He ignored the insinuation, saying, in a quiet voice, “She’s hurt her toe, but doesn’t want the producers to know.”
Coco’s eyes widened and she nodded, and he hurried off to change, where he was met with a clearly upset Miguel.
“Your Bailey cost me the competition,” he hissed.
“Pretty sure it was your low scores that did that.”
“This was my year for the mirror ball.”
Yeah, no. Obviously it wasn’t. He ignored the rest of Miguel’s words, stripping off his shirt, exchanging it for a fresh tee. He’d normally shower, but his parents were waiting, and he still really wanted to talk to Bailey. She’d been upset about more than a sore toe. He’d noticed that even before the pro dance opener. Was she worried about the rumors about them, like the ones implied by Coco, or voiced more directly, like the reporter?
They couldn’t control what others said about them. That was the price of fame. It was part of why he was careful to always tell the truth, to be honest and direct to the point of bluntness, because that way there was no having to second-guess what he said or did. That, and God wanted him to, as well. But maybe Bailey hadn’t had her shell hardened by years of the spotlight, and maybe she worried about things like that.
He really needed to talk to her, and find out.
CHAPTER 12
“Oh my gosh, Bailey. You shouldn’t have danced on that.”
Bailey winced as Coco removed Bailey’s tights. The dark gray surrounding her right big toe wasn’t the first time she’d seen such a thing. “I’ll ice it, and rest it as best I can.”
Coco sighed. “You’ve got the waltz this week, right?”
“Yeah. That should be easier.”
Coco grabbed Bailey’s Uggs and gently slipped them on. “Are you coming home with me or going with him?”
No guesses who “him” was. She winced again.
“You don’t have to go with him,” Coco said. “Just tell me you’re not thinking of flying back to Winnipeg.”
The thought of her own bed drew longing, but she shook her head. “We agreed to stay here and rehearse this week.” She winced. “And all I want to do is put ice on this and go to bed.”
“And you can do that as soon as we get you back to my place.” Coco frowned. “Unless lover boy…”
“Stop,” Bailey begged. “Please stop. He’s not, he can’t be. We barely know each other. He certainly doesn’t know the important stuff.”
Like what Erin had alluded to before. Well, not alluded. Pretty much said outright. Bailey had worked so hard since Mark’s rejection, and she didn’t throw up like that anymore. But that season in her life, the season that had ultimately pirouetted her into a new career, had shaped her, and while she’d worked so hard to leave it behind, it didn’t take much to question things again. Like everything that had happened tonight. Oh, she hoped Luc wouldn’t be out there, being all kind and concerned. She might really cry then. And if the producers saw her cry, then what might happen?
Already she’d had the lead choreographer express his disappointment with her mistake in the pro dance earlier. That, along with Miguel’s death stares, had really rocked her confidence. She knew she needed to shake it off, but some days were a lot easier to do that than others. And everything that had happened tonight—the misstep, the rumors about her and Luc, his parents meeting her like she and Luc were a couple, Erin’s unwitting reference to bulimia—had made her feel so fragile she might crack at any moment. And the sunshiny persona would fall to reveal the woman who was trying so hard to make up for past mistakes.
The glitter costume was hung up, exchanged for her sweats and a top warm enough for the night’s cool temperatures. Her Uggs provided welcome softness, even if her toe still throbbed. Thoughts of Coco’s apartment beckoned, a shower, bed, quiet, sleep, and maybe more ibuprofen.
Then she exited. And found Luc waiting at the door.
“How are you feeling?” he asked quickly.
“Fine. Well, my toe is really sore, so I’m going to go ice it and lie down.”
“Where? At the hotel?”
“Coco’s,” she reminded him.
“Oh.” His shoulders drooped, like her answer disappointed him.
That’s right. His parents. “I’m sorry I can’t spend time with your folks, but please tell them I enjoyed meeting them.”
He nodded. “Will you, um,” he glanced around, then added more softly, “still be able to dance next weekend?”
She nodded. She had to. She’d had another look at her contract and it seemed to say that she actually had to dance at the third round, not just get to it. Not dancing next weekend would be the equivalent of exiting in round two, so yes. “We’ve got the waltz.” And she would dance it, if it killed her.
He glanced at her, then down at his feet, then back at her. “Can I, uh, help you with your bags or anything?”
Oh. “Um, sure.”
She hobbled back inside to where Coco was still talking with Michelle, one of the other dancers. Coco glanced at her then nodded. “Catch you later, Mish. My girl Bailey needs me.”
She sure did. Coco mightn’t be a Christian, but she knew this scene way better than Poppy or any of Bailey’s other close dance friends. And having someone to guide her through the labyrinth of emotions would be helpful right now.
They exited the dressing room, and Luc straightened from the pillar where he’d been standing, talking on his phone. He ended the call.
“You’re still here?” Coco asked him.
“As you can see.” He bowed, in a graceful movement Bailey bet he wouldn’t have been able to do a few weeks ago.
Her chest squeezed. Was it really just such a short time they’d known each other?
