t have the strength for that right now. He needed to be alone. He needed the darkness.
Silently, he shuffled to his room. The lights were off, but the sun filtered through the unwashed windows. He shut the door behind him and crawled onto the bed. He wanted so badly to regain some of the numbness from the night before.
There were three opened bottles of alcohol in the apartment. He knew exactly how much was in each one. But he was too aware of the disaster he’d made of his life to lose himself again so soon.
In lieu of oblivion, he curled into a ball, closed his eyes, and faced the storm of emotions.
The first tide of anguish broke the dam, and tears cascaded down his face.
He wept for never seeing his brother again and for failing Fitch. He grieved for his childhood and losing Ray. He cried for it all.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The next afternoon Ansel went to the club early and found Castor behind his desk.
“Christ.” Castor balled his fist and leaned back in his chair. “What the hell happened to you?”
Ansel steeled his spine. He knew he looked like shit. He didn’t feel that great either, but this needed to be done. “Had some trouble.”
“Damn it. No one is going to want to pay to see that shit.”
“I’ll cover it with makeup.”
Castor scoffed. “You’ll need a fucking truckload.”
“Do you want me to dance or not?”
Castor let out a frustrated groan. “Yes. You dance, and you’d better make it good or I might decide to—”
“No. Don’t you dare threaten Tam again.”
The scowl that transformed Castor’s face might have been comical if Ansel wasn’t pumped full of adrenaline and hanging on to his temper by a fingernail. “Are you giving me attitude?”
“You want to punish someone for last night, punish me. I was the one who flaked out. You’re going to pay the others what they are owed and leave Tam alone.”
“Or else what?” Castor’s eyebrow rose in challenge.
“This is not a threat. I’m not you. I don’t bully people into doing things.”
“What is it then?”
“A negotiation.”
Castor’s laugh was scornful and amused. It was an odd mix that made Ansel’s skin crawl.
“What exactly are you offering in this negotiation?”
“I’ll dance the whole week and you won’t have to pay me a cent.”
Castor seemed to consider this for a moment. His eyes rolled to the side and his lips thinned in thought. “Counter offer, make it two weeks and I get to fuck you.”
Ansel snarled. “My ass is not for sale.”
There was that weird laugh again. Ansel shuddered.
“Okay, fine. Three weeks without pay,” Castor said.
“You’ll leave Tam alone and you’ll pay the boys what they are owed?”
Castor waved a hand. “Yes, yes. Fine.”
“Deal.”
The grin that spread across Castor’s face was one of pure satisfaction.
Twenty minutes later, Lirim, Tam and Z arrived. They didn’t speak to him as they dropped their bags in the dressing room and started setting up for rehearsal. But Tam did squeeze his shoulder when he walked by, and that little gesture flooded him with relief.
They worked on one of their older routines, tightening up the timing and adding newer, more complicated steps in places that needed a boost. The atmosphere was heavy with things unsaid and pain still unforgiven. Ansel didn’t know how to make it better.
And apparently, neither did the rest of them.
About an hour into rehearsal though, Castor came out with three envelopes, met Ansel’s eyes with a smirk, and tossed them on the stage. Without a word, he went back to his office leaving the boys looking at Ansel in question.
Tam was the first to pick his up and his mouth dropped open when he saw its contents.
“What did you do?” Tam asked.
Ansel turned away, he didn’t want them to see through him. He didn’t want them to know how much he’d sacrificed. “I made it right.”