Chapter 3 : Colton

Late spring of freshman year...

The soft strains of stringed instruments fill the theatre as I crack open one of the double doors and carefully slip inside the darkened space. A few people seated in the back turn and stare as I settle on a seat in the last row.

I've arrived in the middle of someone's performance. The ballerina leaps across the stage before halting. With her arms stretched out in front of her, she holds the pose before slowly folding in half and sweeping her arms across the floor. The spotlight shining on her dims as the music fades into nothingness. There's a moment of silence before applause rings throughout the packed auditorium.

Did I miss it?

Is the show over?

I'd planned on getting here earlier, but Coach kept us an extra thirty minutes. We might not be in season, but practice and lifting starts up again in late winter and goes through the summer. Honestly, there is no down time. Especially when you play Division I college sports. It's more like a job. I wish I'd known that when I signed my NCAA paperwork senior year of high school. Some of these guys, like Beck, plan on turning pro. So, for them, they need to be constantly working out and improving their game.

After much thought, I decided not to continue playing football. The plan is to work for my father after I graduate from college. Then, I'll probably go on to business school. We'll see. That's yet to be determined. As much as I love the game, I don't feel like getting my brains beat to shit on a daily basis or feeling like a seventy-year-old man when I haven't even hit thirty.

Senior year will be it for me.

I plow a hand through my still-damp hair as the curtain drops.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

The showcase has been on my radar for months. Just like it was last year. I can't believe I missed her performance. I'm halfway to my feet and ready to sprint out of the auditorium when the heavy curtain rises, and the violin section of the orchestra take up their instruments. My heart stutters as my gaze fastens on her. Carefully I lower myself back down onto the seat. The last girl had been wearing the full ballerina getup. You know, pink leotard, tights, puffy tutu, hair slicked back into a bun, small crown decorating her head. Kind of overkill, if you ask me.

Alyssa, on the other hand, is outfitted in a tight, long-sleeved shirt that bares her midriff and a black matching booty shorts. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she's barefoot.

Her arms are raised above her head and her chin is tilted upward as if staring at something only she can see. Even from this distance, the expression on her face is one of intensity. Almost as if she's alone, unaware of the hundreds of spectators watching her every movement.

It's only when the tempo of the violins change, and other instruments join in, giving more depth to the music, does Alyssa break her pose. Her movements are graceful. Deep and sweeping. She soars across the space, using every square inch of the stage. My breath catches, becoming trapped in my chest as I lean forward. My gaze greedily follows every movement. Every arc and bend. Every spin and dip. It doesn't take long before she becomes one with the music, telling a story through movement to the audience. Her expressions change and contort. She is poetry in motion.

It sounds stupid, but it's true.

Alyssa lights up the stage. Everything about her is captivating.

It doesn't take much for the audience around me to fall away. And then it's like she's dancing solely for me.

The first time I saw Alyssa dance was in high school. Jenna, my stepmother, dragged my father and me to a performance of the Nutcracker at Christmas. I hadn't been happy about it, but I love Jenna. As far as stepmothers go, she's a keeper. A hell of a lot better than my biological mother who took off when I was five years old and I haven't seen her since. Even though I try not to think about Candance, the fact that she couldn't be bothered to stick around when I needed her the most bothers me.

How could it not?

Dad married Jenna two years later and she's been a permanent fixture in my life ever since. So, if she wanted me to experience a little culture? Fine, I would do it. Once the lights dimmed and the curtain was raised, I'd popped an earbud in and settled back in my seat, fully prepared to waste the next two hours of my life. Instead, Alyssa had danced her way across the stage. I'd pulled out the earbud and sat spellbound, unable to look away.

I'd let Jenna make the outing a tradition and didn't bitch once about going. Maybe in real life, I couldn't stare at Alyssa the way I wanted to, but in a darkened theater, I could spend a couple of hours feeding the intense need I felt for her. The craving that was deep inside. The one I continued to deny myself on a daily basis.

The best part, the most reassuring part, was that she would never be the wiser.