I Won't Dance

** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** I WON'T DANCE
image by hinkleville


Chapter 1

The first weekend of January was usually freezing in Philadelphia, PA, but that didn't discourage ardent football fans from crowding Veteran's stadium for the last regular season game of their division champion franchise. The open-air arena was packed, despite the biting chill and the snow threatening to spread thickly on the already frozen turf. The fans who couldn't attend the game were eagerly assembling in front of televisions in living rooms and sports bars throughout the city and surrounding areas. However, there was at least one man who did not share in the excitement on this cold Sunday.

Sean Mitchell should have been playing in this game, after handing the Eagles the division with last week's win. In fact, throughout the season he'd been one of their strongest assets, notwithstanding all of his thirty years. And no one knew that better than himself. But he was beginning to discover that he wasn't invincible after all.

So he sulked on his plush leather couch in front of his big screen TV in one of the most luxurious spreads in Pennsylvania, bitterly sucking on his third beer of the afternoon as he listened passively to the pre-game show. The Eagles were highly favored over the "oh, how the mighty have fallen" Giants, but the commentators were obliged to argue the possibilities.

"What effect will the loss of star wide receiver Sean Mitchell have on Philly today and in the playoffs?"

"Well, their passing game is hurting without Mitchell, but the offense is strong enough to carry the team at least through the first round of the playoffs."

"Like hell it is!" And it was, but Sean didn't want to admit that.

"Let's take another look at last week's film to see what happened to take Mitchell out for the season."

"What the...? Damn it to hell, nobody wants to see this anymore." Sean didn't need the sports shows replaying it over and over again; He had replayed the episode enough in his mind to recall every detail.

The Eagles were down by three on their own thirty yard line with a minute and five left in the last quarter. Two running plays failed to come up with decent yardage and the clock was running down, and Sean loved every tension-filled second, especially since he knew all eyes were on him to make one of those spectacular game-winning catches for which he'd become famous. These were the moments of which football dreams are made. The pass was perfect, and he caught it effortlessly downfield around the Giant's forty. He didn't bother to look around him; no one was going to touch him on this play. Or so he thought. Sprinting toward the uprights, preparing for one of his signature touchdown dances, his torso was suddenly swallowed in 300 pounds of beefcake. Not well equipped to support the extra weight, he laboriously stumbled toward the endzone and as he crossed the zero it happened. The pop. He felt it more than heard it, but the sensation was unmistakable. He finally gave in to the massive linebacker still dragging behind him and fell to the unforgiving turf as his left knee gave out. When he didn't get up immediately, the medical staff came to his aid and helped him off the field. A cursory examination was inconclusive, but once the swelling reduced the doctors diagnosed a torn medial collateral ligament and as well as a ruptured anterior cruciate ligament. Sean didn't really know what all that meant, except that he wouldn't be able to play for a while. Four to six months, to be precise. So much for the playoffs.

He never had been much of a team player; when he should have been showing his support, he was secretly wishing they would choke in the first round of the playoffs. Deep down he knew the team would survive without him, and that hurt most of all. Like every boy who's ever tossed around a Nerf in the backyard with his dad, Sean dreamt of Super Bowl rings, and it seemed that this year he would finally have had the chance to earn one.

Of course, he would be able to play again. These injuries were fairly common among football players and with surgery and therapy the doctors anticipated a complete recovery. But that didn't make Sean feel any better. Aside from missing the playoffs, he did not look forward to going under the knife or months of physical therapy. Though it would be good to walk normally again. At present, he could only manage to walk from his bed to the living room couch for a long, vigorous day of television, which he loathed, being accustomed to a very active life style. Even normal activities were difficult with the brace on his knee.

His thoughts were suddenly redirected from anger and self-pity to the football game that was about to start. He tried to be a good sport and root for his team, but no matter how well they played, Sean Mitchell couldn't make himself care.

* * * *

"For the love of God, why do these bums keep running the ball? Mitchell's gone a week and they lose all confidence in their passing game!"

Laurel tried to disguise the amusement in her voice as she attempted to comfort the distraught older man ranting at the television. "Daddy, does it really matter how they play today? They're already guaranteed a playoff position."

"Of course it matters! How they play today is a clear indication of their chances later. They're gonna screw it up again. No, don't run up the middle! Scott's wide open!"

It took all of her composure to suppress the giggles threatening to pour from her clenched lips. She understood her father's less than hopeful attitude. He'd lived in Philadelphia all his life and had learned to expect mediocrity, if not total ineptitude, from local sports. Sometimes she worried that he'd get too excited and have a stroke or a heart attack, but he for all his passionate pessimism, he really seemed to love watching football. And even though Laurel had only a minor appreciation for the sport, she was happy to spend the time with her dad, so she made a point to sit beside him during every game every season and listen to his vehement couch coaching, as she like to call it. When she was little, they went to every home game, but since her mom died her dad preferred to stay at home.

"What do you mean, there's a flag on the play? Damn it, what did you bums do this time? It's always against the Eagles! Damn officials bettin' on the Giants!"

Giving her father a knowing pat on the shoulder, Laurel excused herself to check on the munchies she was making in the kitchen. She was just taking the pigs-in-blankets from the oven when the phone rang.

"Hello?...Oh, hi Reagan, how are you?...No I'm watching the game with Dad...yeah...yeah, but he hasn't thrown anything at the TV so far. He's so silly."

Reagan wasn't at all interested in football, but she absolutely adored the players. "Have you told him about your new patient, Laurel?"

"Yeah, and he said the team would be just as bad if instead of helping Sean Mitchell recover I took his place. Poor Dad, always worrying."

"Oh, he's no fun! I think this is the coolest thing ever! Have you met him yet?"

"Mitchell? No, he has his surgery this week, so I won't see him 'til next Monday to start his rehabilitation."

"Don't you get to see him before that for a consultation or something?" Reagan asked, disappointment apparent in her tone.

"Reagan, this is not a big deal. I therapy athletes all the time."

"But never anyone as hot as Sean."

"Sean Mitchell is a bratty megalomaniac with too much money and too little morality. I am not looking forward to having him for a patient. But I am a professional, so I'm prepared to treat him as I would any other in my care."

"You're no fun either, Laurel," Reagan whined. "Fine, I guess I'll let you get back to your football game."

"Bye Reagan." Laurel knew her friend was right; Sean Mitchell was certainly the best looking man she'd ever seen, but his ugly personality overshadowed his good looks. Plus, he was notorious among the team's medical staff as an uncooperative patient. But she wouldn't let that phase her. "I can handle him."

But could she?



Chapter 2

The next Monday morning, Sean had every intention of sleeping all day. He was still recovering from his surgery and all the anti-inflammatory medication he'd been given post-op, and after watching his team win two games without him, last Sunday and yesterday's first playoff round, he didn't care if he never got out of that bed. Fortunately for the health of his knee, there was someone to drag him out of bed at 6AM to make his 7:00 appointment at Body Works Sports Training and Rehabilitation Center.

"6AM! Why the hell did you wake me so early!"

"Don't you take that tone with me, young man! It's a good thing I came by, you would have slept all day. When's the last time you got out of this bed?"

Sean groaned as he buried his head in his pillow. "Mom, I don't want to go to school today."

"Don't try to be cute, mister, you're not getting out of this appointment. Now go clean yourself up. I've laid out some of your sweats and I'm going to make you a nice hearty breakfast, and then I'm going to drive you over."

"Mom." For a grown man, he sure was a whiner.

"Move it!"

That was enough to move any man. In the next second he was out of bed and hobbling to the bathroom. It had been a while since he'd gotten out of bed, so he was stiff all over, particularly in his left knee. The ligament repairs had been successful, but there was still some inflammation and pain, and his muscles were tightening up. Maybe this therapy thing isn't such a bad idea.

After his shower and change he went to the kitchen to find his mother. Sometimes, including early that morning, he regretted giving his mother a key to his home, but he'd forgive everything at the smell of her cooking. She fixed him steak and eggs, just as she used to on the mornings before a big game when he was in highschool. He'd missed that luxury in college, and was glad to have it again every once in a while.

"There you are. Here, eat up and we'll be off."

He sat down at the kitchen counter to eat and his mother stood by to watch. "So, do you know anything about this woman you'll be working with?"

More concerned with his eggs, he shrugged and mumbled a reply.

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

"I said I don't know. Doc says she's great, so I'm going to see her. I don't know why I can't just work with one of the trainers."

"My but you're in a mood."

"Well, why can't she at least give me an afternoon appointment. It's way too early to be up."

"Quit your complaining and finish your breakfast. You don't want to be late."

* * * *

It was 7:15. He's late. Why am I not surprised? Laurel had cleared her morning to accommodate that primadonna and now it looked like he wasn't going to show. I don't need this! I have plenty of patients who appreciate me and need my help just as much, and probably deserve it more.. She did always have a lot of patients. She was one of the most respected physical therapists in the Philadelphia area. Laurel had been lucky to get this job right out of school, but she'd proven her ability immediately.

Aside from this morning's difficulties, Laurel was content with her current situation. She loved her job at Body Works, not only because she was helping people, but because it left her ample time to pursue another aspiration. Monday through Friday, Laurel worked at the Rehab Center from 7AM to 3PM and spent her evenings teaching at Terpsichore, a nearby dance studio. She'd been dancing since she was a child and had always dreamed of a professional career, but her plans hadn't worked out, so she satisfied herself with a teaching position.

Now if only Mr. Mitchell would show up, Laurel could get back to the good things in her life.

It was almost 7:30 when he came waltzing into the clinic; well, more like limping, but she wasn't about to feel sorry for him. She'd been catching up on paper work while she waited, but her office had a clear view of the waiting room so she saw him when he signed in at the front desk. She saw, too, how the receptionist lost her composure as she tried to take his information. Laurel didn't blame the woman. Good Lord, he's even hotter in person. Sean stood a good 6'2" and 200 pounds, but that didn't impress her as she was used to working with athletes. More amazing were his eyes, which were never mentioned in the player stats, and she was beginning to see that as a grave oversight. Had he been wearing his uniform they would have blended right in, the same deep green to the point of almost being blue, accented by his wavy dark hair. Even in his sweat suit, Laurel could appreciate his well sculpted form, those broad shoulders and tight...What am I doing? I'm a professional! And what if he sees me staring; like his head needs to be any bigger! God, how often does he work out?

BEEP! "Laurel, your 7:00 has arrived!" The strident sound over the intercom in her office startled her. Goodness, get a hold of yourself! He's just a regular guy.

"Thank you, Helen, I'll be with him in just a minute." A minute my foot! Let him wait! It wasn't like her to keep a patient waiting, but she felt justified in taking another five minutes to finish her reports after he'd kept her waiting for a half hour. Just as she was winding up the document on her laptop, Laurel got the distinct impression that someone was standing over her. Still concentrating on her computer screen, she listened for the unidentified presence to speak, but heard nothing. "May I help you?"

"Well, that's what I was hoping, for you to help me, but so far you haven't done much in that department!"

Laurel jumped at the clap of thunder issued from the man standing over her, and when she looked up Sean Mitchell was staring back at her with fire in his eyes. She was actually afraid for a moment, until she remembered his bum knee and that she could run away from him if necessary. And then she remembered that she was angry with him, too. "Excuse me," she exclaimed, rising from her chair, "but I rearranged my schedule so I could see you and you're thirty minutes late! Don't think that because you're some football star that you can have everything your own way!"

Sean didn't know what to say. He hadn't expected that tirade. Neither did he expect her to be so tall when he'd seen her typing at her desk with her legs folded in front of her. Something about her had seemed so frail and tiny.

When he didn't answer back, she grabbed her laptop and continued, feeling vindicated. "Well then, if you're ready, I'll take you to one of the exam rooms."

He followed her out of the office and down the hall to a private room containing an examining table, two chairs, and several pieces of medical equipment, most of which he didn't recognize. She motioned for him to have a seat on the table and watched silently as she took one of the chairs and fiddled with her laptop. "Mr. Mitchell, you sustained injuries to your left knee, both the MCL and ACL, and recently underwent arthroscopic surgery to repair both tears with allografts, is that correct?"

"Yeah, okay."

She raised an eyebrow at the doubt in his voice, but did not pursue the subject as she knew perfectly well that what she'd said was correct. She was just following procedure. "So, your orthopedist Dr. Johnson referred you for four months of therapy. You've had no other injuries or medical problems, bp normal, LDL/HDL in healthy range, no cardiac limitations, you exercise about...oh, how often...?"

"Everyday for a few hours."

Yes, yes you do. Thank you for that. "Everything looks okay then to start a therapy program. Are you on any medication?"

"Doc gave me some stuff for the pain, but I'm not taking it anymore. Don't remember the name, but they were white..."

Wow, that's helpful."Cortisone? It's a steroid."

"Couldn't have been that, he wouldn't give me steroids." Sean was shocked at the suggestion.

Laurel refrained from rolling her eyes. "No, actually it's a very commonly used anti-inflammatory after surgery. You stopped taking it? Did the pain stop?"

"Eh, can't complain."

Oh, so you're one of those tough guys. Fine, you can suffer if it makes you feel better.. "Well, let's have a look at that knee." His hands went to the elastic band of his sweatpants and Laurel's eyes grew wide. "NO! I mean, you don't have to take them off."

"Relax, I've got shorts on." For a medical professional, she was pretty skittish.

Sean rose to ease out of his black pants, and to Laurel's relief, and embarassment, he was indeed wearing loose green shorts that fell a few inches above his knees.

"Oh. Excellent." She stood up and placed her laptop on her chair as he resumed his seat, waiting as he removed the knee brace, and when she noticed his arrogant smirk, she knew she was blushing. "Lie back."

Sean did as he was told, watching her retrieve something from one of the drawers along the wall that reminded him a bit of the protractors he'd used in nineth grade geometry.

"Is there a math test, 'cuz I didn't study."

Funny. Aren't you so cute. "I'm just going to see how much mobility you have in this knee. Tell me if I hurt you." And don't try to impress me with your imperviousness to pain.

Is she always this uptight, or am I just lucky? It's a shame, I bet she has a really great smile. She had a really great everything from Sean's perspective, but he wasn't interested in an ice princess, no matter how beautiful.

He tried to behave himself while she evaluated his knee, but the silence was too much for him. "Aren't you a little young for a physical therapist?"

He thought women always liked hearing stuff like that, but apparently she missed the compliment, because she shot back an angry glare and matching retort. "Aren't you a little old for a football player?"

She had him there, but he was used to those comments by now, and didn't have to defend himself to this girl.

Laurel, however, couldn't let it drop. "I'm 26."

"Really, as old as that. Ouch!" He should have known not to patronize her while she held his leg above her head. She'd been testing his hamstring flexibility, which from his complaint proved to be lacking.

"Your quadriceps and hamstrings are pretty tight, which may have made you more prone to the injuries."

"I'm not the only one who's tight in this room."

She didn't miss the meaning of his suggestion, and it was more than she could handle. "I'll thank you, Mr. Mitchell, to refrain from making any more uninvited comments. If you cannot, I think you'll have to find yourself another therapist!"

"Damn, you're touchy."

"Get out of here this instant!" she demanded, releasing his leg and opening the door to speed his departure.

"Wait a minute, I'm sorry." Man, this chick has issues. "Please, Doc says you're the best for this kind of thing, and he'd be mad if I didn't let you help me."

Laurel quieted at his speech. "He...Dr. Johnson said that?"

Her sudden humility astounded him. "Yeah, he's very impressed with you. Usually they don't send us players to outside trainers, but he was clear that he wanted you to rehab my knee. So if you're willing to deal with an obnoxious jock, I'd really like to stay and see what you've got planned for me."



Chapter 3

When Laurel realized how ridiculously she was acting, she was mortified.He must think I'm out of my mind! I have to get a grip!"Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint Ma...Dr. Johnson."

"Truce?" Sean held out his hand and was relieved when she accepted it. "You never told me your name, you know."

"Oh. I'm sorry. It's Laurel, Laurel Sullivan."

"Sean Mitchell, but you can call me Sean if you let me call you...Laurel? That's an interesting name."

"There's a funny story that goes along with it."

"I'm all ears."

Laurel smiled cryptically. "Perhaps another time. We have work to do."

Since hearing his praises from Sean, Laurel was determined to live up to Uncle Max's claims. Dr. Maxwell Johnson had been instrumental in her career. After his sister Jillian had died, Max was obliged to look out for her only daughter, as Laurel's father lacked the means to provide for her future. When her dreams of dancing professionally had collapsed, he'd paid her way through school and established her in a colleague's practice after graduation. No one had shown such confidence in her since her mother died, and she promised herself that she wouldn't let him down.

Sean followed Laurel to a large room containing more exam tables as well as a wide selection of exercise equipment. He used the opportunity to size her up. She was tall and lean, with long legs emphasized in loose, hip slug black exercise pants and small bones visible with the sleeves rolled up on her light blue zip-up fleece overshirt. She wasn't what he'd expected when Doc told him he'd be working with a woman; he'd pictured a stocky older woman like the girls' gym teacher back in high school, a drill seargent type. This girl, for she barely looked her professed twenty-six years, looked like she belonged teaching kindergarten, and he couldn't imagine she was strong enough for this job. He'd worked with trainers before and they were always big men with muscles like his. How could this kid help him?

She must have noticed him staring, because her cheeks began to color. "What is it?"

"You just look kinda small for a trainer. Are you really all that strong?"

He was afraid he might offend her, but fortunately she didn't seem to mind the question. "I don't have to be built like a defensive lineman to have the strength to bend you around. How many of your guys do this?"

She removed her sneakers and Sean watched in amazement as she turned out her feet and slowly rose up until all of her weight rested on the tips of her bare toes.

"Wow, like that chick in Titanic!"

The chick in Titanic. That's all anyone can ever say. Argh!"So, you see, I'm pretty strong, and I'm flexible, too." To demonstrate, Laurel backed up to the wall, and as she bent over, lifted her right leg up and back to rest in a split against the doorframe.

"For the love of God, stop that!" Damn, it hurts just watching.

She smiled as she slid her leg down to stand. "Why does that bother men so much?"

"Because there are certain ways a man should not stretch and it scares us to imagine it."

"You know, flexibility is just as important as strength. I have a pretty good feeling that a huge factor in your injuries was the tightness of your thigh muscles, because they couldn't protect your knee. I'm going to help you restrengthen that knee, but I also want to work on your flexibility. I think you would really benefit from some ballet training."

What was that word?!"Ballet? Are you crazy? There's no way in hell I'm gonna be some ballerina man!"

"I know that you're aware of how many football players study dance to help them in their training. Ballet technique is a very useful tool."

"Yeah, but damnit if I'm gonna float around like a fairy and be a swan or some other sh.."

"This is my prescription, so you're just going to have to deal with it."

Before he could protest again, she disappeared into the hall, returning moments later with a pink business card. "I teach a beginner ballet for adults on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 8 to 9:30 PM at Terpsichore Dance Studio. This is the address. I am going to recommend that you come once a week to this class as a supplement to your regular therapy."

"You teach the class?"

"Yes."

It might not totally suck; at least I'll get to see her in tight, skimpy outfits.

"So, are you going to cooperate?"

He paused. "Well, I suppose I can give it a try. But I am not wearing tights!"

* * * *

The next evening, as Laurel was teaching her 7:00 ballet class to a group of fourteen and fifteen year olds, she found herself watching the clock more than her students. She prided herself on her fun but tough methods, but tonight she was having trouble concentrating on the lesson, and the girls took advantage of her relaxed manner. About half way through the class after a shameless petit allegro, she fell back to earth. "Girls! Those jumps! Where are the plies, the pointed toes, extended legs? Are we children playing or are we dancers?" She laughed secretly when she heard herself use her own teacher's favorite phrase. Boy, I have to start paying attention before these kids think I've gone soft.. "Alright, do we remember last week's combination?" She looked around at blank stares and twelve pairs of eyes nervously avoiding her gaze. "Girls, where are you heads today?"Where's my own head today? Laurel knew the answer to that question, and she hated admitting that some arrogant football player had her so distracted. He probably won't even show up.

She'd had taken care with her appearance, and dressed in a pale blue camisole leotard, legwarmers, and a new pair of soft pink tights with a matching short wrap-around skirt. Her ensemble typically consisted of black cut off tights that she pulled up just under her knees and a simple black leo, but she was making a bit more of an effort to be attractive tonight. She considered letting her hair hang loose, but it was too long, almost half way down her back and it would have been uncomfortable, so she fastened the light brown locks in her normal bun at the nape of her long neck. With the soft blush of her cheeks and the few loose strands of hair framing her face, she was the picture of romance. But she felt like a fool. Like he would care either way. Why would someone like him look twice at a mouse like me? He could have any girl he wanted.

When 8:00 rolled around, Laurel dismissed the girls and watched as the next class trickled in from the hallway. A slew of familiar faces greeted her cheerfully. Five minutes passed and she sighed in disappointment. He's not coming. Maybe he's tired from yesterday. He is still recovering, I don't want to overwhelm him. He didn't want to be here anyway. Well, if he doesn't want my help...

"Alright, everyone, let's get started."

As her class took their places at the barre, Laurel went to find some music, her back to the many mirrors as she began her instructions. "Plies, four demi, two grand, in first, second, fourth, fifth, and rise and balance." This was always a fun class for her, very relaxed and friendly, but she suddenly didn't want to be there. So much for my cute little outfit. With the heat on it was too warm for her sweater, so as she turned back to the class she started to remove it.

Just as she was lifting the bottom over her head, she saw him. He was leaning against the frame of the open doorway watching her, and she smiled, wondered how long he'd been there.

I was right, she has a wonderful smile. The rest of her isn't too bad either. He'd admired her trim, but softly curving figure in her exercise clothes the day before, but this ensemble suited her perfectly. In fact, the atmosphere was more appropriate. Damn, why didn't I ever take dance before, with honeys like that in tight little outfits?

"Sean! Come on in. I'm so glad you could make it."

He was worried that she'd be upset with his tardiness, but if she was, it didn't show. "I'm sorry I'm so late. My mom made me eat dinner before I came. She's staying with me for a few days while I'm recovering," he added quickly, not wanting to sound like he lived with his parents. "Plus, I debated for a while about what to wear."

Her gaze passed over him briefly. "You're fine in sweats, there's no adult dress code. We're very relaxed for these classes. But loose the sneakers. And the leather jacket."

Depositing his things on the side of the room, Sean scanned the room and found, to his relief, that he wasn't the only guy; though the majority were older women, the class also had a few boys who looked about college age, most of whom were dressed like him.

"Everyone, Sean is joining us for the next few months. He's never danced before, so we'll have to be extra gentle with him." She turned back to him. "I'll help you get a handle on some of the basics to start off and then you can just follow along. Don't worry if you don't get something; it's your first day. Find a place at the barre and we'll get started."

Laurel turned back to the sound system and suddenly felt underdressed. She always wore leotards and tights, but tonight she felt that they didn't cover enough and she wished her sweater was large enough to wrap around her waist. She tried to pull down her skirt, but it couldn't cover any more of her, so she gave up and started the music. The rest of the class took the cue to start the exercise and she returned to Sean for some individualized attention.

He was standing like the rest of them with his left hand clutching the barre, and she moved to stand in front of him so that he could mirror her. "Alright, first position." She stood before him with her heels together and toes apart and waited for him to copy. "Now let's try a few plies. These are demi plies; we'll save the grand plies for a few weeks so we don't stress your knees. Don't turn out your feet too much. Your knees should stay in line with your toes when you plie. Good. Now this is second," she announced, stepping out with her right foot. "That's it. And now plie. Excellent. And one step front is fourth. Ow!" She cried out when he stepped on her toes.

"I'm so sorry, are you okay?"

She smiled assuringly, continuing with her lesson. "And pull the front heel back to meet the toes on the other foot for fifth. Right. Okay, class other side. Sean, are you okay for now?"

He nodded his head, which was already swimming with new information. "First, second, fourth, fifth. What happened to third?"

"Oh, well, it looks like this," she said, pulling her left heel to the middle of her right foot, "but we don't use it much. I think you're catching on. If you get lost, just watch me."

He was completely lost for most of the class, but he didn't really mind, because it gave him a perfect excuse to stare at Laurel in her ballerina clothes. He struggled to match her movements, noticing how easily she performed the skills.

At the end of the hour and a half, Sean was sweating like he'd been to the gym.

Laurel approached him after class. "How are you feeling?"

"A little tired, but okay I think. I never thought ballet was so hard."

"I'm glad you stuck with it. Did you have fun?"

"Yeah, I guess I did. Say, you're really great, you know."

She shrugged off the compliment. "I'm okay."

"Are you a dancer or something?"

"Or something. When I was a little girl...you know I'd really rather not talk about it."

She looked very uncomfortable with the subject, so he let it go, wondering at the longing that lurked behind those crystal blue eyes. "So, you wanna get out of here?"

Laurel stared back at him, astounded. Is he asking me out? What should I say?"I...what do you mean?"

"The night is still young. We could go out for cheesesteaks."

Are you kidding?"I don't think so."

"Don't you eat? I've heard stories about dancers..."

"I'm just not hungry," she announced, irritated.

"Come on, you might enjoy being bad for a change."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Ignoring her question, he slipped on his sneakers and jacket. "And you could use a little meat on those bones."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You might wanna put something on, it's kinda cold outside."

What's this guy's problem? What's my problem? He's asking me out, this gorgeous guy, and I'm thinking about... It was obvious that he wasn't accustomed to hearing the word "no" and the more Laurel thought about it, the more she liked the idea. It couldn't hurt, just this one time. If he asks again, I'll say no. Just this once... "Alright, you win." She went to the corner where her dance bag rested replacing her skirt and leg warmers with a pair of low rise jeans and put on her sneakers, pulling on her sweater and grabbing the bag to rejoin him.

He was sorry to see her covered up again, but she would have frozen on this cold January night. I'd be happy to keep her warm. He wondered if she'd ever let him.

It was a quick couple of blocks to the nearest pizza parlor, which had great pizza steaks and cheese fries. After ordering, they sat quietly in their booth, waiting.

Laurel felt awkward. Is this a date? What am I doing out with this guy? What am I supposed to say to him?

Fortunately he spoke first. "So, how long before I can do some of that hard stuff?"

She laughed. "Well, you'll have to hold of on some of the more difficult skills like turns and jumps until your knee is more stable. My goal is to rehabilitate you, not turn you into Barishnikov."

"Have you been dancing a while?"

She hesitated, staring at her hands clasped in her lap. "Since I was three."

"Wow, no wonder you're so good."

She shook her head. "I'm not good."

"What do you mean? You're amazing."

"That stuff tonight was nothing, beginner technique. I'm a good teacher, nothing more."

"Don't you know how to take a compliment?"

His tone surprised her, forcing her eyes to meet his. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be ungrateful. I'm...I really don't...could we talk about something else?"

What's the matter with this girl? Why should it bother her so much to talk about something that she obviously loves? "Fine, new topic. So, I felt like a complete fool in that class tonight."

She traded his self-depricating smile for a brow knit in suspicion. "I thought we weren't going to talk about ballet."

"I thought we just weren't discussing your career, we didn't say anything about mine."

She laughed at the suggestion. "So now you want to be a dancer?"

"You don't think I could do it?"

The challenge dissolved in a wave of laughter. "Your technique could use a little work."

"Maybe I should get some extra one-on-one help."

She looked at him questioningly. "You'd really want to do that? I mean, we're already working together twice a week at the center, and you're coming to class, I don't think it's necessary..."

"So you don't want to..."

"I didn't say that. If you're really that interested, I'd be happy to work with you individually after class."

"Great. It's settled then. Here's our food."

The counterboy had reappeared with a loaded tray, and Sean was anxious to see how this skinny girl would deal with the large sandwich. He watched in delight as Laurel picked up one half and opened her mouth wide to take a big bite. "Good?"

As her mouth filled with the flavors, Laurel was sure she would die from pure pleasure. "Mmmm, bery gummy,"she answered through the mouthful, then swallowed quickly to repeat her comment. "Very yummy."

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to speak with your mouth full?"

The smile that had illuminated her face a moment earlier suddenly vanished and she became very still and quiet. Sean cleared his throat. Did I say something wrong? Why does she look so upset? What did I do?

Laurel observed the tension and worry in his face and felt bad for upsetting him. He doesn't know. Why would he know? We've only just met, I can't give him my life story in one night? What can I do? And all at once, neither one of them was hungry anymore.

Sean broke the silence. "You look tired. We'll get these wrapped up and I'll take you home."

She gave him a weak smile of thanks as he waved to the counterboy. God, he must think I'm a lunatic! I've seen him twice and some how both times I've been an emotional mess. He's never gonna want to see me again.

He was grateful when the sandwiches were ready so they could leave. I just don't know how to act with this girl. She must think I'm the most insensitive bastard in history.

As they left the restaurant, Laurel turned back to Sean. "You really don't have to drive me home. I live only a few blocks from here."

"It's no trouble, besides it's cold and dark."

"I'll be fine."

"Tryin' to get rid of me?"

"Yes...NO!...I just...I'm fine."

"I'm not sure that you're fine, Laurel."

"Really, I walk home from the studio every night. It's perfectly safe."

"That's not what I meant. What's wrong? Did I do something?"

"No, it's just that...it's complicated."

"And you don't want to talk about it."

She shook her head in reply. "Maybe it's best if we keep our relationship purely professional."

"If that's what you want..."

"That's the way it has to be, Sean. Thank you for supper," she called back as she walked away.

"Wait, at least let me walk you home," Sean cried, catching up to her. He didn't want to say goodnight yet, not while she was clearly upset about something. "Please, so I can feel I did something noble."

She thought for a moment. "Well, alright."

"Thank you." For the first few blocks they didn't say anything to each other, but then Sean spoke. "Are you always this stubborn?"

"Nope, just with you. Unfortunately."

"Come again?"

Laurel answered without breaking stride. "Some would say that I give up a little too easily when it really matters." I know I've said it."I suppose you bring out the best in me."

"Should I be flattered?" he asked, looking at her profile as she walked beside him, her arms crossing her chest to keep out the chill.

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "Maybe."

"You sure are a strange girl." Her face spun around to face him. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. It's just the things you say, and the things you don't say. I feel like there's so much you're not telling me."

She looked back incredulously. "We just met! I can't just open up into my life story when I barely know you." Laurel turned away, looking at her feet as she walked and continuing softly. "I can't even do that with people I've known for years. And I don't want to get involved with anyone, not now." Not ever.

Sean thought he was beginning to understand. "Getting over a bad relationship?"

"Something like that."

He was getting tired of her cryptic answers. "Here we go again! Why can't you just say what you mean? What are you trying to hide from me?"

"I'm not hiding anything," she declared, but at the same time refused to meet his searching gaze. Somewhere in their conversation they arrived at the steps in front of her townhouse. "This is me. Thank you for walking me home."

She headed for the door, but he grabbed her arm before she could get out her keys. "Please, Laurel, don't be like this."

She refused to look at him. "I'm tired. We both have to get up early tomorrow for your therapy session."

"This can't wait 'til then."

"Goodnight, Sean."

Before he could stop her, she closed the door behind her. "Damnit! I should just give up!"

Laurel was standing with her back to the door, and she heard his explitive. So he is interested. This knowledge should have had her dancing on the ceiling, but instead she wanted to sink into the carpet. What is wrong with me. She could almost hear her mother's soft, comforting voice:

"Honey, I know everything's really hard now, but you'll get through it. I know you're going to be just fine."

Mommy, where are you when I need you?

"Is that you Laurel?"

She took a deep breath to collect herself. "Yes, Daddy."

"Is that a cheesesteak I smell?"

Laurel smiled, walking into the living room to find her dad in his usual spot. "Pizza steak, provi, onions. Peppers on the side."

"You're just in time," he said, taking the bag and digging for the contents. "A Day at the Races is playing in five minutes." He opened the aluminum foil. "Someone took a bite out of this."

i}A Day at the Races was her dad's favorite Marx Brothers' picture, mostly because he was an avid horse racing fan. She watched him descend on the untouched half of the sandwich. "Yeah, that was my bite. I'm kind of tired, Dad."

"It's a short movie. You love the Marx Brothers. I'll save the other half for you, okay?"

"No thanks, Daddy, it's yours. I've had enough."

Half way to her room, she heard him speak again. "Bring me a soda when you come back down."

Oh, dear. "Sure, Dad. I'll be right there." It's not like I could sleep anyway.

* * * *

I could sleep forever. When he finally got in the door to his own house, Sean felt physically and emotionally drained, and his knee was throbbing. He jumped as the lights came on. "Mom, what are you doing?"

"Sorry, honey, but I didn't want you to trip in the dark. Your out a little late for a weeknight.

He looked at his watch. "It's only 10:30, I'm not seventeen, and this time that 'as long as you're livin' under my roof' speech isn't gonna work."

"And what's this? Cheesesteaks again? What happened to healthy eating during the football season?"

"As far as I'm concerned, football season is over."

The older woman was shaking her head disapprovingly. "Have you iced your knee yet? Sit on the couch, I'll take care of it."

One woman won't talk to me and now this one won't listen.

She was back a minute later with an extra special snack. "Milk and cookies? This is so much healthier. What, am I five now?"

"Put your leg up on the couch. You remember you're supposed to elevate it. Put a pillow under your foot and I'll put on the cold pack. There, isn't that better? What would you do without me?"

"Doesn't Dad need you?"

"Your father didn't just have surgery. He'll be fine another night by himself. So, did you have fun tonight?"

"It was okay." He paused before he spoke again. "Mom, can I ask you something? I mean you're a woman..."

"Really, I hadn't noticed. What's the matter, dear? You haven't wanted my advice since you were ten." She sat down with him, her eyes full of motherly sympathy.

"It's Laurel..."

"Your therapist?"

"Yeah. I don't think she likes me. I don't know what I'm doing wrong, but I feel like everytime I open my mouth make it worse."

"Honey, you've only just met. These things don't happen overnight. Maybe she's shy. You really like this girl?"

"I don't know, she's different. I guess I'm not used to waiting, but I don't want to miss my chance with her...why am I telling you all this? You're my mom."

"I think you need some rest, Sean," she smiled, kissing his forehead as she rose to leave. "Everything will make more sense in the morning. I'll wake you at six, and this time you better get up when I tell you."

"G'night, Mom." Maybe she's right and I'll feel better in the morning. I hope so.



Chapter 4

"Good morning, Mr. Mitchell! Ms. Sullivan is waiting for you."

Sean barely noticed the receptionist checking him out when he arrived at the clinic around 7:00 the next day. He was anxious to see Laurel, and to find out about what had happened last night.

He found her in the therapy room with all of the other PT's and their patients. She was sitting beside a young girl, massaging her outer thigh. "How can I get one of those?"

Laurel looked up and it seemed as if she would smile, but something stopped her. "Massage is not part of your therapy program."

"Why's she so lucky?"

"Lucky? Daniella has bilateral IT band tendinitis. She hasn't been able to take class because of the pain."

Sean looked at the girl, who was about thirteen and rather petite. "So you're a dancer, too?" She nodded diffidently. "Any good?"

Laurel knew the girl would not dare speak, so she answered for her. "Dani's one of my best students. She has a lot of potential, if only she'd take better care of herself." The last part was more for the girl's ears. "Alright, enough of this. Do your stretches and that new barre work I showed you last week, and I'll be back to check on you later."

She turned back to Sean as the girl busied herself. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"No problem. What happened to her?"

Laurel watched Dani stretch, her eyes filled with concern. "She works too hard. The girl's under a lot of pressure, and this age is very difficult for a dancer, her body changing and everything. It all gets pretty frustrating, and sometimes it's too much to handle."

Sean saw the compassion in her eyes, and figured that Laurel knew what she was talking about from firsthand experience. He resisted the urge to ask her about it, not wishing to repeat last night's episode when it seemed like she'd already forgotten it.

Except that she hadn't forgotten. Laurel remembered everything, what happened ten hours ago, what happened ten years ago...

Sean's voice brought her back to reality. "Will she get better?"

"Yes, she'll be fine most likely, if she takes it easy for a while. Right now her body is telling her to take a break."

"I think my body's saying the same thing to me."

"Sore? It's understandable, after surgery and now being active again after a couple weeks of...oh no, I see what you're up to. Sorry, Sean, but I'm not giving you a massage."

She caught him. "That's not fair."

"You picked the wrong injury. I'm afraid you'll have to do all the work. Speaking of which, let's get started."

His program was the same as on Monday, but with more exercises and fewer one-on-one therapy from Laurel. She explained that she wanted to ease him back into an independent training program where he moderated his own activity while she could monitor his progress. Since he was a professional athlete, she maintained, she wanted to use more aggressive techniques to rehabilitate him, though Sean couldn't help but wonder if she was trying deliberately to minimize her time alone with him. And she wasn't exactly sure herself if that was her intention.

He finished his session around 11:00, and after a shower and change in the lockerroom, he found Laurel in her office, sitting crosslegged in front of her laptop like the first time he'd seen her. She was dictating patient reports to her computer via microphone head set: "...Mr. Harper's therapy is progressing as anticipated. In his fifth week he is walking without crutches, but continues to wear the brace. There was no inflammation or edema in his ankle or foot. He does not complain of discomfort, but..."

"Can I interest you in lunch?"

She stopped briefly to look up, but immediately redirected her attention to her dictation. "...cannot yet resume his pre-trauma level of activity." She covered the microphone to answer him. "Can't. Paperwork."

"Can't it wait? You have to eat." He thought for a second. "Unless you really are one of those anorexic chicks."

That got her attention, as he knew it would. "...His next reevalution is set for two weeks." Laurel removed her headset. You said one time, Laurel. What are you doing? "I...I suppose lunch would be fine." This is a bad idea.

"Great, let's go."

He took her to a cute little diner across the street and tried not to laugh when she ordered a Caeser salad and water with lemon. "I'll have a double cheeseburger with everything, fries and a coke, no make that a rootbeer float."

Laurel made a face at his order, and he refused to let it slip. "You know, a Caeser salad has more fat than a Big Mac."

"That's ridiculous. You just made that up."

"No, really, I read it somewhere," he protested.

She still was skeptical, but defended her choice to his objection. "Anyway, I don't get them to be healthy, I happen to like salads."

He shrugged. "You're entitled to your opinions, I guess, even if they're wrong."

She shot him back an angry glare, but it quickly dissolved into a smile. He was reluctant to mention it, now that they were getting along so well, but he needed to know where he stood with this girl. "Laurel about last night...I don't know what I did or said to..."

"No, don't say it, I was the one who...it's nothing you did, I promise. There are other things...and since I don't really know you, I didn't think it was fair to unload all of my problems on you."

"How 'bout Friday?"

"Friday?"

"We can get to know each other."

"You mean, like a date?"

"Why not? You might like it."

That's what makes me nervous. "I...I suppose that would be alright."

"Great." Not exactly an enthusiastic reply, but a "yes" all the same.

Their meals arrived shortly, and their conversation continued on this relaxed track. It was after 12:00 when they finished lunch, and Laurel had to get back to work. Sean offered to walk back with her, but she politely declined. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, ballet at 8:00."

"Right. I didn't realize you planned to come on Tuesdays and Thursdays."

"I figure I need all the help I can get. And you're still up for a little extra instruction after class?"

"It would be my pleasure." And she meant it.

* * * *

Laurel arrived back at the clinic to find the receptionist in her usual lunchtime posture, bent over the desk on the phone with her boyfriend. Or is he her fiance now? I can't remember. Somewhere in the young woman's revelry she caught sight of Laurel. "Ms. Sullivan, your 1:00 cancelled, your friend Reagan called to ask if you could take her 4:00 and 5:00 jazz classes, her daughter's sick, and you have a visitor in your office."

"Thanks Helen, calll Reagan and tell her okay; when you're finished, that is." I wouldn't want to interrupt the love birds. She was almost sure that they were in fact engaged. Helen was barely out of college and already she was getting married. If I hadn't committed myself to my studies, I could have found someone, too. I've got enough to worry about in my life.

Laurel walked to her office, which was open and found her guest seated behind her desk. "Uncle Max! To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"There you are, Laurel." He rose to greet her with a quick hug. "I've come to evaluate your progress with Sean Mitchell."

Just the sound of his name and her heart leapt, and she hoped her uncle didn't notice. "Well, he was a little tough to take at first, but we're getting along fine now."

"Excellent. You know, this is a very important case for you. I'm planning to reccommend you to our practice on the basis of your work with him."

Laurel frowned. "Uncle Max, I like working here."

"Honey, the reason I sent Mitchell to you was to show the boys that you were qualified to work with us. The position would mean more money and..."

"I don't want more money, Uncle," she announced, exasperated. "I love my job. It gives me time for...other things."

"Laurel, I thought we talked about this. I thought we agreed that you would stop with dance to focus on your career."

"I never...that was your idea, and I don't see why..."

Max took hold of her shoulders to steady her, a concerned expression on his face. "Sweetheart, I know how you feel, but we both know that nothing can come of your dancing. It's great that you have a hobby, but you need to concentrate on your real potentials. I'm only telling you this because I love you and I know what you are capable of, and I don't want you throwing away everything you've worked for."

"I know, Uncle Max, but why..."

He glanced at his watch. "I must run, dear, I'm giving a lecture at 1:00. We'll talk about this later." He patted her face and was gone directly. She followed him to the hallway and watched him exit the clinic. Once he'd left, she returned to her office, shut the door, and flopped into her chair. "Arhh! He doesn't understand! Why won't he listen to me?"

Laurel knew her uncle meant well. He'd taken great care that she would have a secure future after her mother died. He was a firm advocate of hard work, and his convictions helped him secure a position among the orthopedic surgeons and sports doctors at the Institute of Exercise Science and Medicine, and had made it clear that he had every intention that his niece would follow his example.

And he made it equally clear that he didn't approve of her "hobby." He had discouraged her from taking the teaching position while she was still in college, but relented under the assumption that it would only be temporary. When she continued to teach he'd become worried,
and for a while now had been attempting to persuade her to give up dance.

It was an old argument; she could remember him using practically the same words ten years ago. But this time, Laurel was determined not to listen.

* * * *

The next evening, Laurel made a concerted effort to pay better attention in her classes, but couldn't help her excitement over the prospect of seeing Sean in a few hours. What am I doing? I'm 26 years old and I'm behaving like a love-struck adolescent. He's just a guy. But she didn't believe that for a second. Those deep emerald eyes, that wicked grin; Sean Mitchell was no ordinary guy, at least none that she'd ever known. Not that she had known many.

Staying focused became more difficult as the clock creeped closer to 8:00, but she was determined to stay in control of the last group of children before the adult class. "Girls, for the last ten minutes we'll start your variation for the spring concert." This was always Laurel's favorite part of class, the dance. She appreciated the structure and discipline of the technique exercises, but she lived for the freedoms of choreography, when she felt she could really share herself with her students.

However, this was also a difficult time, because she knew she wouldn't have the chance to perform the piece. Laurel missed the stage more than anything she'd given up in her dance pursuits, and teaching could not fill the void. When she transfered her choreographies to her students, she presented them with all the fire of her performance days, and none could understand why she'd ever given up on her dream.

As she demonstrated a short combination, the fires stirred, and she nearly forgot that she was teaching. Occupational hazard. "Alright, girls, let's take it together. Five, six, seven..." As she danced she tried to watch the girls behind her in the mirror, but she was lost in her joy. Could anything be more magical than this?

"Are there questions? Good, by yourselves, then." Laurel examined her students carefully, all near-perfect technicians with precise and deliberate execution. And she wished that ten years had never happened.

"You were better." Her mind must have wandered, or she would have seen him approach in one of the mirrors, denying him the chance to sneak up on her and whisper in her ear.

"Sean! What are you doing here?"

"The 8:00 class. You know that."

"It's not 8:00 yet."

"So?"

"So, please get out of my class, I have students."

"Well, can't I stay and watch? You girls wouldn't mind." If their giggling and whispering were any indication, the girls most definitely didn't mind, and he took advantage of Laurel's confused silence to seat himself in the front of the room. You ain't gettin' rid of me, sweetheart.

Laurel wasn't really serious when she ordered Sean to leave, but she began to regret abandoning her protest, well aware that from his place on the floor he has an excellent view of her only moderately covered behind. I knew I should have worn something around my waist tonight. Leotards tell no lies.

Nice view. Sean was quite pleased with himself. I wish all women dressed like this; no, not all, just her. He had no intention of watching her class. But it rhymes with class.

Sean must not have realized that in a room full of mirrors, there are no secrets. He's staring at my butt! It occurred to Laurel to be offended, but the more she thought about it, the less it bothered her, until she actually enjoyed his obvious appraisal. That doesn't mean he should get away with it! "You know, Sean, I can see you doing that in the mirror."

Damnit, mirrors. She kept her back to him, but he found her face in the same mirror she was using to look at him. She's smiling! That... Sean tried to fit her with an appropriately suggestive title, but he couldn't think her a vixen or temptress when she blushed like that.

Oh, God, what am I doing? I'm flirting with him. "Alright girls, good work. You may go."

As the girls prepared to leave, Sean rose to stand behind Laurel and whisper again in her ear. "My turn."

She watched him in the mirror, observing the picture they made. He had a few inches on her, so that if she bowed her head slightly, she would fit snuggly beneath his chin if he were to put his arms around her. That would be nice. What am I thinking? "No!"

"What?"

Oh, God, did I just say that out loud?"I...I just...remembered something I wanted to say to the last class," Dear Lord, I'm pathetic. Sean, I think that you're incredibly attractive and I want very much for you to take me in your arms at this very moment, but I'm too much of a coward to say so. Run away now, before I make a complete fool of myself.. "No matter. Alright class, up to the barre."

As the class proceded, Laurel relaxed, but she tried as much as possible to avoid eye contact with Sean, and she passively refused to touch him as she usually did when giving corrections. She admitted freely to herself, she was afraid to touch him, but she didn't want him to notice.

He noticed. Sean watched her move arms and guide legs of other students, including the men, but she stopped herself at verbal commands with him. What is she so afraid of?

But even she didn't know.

As much as she had looked forward to this class, she was relieved when it finally ended. That is, until she remembered she'd promised Sean private lessons. I don't know if I can handle another half hour with this man. Not if he keeps staring at me like that.

Sean couldn't help but stare; she was beautiful. Her pale skin glowed soft pink to match her leotard, warmed by the exercise, and her light blue eyes sparkled cheerfully. He only wished he could see her with her hair down. The rich brown locks were always tightly fastened at the nape of her neck, but he imagined unbound it would spill down her back like velvet curtains. And how he knew that back, the graceful sweep from her long neck to her delicate shoulders to the gentle curve of her...Sean, cool off! You're making her nervous. You're making me nervous.

"Are you ready for your lesson?"

Deep breath. "Yep. Bring it on, Coach." He slapped his fist into his left hand and cracked his neck like he was coming out of the huddle.

"Ugh. Don't do that again."

"What?"

"Crack your neck. It's not good for you, and it bothers me to no end."

"Sorry."

"And we're not on the field, or in the lockerroom, and I'm not your coach, and quit looking at my butt while I'm talking to you."

She was right. He'd stopped listening and was looking at her reflection in the mirror behind her. "God, do you miss a trick?"

"You should learn that there are no secrets in this room. Everything is right out there. It's one of the greatest things about dance class." Laurel pulled her grey sweatshirt off the chair in the corner where she'd left it at the beginning of the night. "And one of the worst things," she finished, pulling the sweatshirt over her head. It was warm and loose, falling past her hips.

"Hey, what's this?"

"Show's over. Time to work. Back to the barre."

She was an attentive teacher, but she continued to be careful not to touch him. He could barely distinguish her hands, or much of the rest of her body, for that matter, hiding under the sweatshirt.

"Ow! Hell!"

"What? What's the matter?"

Sean grasped the barre, leaning back on it with most of his weight. "My knee."

"Sit down. Let me see it." She helped him to the floor and took his leg in her lap. God, what did I do? He's my patient, and my student, it's okay for me to touch him. What's wrong with me? She pushed up his sweatpants and removed his brace, placing her hands on the inside of his knee. "Here?" He nodded, and she tested it gently with her fingers. "I don't think there's anything wrong, it was probably just a cramp or spasm or something. Let me just..."

She looked up to find something very different from pain in his eyes. She began again. "Is this alri...?" His fingers stopped her before she could finish. His face was only inches from hers. Oh my God, he's going to kiss me. I...what should I do? I don't know...

"Laurel, I'm leaving now, if you're planning to...oh, goodness, I'm so sorry."

Laurel didn't have to turn around to identify the voice in the hall. "It's okay, Mary. We'll be done in a minute."

"I didn't mean to interrupt..."

"NO!" Laurel sprang to her feet. "I was just...Sean, his knee, well...we're finished."

"Okay, well, if you could close up for me, I'll be going."

"Sure, Mary. I'll see you Monday." She didn't dare look at the older woman; she could hear the smile in her boss's voice as painfully as she could feel the blush burning her cheeks. She sighed deeply when she heard the front door close.
"It's 10:00 anyway. You probably want to get going, too. Here, can I help you..."

"It's alright, I can manage," he assured her, standing up slowly. Damn it, I was so close.

By the time he was back on his feet, Laurel was on the other side of the room with her jeans on, stepping into her sneakers. "Hungry?"

She looked up at him. "What?"

"I didn't have dinner. We could go get something."

"I'm not...I don't really like to eat this late."

"Is this some sort of medical condition?"

"I'm not anorexic!"

"I didn't say you were."

No, he didn't. "Sorry. I'm just not hungry."

"Then you can watch me eat. I'm starving."

Sean didn't wait for her to protest, grabbing her hand as he slung his coat over his shoulder.

"I said I'd go out with you tomorrow night."

"I know, but I want to go out with you now, too. Is that alright?"

She pulled away angrily. "Why are you trying to be so difficult?"

"I'm not trying...how 'bout just a drink?"

"I don't drink."

How did I know she would say that? "Wow, you are a wild one. Fine, I'll take you home."

"You don't have to..."

"Give it a rest already." Without further discussion, he took hold of her elbow and practically dragged her from the studio, pausing briefly to let her lock up, to his dark green Lincoln Navigator.

Laurel's eyebrows raised incredulously. "Is everything about you so big?"

She'd meant it in the most innocent way, but as soon as she said it she heard the innuendo.

To Sean, this was terribly funny, but he regretted his broad smile when her cheeks colored.

She tried, in vain, to cover. "I didn't mean..."

He touched that pink cheek, and watched her grow still. "Do you know how adorable you are when you do that?"

"Do what?"

When she shivered, he realized how freezing it was outside, hurriedly settling her in the car.

Except she wasn't cold. How could she be cold, when he was so close?

It took only minutes to reach her home. After pulling up to the curb, Sean cut off the engine, and waited. "I guess you won't be asking me in."

"My dad will still be up, I don't think..."

"Your...you live with your parents?"

Parent. Singular. But not now, I can't tell him now. Laurel unclasped her seatbelt and hurriedly opened the car door. "Thanks for the ride. I'll see you tomorrow."

Sean sighed, emotionally exhausted. "Yeah. I'll come by for you at 7."

She nodded silently, and instead of the goodnight gesture he wanted he got a tiny wave of goodbye. He waited for her to go inside, watching her disappear behind the door. Maybe I'll have more luck tomorrow.



Chapter 5

Sean arrived at Laurel's door promptly at seven the next evening. He'd learned from the start that she did not like to be kept waiting, and made a point to be standing on her doorstep to ring the bell as the hour struck on his watch.

He hadn't really needed to ring; Laurel was sitting at the window overlooking the stoop, watching carefully for him since 6:30. She'd been agonizing over this moment all day, in fact, wondering if it was such a good idea for her to go out with a patient. It's just a friendly date. Nothing inappropriate about that. And Uncle Max will never know.

She jumped at the chime of the doorbell, grabbing her tan wool coat and calling goodbye to her father. "Daddy, I'm going out. I be back...later."

He replied from his seat in the livingroom. "Going out? Alone?"

She was reluctant to begin this conversation. Especially since Sean was still waiting for her at the door. "I have a date."

"A date? Who is he?"

"No one, Dad. I have to go. Don't wait up." She was out the door before her dad could continue his line of questioning. She walked right into Sean. "Oh, hi."

"Hi." He immediately noticed Laurel's uneasiness. "Something wrong?"

"No, not at all. Should we go?"

"Yeah. Come on." He took her hand and walked her to his car parked next the curb in front of her house, opening the door for her with all the chivalry he could muster.

She paused before getting into the black Jaguar. "What happened to your other car?"

"Oh, well that's just for during the week. These are my weekend wheels."

Laurel's eyebrows raised as she settled in the passenger seat. On the rare occasion when she drove, she borrowed her dad's 1975 Oldsmobile. He insisted the sedan ran as well as the proud day he'd bought it, and refused to part with his baby. Not that he could afford to buy a new one anyway. And Sean had two brand new, obscenely expensive vehicles. Well, he is a sport star with a contract worth millions, what did you expect?

As they drove away, it occurred to Laurel that he'd never said anything about his plans for the evening. "Where are we going?"

Sean kept his eyes on the road. "Just like I promised, nice and classy. My parents belong to a country club in Yardley. I hope you brought your dancing shoes."

Dinner and dancing? I never thought of him as the old-fashioned type. How sweet.

When Laurel made no reply, Sean glanced over at his charming companion long enough to see the pleased smile brightening her lovely face. Thanks, Mom. I owe you one. He'd made the right decision taking his mother's advice on where to take Laurel on there first date. He usually opted for loud night clubs and sports bars, but his mother made it clear that those places were not appropriate for a nice girl. He'd gotten into the habit of not listening to his parents when he was seventeen, but for whatever reason made an exception this time. Maybe it was Laurel.

It was long and fairly silent drive from Laurel's townhouse to the Kelso Club. Laurel read the name as the car pulled up to the valet stand. "Kelso?"

"The guy who built this place is some big horseracing fan. Kelso's this..."

"Brown gelding, ran from...oh, 1959 to 1966, I think, grandsire Count Fleet, greatgrandsire Man o'War..."

Sean broke in with amazement. "You know about horseracing?"

Laurel smiled. "I've picked up a few things. I was sort of born into it."

"You'll have to tell me about that sometime."

Inside and out, it was a charming club filled with high society elegance, both in its decor and clientel. Laurel was thankful that she'd worn her velvet black dress. It was simple, but classic and the full skirt that swirled to her midcalf made her feel not so out of place amongst the haute couture of the other patrons. When Sean removed his trench coat, Laurel got a good look at his finely tailored dark gray Armani suit. Very nice.

Sean certainly approved of Laurel's outfit. He realized that this was the first time he'd seen her in real clothes. Her hair was pulled up as always, but a few stray locks fell around her face, giving her a softer, more relaxed countenance. And that dress! Damn, all that dancing has definitely paid off. She wasn't as curvy as the women he usually dated, but the cut of black velvet showed off her long, shapely legs and the soft curves of her body, laying generously over her ivory skin. She didn't wear any jewelry, and he was enchanted by her exposed neck and shoulders. He hoped she wouldn't be cold, hating the idea of her covering up again.

Laurel saw him look, and was more than a little delighted. She'd never thought herself sexy, but she felt it in that dress when he looked at her that way, and was surprised when it made her feel gloriously happy.

After checking their coats, the hostess showed them to their table near the terrace, on the edge of the dance floor. The room reminded Laurel of the 1930's musicals she loved so much; Fred and Ginger could have danced on that floor.

Throughout the meal they chatted informally about the weather and news items, casually avoiding personal conversations. When their desserts arrived, Sean couldn't help but satisfy his curiousity. "Weren't you gonna tell me a story?"

"I don't remember..."

"Yeah, you said you'd tell me how you got your name."

She smiled. "Oh, yes. I suppose it's sort of an interesting tale." Laurel took a sip of her water and began.

"My father...well, he never was much of a success at anything. Worked a lot of jobs in his time, salesman, janitor, garbage collector. Hated every day, but he worked hard 'til about ten years...anyway, he always felt like a failure next to his brother-in-law, the doctor. My uncle, he would try to give them money, but Dad wouldn't hear of it. Then when Mom got pregnant, it seemed certain that they'd have to depend on her brother for support with the new baby. Dad was determined that his family wouldn't need anything from Ma...my uncle.

"Dad liked to play the horses. He wasn't very good at it, but one day...you see, every morning he bought the Daily Racing Form, and sometimes it covered tracks in New Jersey and Maryland as well as Pennsylvania. Early November 12, 1975 he read the morning line and the nineth race at an out of town track caught his attention. Three horses, the five, Prime Rank, the nine, Good Chateau, and the three, Boston Beauregard. It had to be a sign. His grandfather was born in May 1893, 5-93, and he was an officer of 'prime rank', a master seargent, in the first World War, and spent much of the war in France, and he was originally from Boston. Dad was never really superstitious, but this was too perfect. So he hopped a bus down to Maryland to bet the trifecta, except they called it a triple at that track.

"He didn't even have enough for his return fair, but he put everything on those three horses. The triple paid $23,363, so with his bet he came away with over $60,000, which was more money than he'd seen in his entire life. He went right out and bought a brand new Oldsmobile with his winnings and drove it straight home, and a neighbor told him that Mrs. Sullivan had gone to the hospital. It was around 10:00 at night when he met up with Mom and me. My uncle was furious with him, leaving her alone to have the baby by herself. But Mom didn't care. And Dad was so happy when he gave her the rest of the money. He said "This is for you and my new daughter, on the condition you let me name her." And he named me Laurel, after the racetrack that gave him his one and only success."

"What did your mom have to say?"

Laurel smiled wistfully. "She thought it was a beautiful name."

"What did they do with the rest of the money?"

"They bought our house on Chestnut Street. And Mom picked out new furniture and several baby things for me. She made Dad put the rest in the bank. For my college education." But thanks to me it never made it that far. "We still have the house, and the car, and the memories. He still takes me to Laurel racecourse every year on my birthday."

"I'd like to meet your parents."

Laurel tried to think of a good reply, but fortunately the waiter arrived to ask if there would be anything else, and the subject was changed. "Would you like to dance?"

Do you really have to ask? She held out her hands, letting him pull her to her feet and escort her to the floor.

Sean pulled her into his arms, and she felt like she'd come home. They fit together perfectly, and as naturally as she breathed, she laid her head above his heart as he swayed her in rhythm to the sweet, slow melody of the small orchestra. He was no Fred Astaire, but it didn't seem to matter how well he danced as long as he held her close like that. She couldn't remember the last time someone had...Don't think about it now, Laurel, this is so beautiful. Don't try to remember.

She smells like apples and vanilla. I bet she tastes...get a hold of yourself, you're only dancing. Sean had been with many women, but none so intoxicating, so soft as this angel. This was the first time she'd let him get this close, and yet she went to him so willingly, melting in his embrace. I have a chance after all.

Laurel wasn't sure how long Sean held her, but while the music played, she wanted nothing more than to be close to him. She'd forgotten how wonderful it felt, to be safe and warm, to have someone gently cradling her head and patting her back, silently promising that everything would be all right. And for a few brief moments she forgot...

When the set ended and the orchestra went on break, Laurel suddenly felt uncomfortable in Sean's arms, and abruptly pulled away. "Thank you, that was lovely."

Sean wasn't ready to let her go. "Any time. How 'bout gettin' some fresh air?"

She smiled, and that was all the invitation he needed to wrap his arm around her waist and lead her onto the terrace, which overlooked the extensive grounds, accommodating a large swimming pool, an 18-hole golf course, and areas for tennis, all of which were only faintly suggested by the soft glow of light from the ballroom. Laurel stepped away to absorb the breathtaking view, while Sean's eyes were otherwise occupied. In the tender flush of evening, she sparkled. At that moment, he would have believed that the moon got its light from her.

But Laurel missed his silent adoration, too busy wondering about the sort of childhood her companion must have enjoyed. She stood by rail with her arms wrapped around herself to keep out the night chill, her back to him. "Do you come here often?"

As he walked toward her, Sean shrugged out of his suit jacket and carefully drapped it over her shoulders. She began to thank him, but her gratitude caught in her throat when he proceded to pull her back against his chest and envelop her in his own warmth. Her immediate reaction was to pull away, but the effect was so overwhelming that instead she drew closer, leaning her head back against his strong chest and letting her eyes close as she waited for him to speak.

"I used to come her in the summers when I was a boy. My parents' house isn't far. They'd send us kids down to the pool to get us out of the house."

"How many brothers and sisters do you have?"

"Two brothers and one sister. Brian's thirty-four, Patrick's thirty-one, and Katie's twenty-seven, about your age." Sean pause to think about that for a moment, realizing how different Laurel was from his sister and why he'd thought she was much younger in comparison before. "We all played football, though Katie had to settle for cheerleading when she got to highschool. She was a powerhouse, not like..."

"...not like me?" Laurel finished for him. "You can say it, I'm a weakling."

"Ha! You've gotta be kidding me. I've seen the scary things you can do, so don't tell me that you're weak."

He wasn't sure why, or how he could tell, but he felt her smiling.

"I tried out for cheerleading in nineth grade. After I made the squad, all the players told me that my...I wasn't built well enough to cheer for them. I dropped out after the second day of practice."

"What a bunch of losers! No wonder you didn't like me at first, I probably reminded you of them."

"Maybe a little."

"Well, I hope you know now that they were complete idiots."

"They were right, though. I'm flat-chested, and my ears stick out, and my butt's too big..." Why am I telling him this?

"But I just love the beautiful picture it all makes."

"Is that right?" She attempted nonchalance, but couldn't help but show her embarrasment at his comment in her usual fashion.

He bent to whisper in her ear. "You can be my personal cheerleader any day." He couldn't help himself. She was so pliant in his arms, her head tilted to the side as if to offer her neck for him to taste. And he'd been wanting to for so long...

Her eyes were closed, and at first she thought she'd dreamed the gentle caress of his lips on her bare skin, but was fully awake once his kisses began trailing across her exposed shoulder. "Sean! What are you doing?"

"Shh, just relax," he whispered seductively as he continued to taste her neck.

"But we're in public! Sean, stop it!" She wasn't sure if she should expect him to listen, so rather than wait for his compliance, she tore from his embrace and fled back to the crowded ballroom, grabbing her purse and hurrying toward the front entrance.

He caught up with Laurel in the hallway, capturing her wrist tightly in his much stronger grasp and forcing her to turn back to face him. "Where are you going?"

"Sean, please, let go of me!"

"Not until you tell me what's wrong!"

"I want to leave!"

"Well, give me a minute to pay the check and get our coats. I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

Suddenly overcome with unbearable heat, Laurel shook off his suit jacket and held it at arms length, as if it had somehow offended in the manner of its owner. He returned shortly, taking back his jacket and trying to help her into her own, but she clearly wasn't anxious for him to touch her at that moment, so he settled for handing it to her. Immediately his Jaguar was brought around, and soon they were back on the road toward Laurel's home.

What did I do? I thought she wanted it. I swear she wanted it. She was easy as a new born kitten in my arms. What happened? For all of her agitation moments earlier, at present she sat perfectly still and quite, focusing straight ahead, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Was that anger in her eyes? Or fear? I wouldn't have kissed her if I'd thought she didn't want me to.

"Sean?" She spoke with the soft diffidence of a frightened child. "I don't want to go home."

Given his previous experiences, and his present desires, Sean easily misinterpreted her declaration. "Are you sure?"

She didn't understand him either, because otherwise she never would have nodded with so much certainty.

"Do you want to come back to my place?"

Another nod. Sean didn't know if he should believe her, but he wanted to terribly. He wanted it with every part of him.

The ride to his house was brief. He kept silent for fear of upsetting her and losing his chance of ending the evening the way he wanted, and she didn't speak because she was too busy wondering if this was a good idea. There's nothing wrong with me going to his house, is there? He said that his mom was staying with him. He wouldn't try anything, especially after...And I have to tell him. He deserves to know.

Sean was extremely careful not to touch her as he showed her into the house. He didn't want to risk screwing up again. She's very shy. Maybe she just doesn't like public displays of affection. I mean, I think by now I can tell when a woman is interested. She was like melted butter in my arms. There's no way I'm wrong about this.

The house was unusually quiet, at least to Laurel, who looked around expectantly for Mrs. Mitchell. "Is your mother asleep already?"

"My...Oh, she went home yesterday. Dad couldn't stand being alone anymore."

"Oh?" Maybe this wasn't such a great idea. "Sean, we need to talk."

"Sure. Let's go into the den. We'll sit on my big cozy leather couch and you can tell me anything you want. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Maybe some water, please." Her throat was already beginning to feel dry at the prospect of the impending conversation. It's really not such a big deal. I'll feel better when I tell him. He'll understand...

Laurel was settling onto the couch when Sean returned, handing her a glass of water and sitting down beside her. He let her take a long gulp and then took the glass from her, taking his time setting it on the end table next to her so that he'd have to lean over her, his hand strategically placed on her thigh as if to steady himself. When he drew back, his body moved slightly away, but his hand did not. And as the strong, but gentle fingers began to slide up to her waist, she forgot what she'd meant to say.

And Sean wasn't about to wait for her to remember. As he continued to reach up and around to her back, his free hand went to brush her cheeks, flushed with warmth. Ever so carefully, he pulled her into his arms, and she went as willingly as before. She clung to him like a distraught child clings to his mother, softening under his touch. He intended to savor this luscious treat, kissing her neck, her pale cheek, her temples, her closed eyes, and finally claiming those infinitely sweet lips. They tasted faintly of the chocolate liquor from her dessert and the red wine he'd urged her to drink against her own better judgement, an intoxicating blend of flavors that tantilized him further. He needed more of her.

Without breaking the kiss, Sean rested her against the sofa cushions and braced his arms on either side of her torso so as not to crush her. Laurel moaned as he deepened the kiss, and he accepted her muffled cry as a plea for more, and he was more than happy to oblige. He shifted his weight to one side and slowly his free hand crept along her slender frame to clutch the rich velvet fabric that was already beginning to slide up her long legs.

Laurel tensed when the warmth of his palm came into contact with her unveiled thigh, left with only the limited modesty of flesh-colored nylons. "Sean?" He made no answer, still pursuing his assault on her senses. "Sean, I don't think..."

"That's right, baby," he murmured beneath a thick haze of passion, "don't think. Just feel."

He was unmoved by the apprehension in her voice or the stiffness of her limbs. "No, Sean. Please."

"Mmm, you taste so sweet."

"You aren't listening. We shouldn't...Sean, stop. Stop it! Get off of me!"

When Laurel screamed and began pushing violently against him, Sean finally recognized the panic she was feeling. Confused by this change in her demeanor from a few moments before, when she'd been so soft and restful in his embrace, he immediately pulled back, and she took full advantage of the opportunity to put as much distance between them as the room allowed. "What's wrong, Laurel? Did I do something? Did I hurt you? Talk to me!"

She stood on the other side of the room with her arms wrapped around herself, refusing to look at him. "Why...why didn't you stop...when I asked you to?"

"I didn't really think...I'm sorry, Laurel, but you were so...I thought you wanted it." She started to walk forward and he thought she was going to forgive him, but his relief was short-lived when instead she grabbed for her jacket and purse drapped on the arm of the sofa and darted back to her safe distance. Sean jumped up when she pulled out her cell phone and began to dial.

"What are you doing?"

She ignored him, holding the phone up to her ear and waiting for an answer. "Hello, could I have the number for a cab company?" She looked up at Sean, her hand over the receiver. "What's the address here?"

"Laurel, don't do this. I'll take you home."

"I'd rather you didn't. I don't really want to be alone with you for another minute." She directed her attention back to the phone, walking past Sean toward the door. "Hello, could you send a taxi to...hold on let me get the address..."

She vaguely remembered seeing mail on the table by the door, but before she could reach it to find out Sean's address, the phone was taken from her. Sean put it to his ear and spoke. "I'm sorry, our mistake. We don't need the taxi after all."

He hung up before she could grab it back from him. "What kind of game are you trying to play with me, Laurel?"

"I'm not the one playing games."

"No? One minute you're all soft and sweet and the next you're screaming and pushing me away. If you didn't want any of this, why did you come in the first place?"

"I just wanted to talk...I didn't realize..."

"You didn't realize? Didn't your mother ever tell you that you shouldn't go home with a man if you don't want -- "

"NO! My mother never got that far! Now please, just take me home!"

She'd surprised both of them with her outburst. For a full minute they stood still in the hallway staring at each other, pushed to the extremes of emotional stress. Sean wasn't exactly sure what she meant by her passionate speech, except that she wanted terribly to be as far away from him as possible. He started to move her towards the door, but she made it clear that she didn't want him touching her, and he found himself wondering why. What happened to this girl? What is she so afraid of?


Chapter 6

That Sunday, the Eagles' divisional playoff game was held in Veterans' Stadium. By the fourth quarter, it didn't look very good for the home team, and couch cushions were flying at the Sullivan place.

Laurel tried to calm her father as best she could. "Daddy, your blood pressure. It's alright."

"Alright? Look at those bums! Every year! Every damn year!."

She was supremely grateful when the doorbell rang to give her an excuse to leave the room. "Reagan. It's nice to see you."

The thirty-three year old wife and mother looked more frazzled than Laurel felt. "I had to get out of the house for a couple hours. Jason and his buddies are watching the game and I can't hear myself think with all the screaming and cursing."

"We better not go inside then," Laurel suggested, closing the door behind her and sitting down on the stoop. "Where's little Melanie?"

"At a friend's house. I've been needing a day to myself, with all the craziness at home and at the studio."

"How are the plans for the spring concert coming along?"

"You know, same old problems. It's gonna be hell when Mary retires and leaves them all to me."

"You can handle it. You've practically been running the studio for the past two years, and with a five year old to take care of."

"Laurel, you know I didn't come here to talk studio business. I want to hear all about your date on Friday. I tried calling yesterday, but I kept getting your answering machine."

"Uncle Max wanted me to come down to the institute to help him with his new study." That explanation only covered the early half of the day, the other of which was spent sitting on the couch letting the phone ring.

"Uh, don't get me started on him. When is he gonna leave you alone and let you do what you want. Look what he did to your dancing -- "

"Please, Reagan, can we not talk about that?"

"Sure, let's talk about Sean Mitchell. So, how was it?"

"Fine, it was fine."

"Well, some details would be nice!"

"I...he took me to his parents' country club in Yardley, we had dinner, we danced a little, and...yeah, that's about it."

"Dinner and dancing! That's too adorable. What a perfect gentleman."

I wouldn't say that!

"So, what about the rest of the evening?"

"What do you mean?"

"That's all?"

"Yeah. What did you expect?"

"Didn't he kiss you?"

Laurel held her tongue, and Reagan bubbled with excitement more common in teenage girls than women in their thirties. "Ooh, he did! Well, come on, how was it?"

"What are you, twelve? I don't want to talk about this."

Reagan was accustomed to this response by now, having known Laurel since she was a little girl. "So I gather you haven't told him about -- "

"He was too busy feeling me up!"

"Wow, maybe you're the one who's twelve. You know, most grown-ups -- "

"Reagan, you know how I am."

"Actually, I really don't. Because you never talk about it. Not even with me. Laurel, you can't keep shutting people out like this. You see what it's done to your father."

"Reagan..."

"I know, you don't want to talk about it. I'm your friend, Laurel. I care about you. And I'm telling you, you can't let what happened stop you from...you know she wouldn't have wanted you to live like this."

Laurel tried to think of an answer, but before she could speak, the door cracked open behind them. "Oh, there you are Laurel. Hi Reagan."

"Hey, Mr. S, how's it goin' in there?"

"They lost, the bums. I knew they couldn't do it. Another season down the sh-- "

"Daddy!"

"I'm sorry, honey. You want to watch a movie? I though maybe Guys and Dolls or Bells are Ringing."

"Sure, Dad, I'll be right in." He smiled and closed the door. "He loves movies with horseracing songs."

"Laurel, did you hear anything I said?"

"Yes, I heard. I know, Reagan."

The older woman hugged her younger friend tightly. Laurel was startled at the contact. "You'll be alright, sweety. Don't worry."

"Thanks."

"I'll see you at the studio tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'll be there. Bye."

"Bye."

Laurel waited on the stoop for her friend to drive away, thinking about the conversation, and the warm hug. Until Friday night, she hadn't really realized how starved she was for physical contact. Except for hugs from her young students or the occasional congratulatory pat on the back from Uncle Max, few people touched her. And what a shame, because she had so much love to give. She'd been such an affectionate child. No wonder she went so willingly into Sean's warm arms. It had been at least ten years since anyone had showed her that sort of comfort.

But she hadn't expected it to go beyond the tender embrace. She felt foolish now for her naive and childish ideas. After ten years of avoiding relationships, she had no clue how to act with a man. Just the thought of anyone getting so close made her nervouse, almost sick. How could she tell him, at twenty-six years old, that all she wanted was for someone to hold her and tell her that everything was going to be fine?

* * * *

The City of Brotherly Love had a difficult time living up to its nickname on Monday morning after the demoralizing loss the previous day. Sean Mitchell, however, had not thought much about football that weekend, too worried over what he should say to Laurel when he saw her for their scheduled therapy session. It might have been easier for him if he knew what he'd done wrong. I know she's shy, but she was so relaxed in my arms at first. What happened? I think by now I can tell when a woman is interested, and she definitely seemed interested. I don't understand it at all.

He decided that the best course of action was to apologize for his behavior; women usually appreciate that sort of thing. Not that I should have to. I didn't do anything wrong. Did I? He really wasn't sure. Maybe he'd misinterpreted the signs. After all, Laurel wasn't like any other woman he'd ever met. And he didn't want to lose his chance with her.

But Laurel's preemptive efforts forced him to think of another plan; according to the secretary at the front desk, Miss Sullivan had called in sick and instead Mr. Mitchell was to work with a man who had about ten years and one hundred pounds on the girl Sean expected. Sick my ass, the little coward. What's she trying to pull?

The colossus was introduced to him as the clinic's athletic trainer, and the man maintained that he had a lot of experience with knee injuries, but Sean wasn't the least bit interested in testing the his expertise. Still, he had to continue with his therapy, and Laurel couldn't stay away forever.

Around 12:00, Sean decided to call it a day, but before he could get out the door, he collided with a friendly face. "Mitchell, how are you?"

"Doc, it's good to see you. The knee's feeling alright today."

"Glad to hear it. I just came in to consult with Ms. Sullivan about your progress, make sure she's doing a good job."

"Oh, well actually she wasn't here today. She apparently called in sick."

Dr. Johnson didn't look to happy about that. "What? That girl's priorities. It's all the dancing she does. I keep telling her to give it up so she can focus on important things. If she put half the energy into her career as she does into prancing around that studio..."

"I don't think that has anything to do with it." I love you, Doc, but what right do you have tellin' Laurel how to live?

"Well, what do you think is her problem?"

"Me."

The doctor paused. "Have you been giving this girl some trouble?"

"It's kinda awkward to talk about it with you, Doc."

"Come on, Mitchell, no one knows better than me that you make an awful patient."

"It isn't that, Doc."

Dr. Johnson raised his eyebrow quizzically. "I'm listening."

"Well, you must have noticed that she's a beautiful girl, and you know how I am with women, so I asked her out and I think I went a little too far..."

"She went out with you? I never thought...I imagined she had more sense than to..."

"Oh, thanks, Doc."

"No, I mean, she should behave like a professional. I'll have to talk to her about -- "

"Please, don't do that! She's already mad at me, that would only make it worse."

"Sean, I know you mean well, you're a good guy, but do me a favor: don't pursue a relationship with Laurel. She's worked hard to get where she is, and I don't want her to ruin it. She doesn't have a place in her life for anything more than her career. Just trust me on this."

Sean didn't have a chance to answer Dr. Johnson, who left the clinic moments later. Why is Doc so interested in controlling her life?

He couldn't think of anything else all day. Is this why she's been so closed off? She only cares about her career? Maybe Doc's right. She doesn't have time for me. Sean wasn't sure why, but that thought made him sick. Even worse was the idea that she'd be forced to give up her dancing. He'd only see her dance in class, but he could tell how much she loved it. He used to feel that way about football when he was in school, when all he wanted to do was play. He wouldn't have let anyone tell him to quit. But he wasn't sure if Laurel would stand up for herself.

The day crept on and Sean grew more anxious to see her. He could still feel her softness in his arms, smell her warm fragrance, taste her sweet lips. He had to see her. And he knew exactly where she would be.

* * * *

"Five, six, seven, eight..."

It was almost 7:00, and Laurel still felt guilty about the lie she'd told to get herself out of seeing Sean that morning. It wasn't a complete lie. I really didn't feel well. Not well enough, at least, to face him. But it would take more than a few hours of bed rest and chicken soup to get over that sickness. Lord, what will I say to him? She didn't especially want to think about that right now, more than happy to busy herself with the intermediate jazz class she was teaching. "Good job, everyone, it looks much better this week. Meg, nice layout, now try to point that foot. Jenny, the chaine turn could be a bit tighter going into the leap, and Mike, I need greater elevation in the double axel. And more attitude, people. This is supposed to be fun. Could we try it from the top?" If only all of my problems were this simple. Sean, I really like you, but I don't know how to handle an adult relationship. Could we try it from the top? Why can't everything in my life be like dance? Except she'd tried once to make her life all about dance, and it hadn't worked then either.

"Great, guys, we'll go on with it next week. You may go."

"So it's alright for me to come in now?"

Oh, Lord. Please tell me that isn't who I think it is. Laurel stood with her back to the door as she said goodbye to her teenage students, and now she was afraid to turn around to confirm the owner of that deep, mellifluous voice. Maybe I just imagined it. And he'll go away.

"What, now you're gonna ignore me?"

He didn't sound all that upset, considering that he must have realized by now that she'd lied about being ill that morning, so Laurel worked up the courage to face him. Well, I was wrong. He's mad. Flames of fury lept in his brilliant green eyes. God, he's actually more attractive when he's angry. "Sean, what are you doing here?"

"Well, I wanted to see if you were okay. I was worried when you didn't show for our session. I guess you're feeling better."

"Yes, well, I had a nice rest and by the afternoon...oh, Sean, I know you're angry -- "

"You're damn right I'm angry, I think I deserve to be. Laurel, why did you lie to me?"

She felt the tension building in her ears, as if the room was bursting with noise, and she feared she was losing it until she realized that the rising din was from the gathered group of seventeen and eighteen year olds waiting for the 7:00 class to start. "I'm sorry, but I have a class to teach."

"That's fine, I'll talk to you afterwards," Sean announced as he followed her into the room.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking class."

"This is an advanced jazz class. If you want to take a class, studios B and C hold beginner levels at this time."

"But I signed up for this class."

Now she was getting angry. "Well, I'm sorry, but it's over your head. If you weren't still recovering, I'd show you what I mean."

"Well, I'll just watch then."

For the love of God, leave me alone! "Fine! There's a chair over there. Have a seat."

"You're makin' me sit in the corner?"

"That's how I usually treat little boys who can't behave themselves."

"Maybe you should have tried that Friday night."

"Go to hell!" The room was suddenly very quiet. Laurel surprised even herself with her outburst, and looked around to find all of her students watching the conversation intently as if it were an episode of a soap opera. Oh my dear God. "Good evening, class. Let's get started, shall we?" She tried not to notice the quick glances and furtive whispers of astonishment exchanged between the students as she put on some music and took her place in front of them for the warm-up. She relaxed a little when Sean went for the chair, but unfortunately he wasn't satisfied to watch from the back, settling instead in the front corner. This is going to be a long hour and a half.

But some how it did pass, and with very few disturbances from the unwelcome guest. In fact, Sean sat in silence the entire time, though Laurel was slightly unnerved by the way he was staring at her, keeping her aware of his presence and threatening her composure. She had a talent for avoiding angry glares, but didn't know how to escape his smoldering eyes.

At 8:30, Laurel dismissed the class. Sean rose to resume their earlier discussion, but she stopped him before he could begin. "It'll have to wait another half hour. I have a private lesson with one of my students right now."

He was about to protest when a familiar young girl timidly entered the classroom dressed in a pink warm-up suit, her hair tightly fastened in a bun in the same manner as Laurel's.

Laurel smiled to see the girl approach. "Hi, Dani, how are you this evening."

"Hi, Miss Laurel. I'm okay."

"How have your legs been feeling?"

"Better. Mom's been making me a hot bath before I go to bed each night, like you said, and she rubs on that blue stuff when they hurt."

"Good. And you've been resting?"

"Yes, Miss Laurel."

"Let's get started." Suddenly she remembered Sean. "You'll have to wait in the hall."

"Why?"

"This is a private lesson, and I don't think Dani -- "

"He can stay if he wants."

Dani's shy invitation startled Laurel. "Are you sure?"

Sean grinned widely. "Ha. Do you remember me from last Wednesday?" She nodded. "And you like me, right?" The girl smiled back.

"Be careful with him, Dani," Laurel began, speaking more to Sean than the girl, "He might think that smile means more than you intend it to."

"Well, as long as she doesn't send me mixed signals -- "

"Maybe she isn't sure exactly what she wants -- "

"Well, if she ever let go and talked about something, maybe I could help her figure it out."

Of course, neither of them were talking about the fourteen year old who stood in the middle with her eyebrows knitted in confusion. Laurel saw it and immediately regretted initiating the confrontation. "Forgive me, Dani, I'm keeping you waiting. I suppose if you want Mr. Mitchell to stay..." She nodded. "Alright, it's your class."

While Laurel turned on some music, Dani removed her sweatshirt, revealing a short-sleeved black leotard, and put on a pair of pink ballet slippers. "I'll have you warm up and do some stretches, and then I want to get right to your routine." The girl worked independently for about ten minutes, preparing herself to dance, and Laurel stood back and watched with a gentle expression on her face.

Sean wondered at the smile. "You really like this girl. I think she's your favorite."

Laurel bit her lip and lowered her eyes as she considered his comment. "I try not to show favoritism, but there's something about her. She's not my most talented student, but she works harder than anyone and she has so much love. I guess, more than anything, she reminds me of myself at that age. Same insecurities. Same obstacles."

"Like what?"

"This is a difficult time in the development of all dancers. The body is changing and attempting to keep up with new demands of technique. As the dancer grows, her center of gravity is upset, and even skills that once were simple for her become awkward. As if a young teenager didn't have enough to handle, with school and social activities. It can be very stressful. Sometimes you want to just give up..."

"What keeps you going?"

Laurel's eyes softened wistfully. "If you're lucky, you have somebody to help you through it, to tell you that in time your body will get used to the changes. It's crucial to have a strong support."

"Dani's very fortunate to have you, then."

"I do what I can to encourage her, but her mother deserves most of the credit. She's a great woman, driving Dani to class everyday, taking her to out-of-town dance conventions and competitions, sending her to dance camp every summer, buying her new outfits and costumes...it takes a great deal of money to keep you child seriously involved in dance, not to mention the time investment."

"I bet your mom did all that when you were a kid."

At the mention of her own mother, Laurel's smile faded, but Sean didn't notice that she made no reply because Dani had approached, ready to work. "All warmed up? Great, let's get started."

Sean watched carefully as Laurel coached the young girl through the few phrases of choreography, guiding her through the difficult steps with a firm hand and a heartening smile. There was one skill that was particularly frustrating for Dani, which Laurel identified as fouette turns. It was supposed to be a successive chain of turns in which the base foot held its spot on the floor and the working leg always returned to extend to the front ninety degrees to the body before the action began again. Dani could complete two of these turns before losing her footing, but Laurel wanted eight slow ones. She intended to use them for the dance's spectacular finish.

Dani was visibly upset with herself, on the verge of tears. "I can't do it, Laurel. I'm just not any good at fouettes."

Laurel shook her head sympathetically. "If we only ever did things we were good at, we could never get any better. You can do these, Dani. I know you can. You are a good dancer. You're just working too hard." Dani threw back her head in exasperation, and Laurel understood exactly how she felt. "I know, I say that all the time and it sounds ridiculous, but it's true. When I was your age, my teachers told me the same thing. And it doesn't make sense at first, and I don't really know how I can make you understand, but...sometimes you just have to learn to let go."

She knew that it wasn't what Dani wanted to hear, and had no idea how to help the young girl follow her advice. Laurel couldn't remember how many times she'd heard it as a teenager, but no one had ever explained it to her, and she never figured it out for herself. It was a fantastic dilemma; how can I stay in control if I let go? She worked hard to develop a freer style, a more fluid line and more relaxed torso, but she was always too afraid to completely give in to the movement. If I release my center and go off balance, won't I fall? Even now, that proposition frightened Laurel; there was no one to catch her.

"It will get easier, I promise. That's enough for tonight, I'll let you go. Say hello to your mother for me."

"Bye, Miss Laurel. Thanks."

"My pleasure, Dani. Take it easy, now."

"I will." She smiled weakly, and it broke Laurel's heart.

After Dani was gone, Sean watched Laurel as she went to the stereo and fiddled with the CD changer. For a few minutes, she stood there with her back to him, silent and still, her head slightly bowed, leaning her arms on the sound system, and he wondered if she was feeling alright. "Laurel?"

She didn't turn, and Sean's concern mounted. He rose up from his seat to stand behind her. "What is it? Are you sick?" And he heard it, a tiny, troubled gasp. Is she crying? "Laurel, are you okay? Please, tell me what's wrong." Hesitantly, he laid his hands gently on her shoulders, and to his great surprise, and rapture, she turned abruptly to seek the comforts of his eager arms. And she sobbed. She held the knit material of his sweatshirt as though it kept her on the ground, clutching it with both delicately formed hands, dampening it with her violent tirade of tears. Sean couldn't think of what he should say, so he simply held her, one hand cradling her head to his chest, the other at the middle of her back, and he let her cry. Each sob felt like a knife in his heart.

Laurel calmed down eventually, but didn't pull away. Sean didn't mind. He could feel every small intake of breath. He was content to stand like that forever. But he had to know. "Laurel, please talk to me. Tell me what makes you hurt so much."

She took a deep breath and pulled away enough so that she could look up into his face. "Do you really want to know?"

"I do. Come on, let's get out of here. We'll go somewhere and talk."

She stared at him questioningly. "Where?"

He felt her tense and saw the anxiety in her drowning blue eyes. He knew exactly what she was thinking. "Don't worry. It'll be some place public. I'll buy you a cup of coffee."

"I don't -- "

" -- drink coffee. How 'bout hot chocolate?" That suggestion clearly appealed to her. "Good. Put something on and get your stuff together."

He waited while she pulled on a sweater and jeans and sneakers. When she was sufficiently bundled up, he gave her his arm and led her out to his SUV. He stopped several blocks down at a nice little coffee shop and ordered two hot chocolates. He waited for the drinks to arrive and let her take a few sips of the rich, soothing liquid before pressing her to speak.

Laurel gazed down at the mug in her hands. "When I was a little girl, I was very quiet and shy. I barely spoke, even to my own parents. And I wouldn't play with other kids. Mom was worried that I would be a lonely, unhappy child, so she decided I should have an activity to build my confidence and social skills. She considered gymnastics and swimming, but then she talked to a neighbor whose daughter had been taking lessons at Terpsichore for several years. Mom had always loved ballet, so she enrolled me in a creative movement class at the studio. She rushed from work every Tuesday to take me from daycare to dance class.

"In a couple years, I started taking more classes, and by the time I was ten, I was in the studio a few hours everyday after school. It's kinda funny when you think about it; I started dance so I could have a more normal childhood, and here I was spending all of my time training instead of doing normal kid things. It wasn't long before dance had taken over my weekends as well, travelling to conventions and competitions with some of the other girls and their mothers. I had to do everything and have everything. And it was very expensive. But Mom worked hard so that I could have it all.

"Dance was my entire life, and it was a good life. Then I turned thirteen, and it was as if my world was falling apart. I grew a few inches and gained...well, more than a few pounds. Plus I wasn't improving; sometimes it felt like I was getting worse. Meanwhile, everyone else was going to school dances and parties...and I still couldn't make friends. But Mom was wonderful, even when she was...at night she would rub my tired feet and brush my hair and make me hot chocolate and cookies and tell me that everything was going to be fine. And that no matter what, she would always believe in me. And as long as she said that, I could go to sleep and get out of bed in the morning. She wouldn't let me give up on my dreams, and I wanted so much to make her proud."

Sean broke in while she drank her hot chocolate. "But you did give up, didn't you? You don't dance anymore. So what happened?"

Laurel set down the mug, focusing her eyes intently on her hands folded in front of her on the table. "My mother died when I was not quite sixteen. All of a sudden, I couldn't dance anymore."

"Oh, Laurel, I'm so sorry." Sean reached out tender hands to cover her rigid ones. "I never imagined anything like that..."

Her eyes flew to his face. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you at first. It just felt so awkward -- "

"No, don't worry about it. Why are you telling me now?"

She shrugged. "I've wanted to talk to somebody for a long time, but..." She shook her head. "Tonight when Dani got so upset, it all rushed back to me, and needed a shoulder to cry on. I wanted it to be you. I feel like I can trust you."

He shook his head then. "I don't think I deserve your trust, not after Friday..."

"Oh, God, please don't...I'm sorry for the way I acted, it was terrible of me."

"The way you acted? Don't be ridiculous. I'm the one who should apologize, for behaving like a hot-blooded teenager with no self-control."

"It wasn't your fault. I know I shouldn't have gone home with you."

"I'll admit, you did give me the impression that...but it's no excuse for what I did. I should never have kissed you."

"But I wanted you to."

Her voice was so soft and thready, and Sean wasn't sure if he'd heard her correctly. But her eyes...

Immediately she blushed, and he was enchanted. He almost forgot that she'd been crying only a few moments ago.

He was about to tell her how beautiful she looked sitting there, but she spoke first. "Sean, I don't think it's a good idea for us to see each other...socially, I mean."

"Why not? You just said -- "

" -- I know, but...I can't handle this right now. There's too much going on in my life as it is."

"So Doc was right, I guess."

"Doc?" She stared blankly until she began to understand. "You told Uncle Max about this?"

"Uncle Max? You never said anything about that before."

"I didn't want you to think...well, he did reccommend me to you, and he got me my job at the rehab. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't be practicing physical therapy if it weren't for him."

Sean was beginning to understand his earlier conversation with Dr. Johnson. "Really?"

"He paid my way through college. What with the doctor bills and all of my dance expenses, I couldn't have afforded to go to school if it hadn't been for Uncle Max."

"But what about dancing?"

"What about it? I already told you, I quit after my mother died."

"You still teach," Sean pointed out.

Laurel smiled. "I guess I couldn't give it up completely."

"But don't you ever want more?"

"What more do I need? I love my work at the clinic and I love teaching. I'm happy."

"Forgive me, Laurel, but I don't think you're happy. I know how important dreams are, and I know how it feels when they're shattered. But I also know about second chances. Take my knee, for example. Doc says I'll be able to play next season. And take us. I was afraid that you might never talk to me again."

She'd forgotten that he was still holding her hands, until he lifted one to his lips for a soft kiss. Anxiously, her eyes flew to the wall and she noticed the clock. "Goodness, look at the time. I should be getting home."

Take it easy, buddy, be careful with this one or you'll frighten her off again. "I'll drive you."

"Thank you."

Sean waited for her to add a refusal to her polite thanks, but she did not, so after leaving a few bucks on the table he took her to his car. He wished that she lived further away to give him an excuse to be with her for a few minutes longer, but he had to say goodnight once he'd arrived in front of her home.

"I'm sorry for being such a mess this evening, Sean. Thanks for listening to me."

"It was my pleasure. Anytime you feel like crying, my shoulder is yours."

Slowly, Laurel unhooked her seat belt while Sean came around to opened the passenger door and help her out. He expected her to walk past him with some small smile of gratitude and a hurried goodnight, but she surprised him, rising up on her toes and leaning lightly against his chest so that she could brush his cheek with a fluttering kiss. Sean stood dumfounded for a moment and before he could react, she'd floated past him up the stairs to her door. "Goodnight, Sean," she called sweetly before escaping into the house.

He smiled in agreement. "A very good night."



Chapter 7

Ten years ago, the last place Laurel had pictured herself was seated at a desk, bent over a computer. Nowadays, it seem that she spent more time in that position than any other. Paperwork was the least enjoyable part of her job, but thanks to the marvels of technology it was not so terrible. When she'd received her degree, Uncle Max's graduation present had consisted of a laptop and software that allowed her to dictate directly to text files, and though she wasn't much of a computer person, she loved her work-saving toy.

Today she had to dictate an evaluation of a man who was quickly becoming her favorite patient.

"Dictating on Sean Mitchell, eight-week re-eval. Presented post-op in the third week of January of this year, arthroscopic surgery, grafts to the MCL and ACL of the left knee, showing significant muscle guarding in the quads and hams. Dr. Maxwell Johnson, orthopedics and sports medicine, recommended aggressive treatment to accommodate Mr. Mitchell's intentions to resume his pro football career next season. His progress is promising; he is responding well to my tight outfits...uh, no, highlight that: delete it...to my efforts. What's wrong with me? I have loosened...back up, delete...He has loosened up...delete that...Muscle guarding has subsided and flexibility is improving as hoped. He no longer requires a brace to stabilize his knee during exercise. He has increased his outside training and reports no difficulty or pain while working out. And he looks amazing. Did I just say that out loud? No! Stop! Highlight, delete." What are you doing, Miss Thing? Laurel began to giggle. "He's built like a Greek god, and he smiles like an angel. And he's so darling in dance class. Additional note. Re-eval of Laurel Sullivan: not completely hopeless, some improvement in social interaction, but after the way she's been acting these past few weeks, he'll probably never want to kiss her again..."

"Oh, you think so?"

Please, tell me I imagined that. Please tell me he didn't hear everything I just said!

"Greek god, huh. Thanks."

Oh my dear Lord.

Sean grinned devilishly as he leaned against the door frame of her office, lowering his voice to a husky whisper. "But I think you are the angel."

Finally she looked up, and that warm blush he'd come to cherish spread over her cheeks.

"Highlight last paragraph, delete." It was 3:00 in the afternoon on a Thursday. "Sean, what are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to see you. I was hoping we could get something to eat and then I'll drop you at the studio in time for your 5:00 modern class."

He got to know her schedule pretty well in the short time they'd known each other. He showed up frequently during her lunch hour to take her out, and he knew when and what she taught everyday of the week. He also liked to surprise her on Fridays, her day off from work and teaching, with an afternoon of fun-filled activities such as bowling or ice-skating or sometimes even shopping. And he took her to a lot of movies and shows and sporting events. But he never took her to dinner, and he didn't even think of asking her back to his place. She'd made it clear that she didn't want a serious relationship, so he tried to keep their time together as casual as possible. He never kissed her.

But oh, how he wished he could. I promised her, just friends. But friends can hug, right? Over the course of two months Sean discovered that Laurel was a great cuddler. She liked to grab his arm during movies and sometimes lean her head on his shoulder, and he'd taken to resting his arm around her waist when they walked in a crowd, as if she might otherwise slip away from him. This reserved contact by no means satisfied Sean's deepest desires, but it would have to be enough for now, and he didn't mind as long as she continued to feel comfortable and happy with him. Well, he minded a little. But he was waiting for her to ask for more. And right now, he wondered if she just had.

He moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her while she sat cross-legged in the desk chair. He tilted his chin on her shoulder to look into her face. "So, do you want me to kiss you?"

"I...NO! That is..." What should I say? Of course I want him to kiss me. Laurel, you're such a coward!

He offered her a generous reprieve. "Come on, you're hungry. Let's get out of here."

He pulled back and waited as she slipped on her sneakers and pulled on her jacket, then placed his hand at the small of her back to direct her toward the exit.

They stopped at the pizza parlor they'd gone to on that first night. The first time she pulled away from me. Sean had taken pains since those initial moments of insecurity and distrust to make Laurel feel safe with him, and she was gradually sharing the details of her life. Sean was thankful that after two months, she'd stopped holding things back.

They had frequented this spot since then; Sean loved watching Laurel devour an entire cheesesteak in one sitting, always a little surprised when she'd finished. And she was so careful when she ate, taking small bites and wiping her mouth between each to ensure no traces of sauce remained. It was charming. They'd discuss books and movies and occassionally sports, in which Laurel claimed to have only a tiny interest, though she always had the latest scores and statistics. She seemed to remember everything.

She did remember everything. She remembered how it felt dancing in his arms, and how he'd kissed her two months ago, and comforted her when she'd told him about her mother. She remembered, too, that she hadn't told him the whole story. And she wasn't sure if she could now.

But she told him lots of other things, childhood stories, recollections from times with her parents and school and summer camp, about when she was five and refused to wear anything but her fluoresent pink tutu or in junior high when she got the role of Ophelia in the class's production of Hamlet and went around for months afterward giving her mother twigs and calling them flowers. Or in nineth grade gym class when all the girls had laughed at her because she was still wearing a training bra. And in the midst of this prolific sharing, he seemed not to notice the things that she wasn't telling him.

Sean also did his share of storytelling. He talked about growing up in a household of athletes. His father was all-American four years running in football and basketball, and his mother had played tennis on the pro-circuit before she married. Their four children were all extremely active in sports throughout their lives, though only Sean had pursued a professional career. Brian and Patrick worked in advertising, the family business, and Katie was a public relations representative, but coached high school cheerleading in her spare time.

Sean's family, especially his younger sister, had been pressing him to introduce them to his new "friend," but Laurel was very busy most of the time, and he didn't particularly want to share her with anyone when they were together.

"I thought we'd go out to the beach tomorrow."

Laurel peered over the rim of her soda as she responded, preparing to drink. "Isn't it kinda cold?"

Sean shook his head, taking a french fry. "It's supposed to be nice, in the seventies. We won't go swimming, but we could take a little picnic lunch and spread ourselves out on the sand and just relax."

"Mmmm, that sounds wonderful. But Uncle Max asked me to help him at the institute tomorrow morning."

Sean frowned. "That's some nerve, asking you to work on your day off."

"It's excellent experience for me. Sports medicine is a difficult field for a woman to break into, and Uncle Max has done a lot to help me with my career. I can't let him down."

"It's your life, Laurel. You don't have to do everything he wants you to do. What's one day of fun?"

She smiled. "Is that all you ever think about? Having fun?"

I'd tell you what else I think about when I look at you, but you'd run away screaming. "I just think that sometimes it's good to sit back and enjoy life. You work too hard."

"Well, some of us weren't born with a silver spoon in our mouths and had to push themselves to succeed."

"You think I didn't work to get where I am?"

"Okay, you did have to train hard to make it in pro ball, but what do you do now?"

"It's the off-season."

"My point exactly. You only work for what...four months a year...?"

"...we have training camp in the summer..."

"...and how much money do you make?"

"Okay, so you have a point about me, I'm a lazy bastard, but that doesn't mean you should have to slave away for your uncle."

"Uncle Max just wants what's best for me. He knows that I would have a lot more money, and a better future, if I could get a job at the institute."

"But is that what you want?"

She paused to think. "I love my work at the clinic. And I love going to the institute. It's very rewarding to help an athelete get back to his peak performance level. And if I stopped going, Uncle Max would worry..."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he thinks...he's never been too thrilled with my dancing aspirations. He was ecstatic when I quit. He wanted me to go to medical school so I could be an orthopedist like him, but I didn't want to be in school for the ten years so I convinced him to let me study physical therapy for my Bachelors degree. As long as I was involved in his field, he was satisfied. He told me it was the perfect thing for me to do, given my interest in athletics and fitness. And I promised him that I wouldn't pursue dance on a professional level. When I took the job at Terpsichore teaching in the evenings, I said I was doing it for the extra money and he accepted that it was just a hobby and I would eventually come to my senses and concentrate on...more important things. When I was still teaching after graduation, he told me to quit, but somehow I managed to persuade him that it was helpful in my career, as dance has proven beneficial therapy in many instances. But he has never approved of my split dedication, and I'm afraid that if I didn't try to do everything he asked he would think I'd misplaced my priorities and get me to stop dancing altogther."

"Laurel, you're a grown woman. Why should you listen to him, no matter what he's done for you?"

"I...you don't understand. No one's believed in my abilities so completely since...and I promised myself that I wouldn't let him down."

"But it's your dream, Laurel."

"It was my dream. I have more important things to worry about now than childish fantasies."

"All the more reason that you should be able to fully enjoy your day off at the beach tomorrow."

Laurel laughed, more at herself than Sean's comment. "How did we become so serious all of a sudden?"

"My fault. I should no better by now than to let you talk for so long."

"How dare you!" she exclaimed dramatically. Suddenly she remembered the time, looking at her watch. "Oh, I should get to class."



Chapter 8

After parking across from the studio, he followed her in. Sean was in the habit of watching her teach many of her classes, to the point that her students expected to see him. And since his knee was improving, sometimes she even let him take the classes, though he had a terrible time keeping up, mostly because he was more interested staring at her body than paying attention to her instructions. There was also the fact that he had virtually no sense of rhythm.

Laurel turned to Sean as they walked toward her classroom, Studio A. "Just let change and freshen up. You can wait for me inside."

In a few minutes, she returned in black leo and pair of knit pants cut off below the knees. As the weather warmed she'd stopped wearing overshirts, and Sean could freely enjoy the definition of her lean frame. "Are you losing weight?"

She looked down at herself as if to find the answer. "No, why?"

"I can see your ribs in that thing. We've established that you aren't anorexic, plus I've seen the way you've been eating these past few weeks. Maybe you're bulemic."

She didn't answer, just stared back in shock and disgust. "Okay, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I was just joking. Obviously it wasn't very funny. I guess you know better than to do something stupid like that."

"I've been around eating disorders all of my life, both as an athlete and a trainer. It's sort of a delicate subject with me."

"I understand. Katie always worried about her weight when she was a teenager. But she didn't look like you. I bet you've never had to worry about your weight."

Before she could answer, a familiar face appeared in the mirror. Laurel turned to greet her friend. "Reagan, hi."

The woman approached to hug her younger friend. "Hey, babe. How are you?"

"I'm well."

"Mmmm, you smell like pizza!"

"We just went for cheesesteaks."

Reagan looked surprised. "I thought you gave those up in high school after all of that..."

Laurel's eyes screamed at her friend to urge her not to continue that sentence. "Sean and I have them together all the time."

"Oh, that's nice. Say, Laurel, can I talk to you for a minute in the office. It's about the set design for the concert."

"Sure. I'll be right back, Sean."

Reagan closed the office door to ensure their privacy. Then she opened her mouth. "Laurel!"

"What?"

"I can't believe you! I thought you were better."

"I don't know what you're -- "

" -- don't give me that crap, Miss Thing, you know exactly what I'm talking about. All this time and you still haven't told him. You know that this is terribly unhealthy -- "

" -- I'm handling it!"

"Like hell, you're handling it! Don't forget that I saw you go through this the first time. Don't think that you can fool me."

"Reagan..."

"Sweety, you know how much I care about you. You've gotta stop this before...you have to tell him what happened."

"I did tell him!"

"No, you didn't, not everything."

"Look, Reagan, I don't know what you think I'm doing..."

"Don't lie to me, Laurel."

"...but I've told Sean everything he needs to know. Everything is under control."

"Yeah, that's what you said to me ten years ago. And look what happened then."

Laurel couldn't stand this anymore. "I have a class to teach."

"Fine, but this conversation isn't over."

"Yes, it most certainly is!" she declared vehemently, throwing open the door and slamming it behind her.

"Is anything wrong, Laurel?"

She hadn't expected to find Sean waiting for her on the other side of the door with that concerned look on his face. Could he have heard anything? "Wrong? No, it's nothing, just a small misunderstanding. Time for class."

And for the first time in about two months, he felt doubt. Something was wrong, and she wasn't telling him. What happened? Why won't she trust me all of a sudden?

Sean watched her closely all night, not in admiration and appraisal, but searchingly, for some sign that she wasn't alright. She smiled as brightly as always, moved around the room with her usual airiness, but there was something in her eyes; had it always been there and he'd simply never noticed it before now?

At the end of the night, around 10:00 when he was dropping her off at her home, he asked her again. "What's wrong, Laurel?"

"Nothing." But she didn't look at him.

"Come on, you can tell me. Whatever it is."

"Really, Sean, I'm fine. What time should I expect you tomorrow?"

"Huh?"

"The beach picnic. Do you still want to go?"

"Oh, yeah...I'll pick you up around ten, I guess, give us time to drive out."

"Do you want me to bring anything?"

"No, I'll take care of all that." Mom, would you do me a favor...? "You sure you're alright?"

"Of course. I've never been better. See you tomorrow morning."

He waited as she bounced into the house, turning at the door to throw him one more smile and disappearing immediately. But he didn't believe that smile this time.

* * * *

Sean arrived as promised at ten o'clock the next morning, boxed lunch and all. If the bright blue sky were any indication, it would be a beautiful day like he'd said, and Laurel dressed for spring. She might have walked out of a Monet painting in her flowing ivory sundress with tiny blue flowers and matching blue cardigan. If only her hair weren't pinned to her head. How he dreamed of seeing those locks cascading down her back, to run his fingers through the velvet honey. He'd driven his convertible today, hoping that with the top down her hair would blow everywhere and she'd be forced to take it down.

She shook her head before getting into his car. "A corvette?"

He sighed deeply. "My summer fun car."

"There aren't any more cars that I haven't seen? You don't have a classic Rolls Royce or a pink Cadillac or something?"

"Nope, I make do with three."

"Aw, you poor, deprived boy."

Appropriately, the convertible was cherry red. "I think this is my favorite of your cars," she announced as she pulled a blue scarf from her bag.

His spirits sunk as she fastened it around her hair to protect it from the wind. Damn, somehow she anticipated my devious plot. I'll have to figure out another way to get her to let her hair down.

It was a long drive to the Jersey coast, but an enjoyable one filled with the Beach Boys, Billy Joel, and various other rock n' roll hits, including an enthusiastic, if inaccurate rendition of "Brown Eyed Girl," which they soon discovered neither knew all of the words to, and Sean decided should be renamed "Blue Eyed Girl," because Laurel's were so pretty.

It was lunch time when they reached the beach, so they resolved right away to set up camp on the sandy shore. The beach was largely empty, just some fisherman by the docks, a group of crazy teenages daring each other to go in the water, and a few little children looking for seashells. But the weather was perfect for an afternoon picnic. Laurel chose the spot and Sean laid out a large blanket and set down the basket. "I hope you like cold chicken and everything."

Laurel peeked into the basket to find rotissery chicken, potato salad, biscuits, and an apple pie. "Wow! I didn't know you could cook."

He smiled. "I can't, but my mom loves me enough to get up at six in the morning and make me and my sweetheart lunch."

"You told her I'm your sweetheart?"

"I explained to her that we're just friends and all, but she's such a hopeless romantic, she wouldn't believe it." Smart woman.

"Well, it all looks delicious."

They made short work of the feast, enjoying every morsel. If anything's wrong, it sure isn't affecting her appetite. She was even persuaded to have a few glasses of the chardonnay his mother had packed.

"Is there somewhere around here where I could fix my hair?" Laurel asked as she untied the scarf.

"Toward the boardwalk," he said, pointing down the beach. "If you don't mind, I'll just lie here and digest."

"That's fine, I won't be a minute."

He hadn't realized that he'd dozed off until he woke up covered in a mountain of sand. His eyes opened as a wave of child-like laughter crashed over him and its lovely owner propped her foot upon the mass. "I claim this land for Princess Laurel."

"What have you done to me? I go to sleep for a few minutes and you bury me alive."

"It's been over an hour, my dear. I was just sitting here, the kind soul that I am, letting you rest, but after a while I got bored, so I made a sand castle."

"How sweet of you to include me in the fun. You aren't gonna get away with this, young lady."

To complete the charade, she stuck her tongue out in the true fashion of a five year old, and was almost surprised when he rose to make good his threat. "You'll be sorry, little girl."

"You'll have to catch me first, old man!" And with that, she ran off down the beach, laughing wildly.

She was able to maintain her healthy lead for a time, but eventually he began gaining on her.

She stopped short, her arms stretched out to hold him back as she tried to catch her breath. "Stop, Sean."

"Ha, don't even think about. You're just trying to trick me so you can run away again. I can't take all of this activity, I'm still recovering, you know."

She shook her head slowly, still fighting to breathe. "Sean, I don't feel well."

"Don't think I'm gonna buy that damsel in distress routine. I don't believe you for a second."

"No, Sean, I'm not kidding, I..." Oh my God, what's happening to me? Why do I feel so dizzy all of a sudden? I can't breathe. What's wrong with me?

"Laurel, what's the matter?"

But she couldn't answer him; she'd already collapsed onto the sand.

"LAUREL! Oh God!" Immediately he was kneeling at her side, swallowing her up in his arms. "Come on, baby, wake up!" Oh, God, help me!

Fortunately one of the kids in the water noticed her faint and moments later came rushing toward Sean with a cell phone, offering to call for an ambulance. Sean could only nod silently as he rocked Laurel against his chest, praying that she would open her eyes. The other teenagers gathered around, but he wouldn't let anyone near her until the paramedics arrived and forced him to surrender her to their care. He rode with them to the hospital, squeezing her cold little hand in both of his as they questioned him and examined her.

At the hospital, Sean was separated from her by a young woman in pink scrubs. "Sir, if you'll wait here, the doctor will speak with you as soon as possible."

Laurel disappeared behind a curtain wall busy with beeping machines and hurrying figures. Finally, the frantic drama behind the screen calmed and one of the doctors approached, his expression cool and stony. "I'm Dr. Conway. If I could speak to you privately for a moment..."

Sean was panic-stricken. "What is it? What's wrong? Is she okay?"

"Miss Sullivan is stable. I'd like to ask you a few questions about her present condition, if you would follow me, Mr...?"

"Mitchell, Sean Mitchell. I don't...I thought you said she was fine."

"For now, but I was hoping you could tell me about any health problems she has."

The severe man in glasses and a long white lab coat escorted him into a private room and shut the door, offering him a chair and sitting across from him before beginning. "How would you describe Miss Sullivan's health up to now?"

"I...I always thought she was pretty healthy. She's a little skinny, but she dances a lot and she's careful about what she eats. I didn't think there was anything to worry about."

"Has she ever mentioned any serious health conditions, cardiac or otherwise?"

"No, but I've only known her a couple months. Doctor, is there something really wrong with Laurel?"

"Is there anyone I could contact about her health, a parent or another friend perhaps?"

Parent? Should I call her dad? "I can give you the number of the studio where she works, you could talk to Reagan. She might know...Doctor, you haven't answered my question."

"There is nothing to worry about, Mr. Mitchell. Once I've spoken with...?"

"Mrs. Reagan Brown."

"...Mrs. Brown, I will be better able to evaluate the situation at hand. I don't wish to alarm you. If you would just give me the number..." Sean pulled one of the studio's business cards out of his wallet and handed it over" ...I'll contact Mrs. Brown right away and we can discuss everything when I have a better understanding. If you would take a seat in the waiting room, I'll make sure you're kept informed of any developments."

"Could I see her?"

"I'd like her to rest for the moment. We'll be keeping her here over night for observation. If you'd excuse me, Mr. Mitchell?"

Sean nodded and left the room, returning to the waiting room to find an empty chair. What's with the run-around? What's going on that he won't tell me what's wrong? For now, all he could do was wait and see if Reagan knew what was wrong.

It felt like forever before a distraught woman burst through the door to the emergency room dragging an eight-year-old behind her. Sean stood up to greet her. "Reagan! Thank God you're here."

"I would have gotten here sooner, but I had to get Melanie at school. As it was, I was doing about eighty all the way down. Where is she? How is she?"

"All I know is that she's stable and sleeping and I'm not allowed to see her."

"What happened?"

Sean shrugged. "We were at the beach all afternoon and we started playing around and I was chasing her and then all of a sudden she got really pale and tired and collapsed. It's my fault, I shouldn't have given her the wine and I shouldn't have let her stay out in the sun so long."

"It's alright, Sean, I'm sure she'll be fine. Maybe it's just a bit of heatstroke or dehydration or something."

Dr. Conway appeared, introducing himself to Reagan and escorting the three of them, including her daughter Melanie, back to his office. The little girl busied herself on the floor with one of her coloring books while the grown ups talked.

"Mrs. Brown, you've been acquainted with Miss Sullivan for several years?"

"Yes, since she was about ten when I was her teacher."

"Have you any knowledge of her medical history?"

"At the studio we have always required that every student complete a health form, so yes, I've got a pretty good idea. She was always a very healthy girl."

"Does Miss Sullivan have any heart defects, a murmur or arrhythmia or anything of that sort?"

"No, none I know about. Why, is there something the matter with her heart?"

"That's what we're trying to find out. Did you ever hear of any heart disease in her family?"

"No."

"Any other genetic disorders?"

Reagan paused. "Her mother had MS."

She never told me that. I assumed she died in a car accident or something. Why would she keep that from me?

"Her mother's dead, then? Did she suffer from cardiac-related complications?"

"No," she answered emphatically.

"Has Miss Sullivan herself been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis?"

"No. Do you think -- ?"

" -- there's no indication that she has it, and at any rate it would not have been responsible for today's episode."

"What exactly did happen, Dr. Conway?" Reagan asked nervously.

"Some of the information is not yet available. Her blood work won't be ready until tomorrow. But according to the EKG and preliminary exam, Miss Sullivan's symptoms resulted from a condition known as atrial fibrillation. It's a very common heart arrhythmia, in which the cardiac muscle of the atria, the upper chambers of the heart, receive uncoordinated electric stimuli, so rather than produce an concerted, forceful contraction they quiver. Thus less blood is pumped to the body and more collects in the lungs, causing shortness of breath, lightheadness, fainting. She's never complained of these symptoms before, or mentioned chest pains?" Both shook their heads. Dr. Conway continued. "We've converted her back to normal rhythm with medication, but we want to monitor her overnight and perhaps over the next week or so to make sure that this is only an episodal condition that can resolve itself, or if she needs a prescription to keep it under control."

Reagan cleared her throat. "How long has she had it, do you think?"

"It's hard to say exactly. It might have gone undetected for a while without any symptoms."

"Do you know how it developed?"

"There are many potential causes, valve dysfunction, high blood pressure, heart failure, none of which Miss Sullivan exhibits. Considering that she's a young woman with an extremely active life style and thinness, at this point were leaning toward external stresses."

"Such as...?"

"How would you describe her eating habits?"

Sean spoke up immediately. "Perfectly normal. Sure, sometimes she might miss a meal, but usually...you'd be amazed how much that little girl can put away."

Reagan was less forthcoming. In fact, she was completely silent.

"Mrs. Brown, what's your opinion? Do you think it's possible that your friend could have an eating disorder."

Sean drew back in shock. "What? Man, if Laurel was here, she'd flip out. Tell him how ridiculous it is, Reagan."

But Reagan still couldn't speak. "Mrs. Brown, if you think your friend is sick..."

Sick? Laurel is not sick! She's fine! She's beautiful and she's too smart to do something so stupid.

Reagan started to cry. "She said she'd be okay. She promised she had it under control."

NO! It isn't true! She can't be sick!

"It's going to be alright, Mrs. Brown. With the right help, she can get better. There's no permanent damage, at least physical damage. Fortunately we caught the problem before anything more serious happened."

Reagan wasn't convinced. "But her heart...how..."

"More than likely the arrhythmia was caused by an electrolyte imbalance that often results in patients who suffer from either anorexia or bulimia. There's a good chance that drug therapy and diet will be sufficient to correct the imbalance, and thereby stabilize the heart rhythm. We'll know more when we get the lab results for her levels of potassium and magnesium."

"So she'll be okay?" Reagan asked, wiping her eyes.

"I have a friend in Philly, a psychologist who's an expert on eating disorders. I'll give her a call so that she can meet with Miss Sullivan."

Reagan started to feel better, but Sean felt as if his whole world was falling apart. How long has she been hiding this from me? How long has she been lying to me? I was a fool to believe that she actually trusted me. Well, she can forget it if she thinks I'm gonna hang around to see what else she's kept from me.

And once again, Laurel lost someone who'd believed in her.

* * * *

It was almost 11:00 that night when Laurel finally woke up to the slow, steady beeping of the heart monitor. Where am I?

She looked around the strange room and found two pairs of eyes staring at her. "Sara, go tell Dr. Conway that Miss Sullivan is awake." The silent woman left and the other approached Laurel where she lay. "Hello, dear, how are we feeling?" Laurel tried to answer, but her throat was too dry for her to speak. Instead she pointed to her sore left hand. "Yes, honey, I'm awfully sorry about that. We had a terrible time trying to get the IV in. You have such tiny veins. Do you feel dizzy or lightheaded?" Laurel shook her head. "Good. You're in Ocean View Hospital."

"What happened?" she managed hoarsely, attempting to sit up.

"The doctor will be right in to talk with you. Just lie back and rest for now."

Moments later, the door clicked open, and in walked a straight-faced physician. "Hello, Miss Sullivan, I'm Dr. Conway, I'm the attending here at the hospital. How are you feeling?"

"Tired."

"I hope that you're alright to answer of few questions for me."

She tried to clear her throat. "Could you tell me what happened?"

"What do you remember?" he asked, pulling up a chair beside the bed.

"I...Sean and I...we were on the beach, and he was chasing me...I stopped...I couldn't breathe...and then I don't know."

"Have you ever experienced an episode like this one before?"

She swallowed hard. "Maybe a few times."

"Usually after exertion? Sweating?"

She nodded.

"Any other symptoms? Palpitations, pain?"

Yes.

"Are you familiar with cardiac arrhythmias? Yes. Atrial fibrillation? Yes. Have you ever presented with rhythm problems?"

Yes

He looked puzzled. "So you did know?"

"Ten years ago, I was in the hospital for...I'd collapsed while I was dancing and the doctors were trying to rule out MS."

He nodded. "Mrs. Brown told me about your mother."

"Reagan? What's she doing here?"

"I needed to contact someone who knew your medical history. Mr. Mitchell gave me her number."

Sean! I want to see Sean!

"Did your doctor indicate the cause of the arrhythmia?"

Laurel lowered her eyes, biting on her lip. "He wasn't sure, but he thought it had to do with low potassium levels. I...had an eating disorder."

"Were you treated for it? Did you speak with a therapist?"

She nodded. "I met with someone a few times."

The doctor stood up, scratching his face. "Well, your heart condition isn't serious, but I'm very concerned that you aren't taking care of yourself as you should. Do you realize what might have happened today? You must be aware of the possible ramifications of eating disorders on the body, not just with the heart. I'm recommending therapy, I have a friend...." He stopped when he saw her laughing quietly.

Laurel smiled dryly. "Therapy for the therapist."

"Do you feel up to having some visitors?"

Sean!

Dr. Conway exited as Laurel's friends came into the bright, sterile room. Reagan threw her arms around the pale young woman, straining to hold back tears, unable to speak for a few minutes.

Finally she pulled back to sit on the bed, anger replacing her initial worry. "God, Laurel, how could you do a thing like this? You promised you would stop! You promised me!"

Laurel didn't know how to answer. "I'm sorry," she offered meakly.

Reagan was not appeased. "Do you realize what could have happened today? You could have died, Laurel!"

"I'm fine -- "

"You are NOT fine! You need help! Look at me, for God's sake!"

"I've heard all of this before..."

"Well, obviously it didn't make much of an impression, because here we are again in a hospital!" Reagan stopped to take a deep breath and continue more calmly. "I hate lecturing you like this, but I don't know what else to do. You really scared me today. I don't want to lose you."

Laurel couldn't speak. How could I let this happen? I thought it was under control...

Reagan stood up slowly. "Don't worry, Laurel, everything's going to be alright. I'm going to stay here with you tonight. Jason came down to pick up Melanie - when I heard about you, I pulled her out of school and brought her with me - so I'm all yours. But right now I'm going to get a cup of coffee so that you two can be alone for a while. I think that you have a lot to talk about."

Oh, God, Sean! What can I say to him? He'll hate me.

She wasn't too far from the truth. Perhaps her sickly state should have moved him to sympathy, but he was all the more angry for her deception. He wasn't really sure why he should be mad at her for hurting herself, but he was livid all the same.

Laurel tried to speak first. "Sean, I -- "

"No, don't, I don't want to hear it! I don't care what your excuse is. Laurel, how could you lie to me like this?"

"Let me explain -- "

"NO! How am I supposed to believe anything you say now? Do you have any idea how I felt today? When the doctor said you might have an eating disorder, I told him he was crazy. 'No way, Doctor, Laurel would never do something so stupid.' But I was wrong. I'm the stupid one."

"I told you, Sean, I told you that I didn't want to...that I couldn't get involved with anyone. It's too hard, I can't control it all at once. I'm so sorry -- "

"You're sorry? Give me a break! I'm such a fool! I knew you were screwed up from the first time I saw you. I should never have let myself..."

"Please, Sean, don't be this way!"

"I can't do this anymore! I can't have a relationship with someone who won't trust me. You need some serious help, and I don't want anything to do with it. You can find someone else's shoulder to cry on. Maybe you'll feel more comfortable with him!"

"Wait, Sean! Please!"

But it was too late. He was already gone.

As he burst from the hospital room, Sean nearly crashed into Reagan and her cup of hot coffee. "Sean, are you leaving?"

"Yeah, I gotta go. Maybe you could give Laurel a ride home tomorrow since you're staying."

"Sure, no problem. Why are you rushing off like this? Is something the matter?"

"You're damn right! What do you expect me to say? That it's alright that she lied to me, that she kept something like this a secret for so long? She said she trusted me, but obviously...DAMN IT! I can't believe I...forget it. You better go talk to her, she probably needs somebody right now." I wish it could've been me.

Reagan shook her head. "She needs to cry herself out. She's been needing it for a long time. And you need to hear the truth...the whole truth."

"Yeah, like she'd ever tell -- "

" -- I'll tell you." Reagan was calm. "Let's go outside, I think we could use the air."

Out in the courtyard they found a bench under a lamppost, set apart from the cloud of smoke generated by all the nervous visitors and patients who couldn't light up inside the hospital. Sean had never smoked a day in his life, but all of a sudden he wished he had a cigarette. "So, you've known about this for a while?"

Reagan sighed, settling on the bench. "I knew about it when it started more than ten years ago, but..."

"Ten years? How in the hell...why didn't you say anything to anyone?"

"She promised me she'd stop! And then she ended up in the hospital and the doctors put her in rehab for a couple of weeks and said she'd be okay. I thought she was cured."

"When did all of this happen?"

"Not long after her mother died."

"You said she had MS."

"Yeah, but that's not how she died."

"So what happened?"

As Sean sat down next to her, Reagan shifted uncomfortably. She pulled her purse into her lap and rummaged through it as if in search of the appropriate words, but settled for a tissue and began the story.

"I'm not sure how much Laurel's told you. She's always been a very quiet person, it's almost impossible to get her to talk about personal things. Even before...but she was lovely to watch when she danced. I was just starting to teach back then; Aunt Mary gave me a job at seventeen. That's when I met Laurel. She seemed like such a happy child, and Mrs. Sullivan devoted all of her energy to her daughter's dream. I didn't realize she was sick at the time.

"Laurel was a joy in class, so eager to learn and improve, and everything came easily to her. She had this sparkle in her eye when she danced, and so much potential. But she became a teenager and suddenly it wasn't so easy anymore. It's not uncommon for dancers at that age to plateau, but Laurel saw it as the end of the world. She would get so frustrated when she couldn't pull off a skill right away. If she had trouble with a step she'd try it over and over again until she'd finally give up and declare 'I can't do it!' We all told her not to think about it, that she was trying too hard, and that would upset her even more. She just couldn't let go of herself.

"Then her mom stopped picking her up from class, and we found out about her condition, which started rapidly deteriorating. And that's when I started to worry about Laurel. She'd come to class tired and pale, and she looked like she was losing weight. Once she fainted in my class, and I found out that she was skipping meals frequently. Of course I told her how bad it was for her. About a week later I caught her in the bathroom throwing up, and I realized that she had a serious problem. She promised me that it was under control, she was just a little stressed. And I wanted to believe her, so I let her convince me that she was fine.

"For a couple of years I thought she was better. She started smiling again, and her technique was improving. More than ever, she was determined to be a ballerina. She planned to audition for SAB, School of American Ballet, when she was old enough. And then her mother died."

Sean sat waiting for more, and when she didn't continue, he grew impatient. "I know all about that, how she gave up on everything she ever wanted! So her mom died, so what? A lot of kids lose parents without losing their courage -- "

" -- Well, most of their parents don't choke down a bottle of pills with a fifth of vodka!"

What? Sean couldn't speak at first. He'd hadn't expect anything so horrible as that. "Her mom...she killed herself?"

Reagan nodded, calm and quiet again. "I had to read about it in the newspaper. I was so shocked; Mrs. Sullivan was such a cheerful person, and she loved her family so much. I'll never understand why she did it. Laurel never talks about it. Even then, she didn't say a word. She came to class every day as usually, still focused on her ambitions for ballet, intent on auditioning the following summer for SAB."

Sean shook his head in disbelief. "But I thought...she said that she stopped dancing after her mom..."

"She didn't quit until the spring. The spring dance concert was her last performance...that was the first time she ended up in the hospital..."

* * * *

"Laurel, are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine Reagan. Just a little nervous. I'll be alright after my dance is over."

"Are you sure you're okay to perform? You look really pale. Have you been eating -- ?"

"Reagan, please! There is absolutely nothing wrong with me. I've got it under control. I just want my dance to be perfect."

"You don't have to worry about that, you looked gorgeous in rehearsal. If you'd only relax and -- "

" -- I know what I'm doing! I have to warm up now."

Reagan watched anxiously as the young girl hurried out of the dressing room to stretch as all of the dancers did before stepping onto the stage. She'd never seen Laurel this agitated before a performance. She could remember a confident child who felt comfortable all alone in the spotlight from the age of eight. But she knew how important tonight was for Laurel, her audition only a month away.

"Reagan, Laurel's going on." Mary had poked her head in the dressing room to find her niece, who followed the older woman back to the wings to watch Laurel's solo.

It began beautifully and Reagan relaxed. However, the tension was mounting for the sixteen year old on stage. Not half way into the routine, Laurel started making mistakes. At first just little things, wobbly balances and half-baked tricks, but escalated to more obvious problems such as falling out of piroettes and all together missing certain steps. And she looked so tired.

Reagan thought her own heart had stopped when she saw Laurel collapse. The audience shared her anxiety, a wave of gasps reverberating through the auditorium. At first when she didn't stand up, Reagan figured she was too embarassed to move from the stage, until she noticed that the girl wasn't moving at all. The music cut off and curtain crashed down as several people rushed from the wings to Laurel's crumpled form. Reagan could barely think for all of the distressed cries from students and teachers circling around her fallen friend.

"Is she okay?"

"Oh my God, she isn't breathing!"

"Come on, Laurel, wake up!"

"Somebody call an ambulance!"

* * * *

"...That was when she was diagnosed with an eating disorder. The doctors didn't distinguish it as anorexia and bulimia, since Laurel alternated between both, which they said wasn't uncommon. But they said she'd be okay. And she was for a while."

Sean choked out a sarcastic laugh. "How was she okay, she was still hurting herself?"

"But she stopped. She hasn't had any problems for ten years. It wasn't until a couple months ago..."

"A couple...you mean, it wasn't until I showed up and complicated things. So, it's my fault."

"It's not your fault, Sean. If anything, you've helped her."

"Helped her? I put her in the hospital!"

"You can't believe that, Sean. This was bound to happen sooner or later. And you made her so happy..."

He shook his head. "I can't believe that someone who hurts herself like that could be happy. I should have listened when she said she couldn't handle a relationship. Maybe if I leave her alone -- "

"NO! You can't just walk away! Laurel needs you!"

"I don't know how to help her. I wish I did. I'll call Doc tomorrow and have him set me up with another therapist for the rest of my rehab."

Reagan's jaw dropped. "Oh God, I forgot about her uncle! What is he gonna say?"

"What is it with 'Uncle Max' anyway? Why does he want to control Laurel's life?"

Reagan shrugged. "I think he feels kind of responsible for his sister's death, that he couldn't help her or something. He means well."

"What about her father?"

She frowned. "Mr. Sullivan kinda lost it after his wife died. He's a lot like Laurel, doesn't like to talk about emotional things. He stopped working, so Max took it upon himself to support them and send Laurel through college and get her a job."

"But why did she give up on her dreams? You said she was so good."

"After the spring concert, she'd lost all faith in her abilities. Max told her that she didn't have a future in ballet, and she listened. I don't really know why."

Reagan yawned, prompting Sean to check his watch to see that it was nearly 1 AM. "I should get going so you can go back to Laurel and maybe get some sleep."

She nodded in silent agreement, but took hold of his arm as he started to walk away. "Don't leave it like this, Sean. Please, give her another chance. I know it's asking a lot, but she really does need you. I don't want her to be alone anymore."

"She's not alone. She has you."

"You know what I mean, Sean. She deserves to be happy. And so do you. I know that you care about her, you wouldn't be here if you didn't."

"Of course I care about her, but..."

"Please, just give it time. Give her another chance."

* * * *

"You need some serious help, and I don't want anything to do with it. You can find someone else...

Laurel hoped to awaken in the morning to find that the events of previous day had been some horrible nightmare, but she got no such reprieve as the early rays swept into her hospital room. The sad truth came rushing back to her and flooded her tired eyes with fresh tears. Sean, I'm so sorry! What have I done?

She sensed movement beside the bed and remembered Reagan's promise to stay with her, but Laurel couldn't open her eyes to look at her friend, too ashamed to ask for comfort. But she got it anyway; the mattress shift slightly as tender arms came about the girl's trembling shoulders.

Laurel sat ridgedly in the embrace, unsoothed by the hands gently smoothing her hair and back. "He's gone! I've lost him! I've lost him!"

The arms held more tightly. "Shhh, it's alright. I'm here. I'll never leave you."

But that brought her no solace. "I want Sean! I want to see Sean!"

"Well, just open your eyes and look at me, then!"

She was almost afraid to open her eyes to find out that she had imagined that rich, deep voice. Two strong hands cupped her face to carefully sweep the tears from her cheeks. "Go ahead, open them."

So she did, and when those soft blue orbs met with the brilliant green ones before her, she started sobbing again. But these were happy tears. This time they were her arms that reached out and took firm hold. "Sean! You're here! You didn't leave me! You didn't leave me!"

Sean wound his arms around her slender torso. "Of course I didn't leave you. How could I?"

She clung to him tightly, afraid he'd slip away. She couldn't believe he was still there. "But I lied to you! How could you stay?"

He pulled back to look her in the eyes. "You need me, Laurel. And I need you."

"You don't need me! Look at me! I'm a complete mess. I'm so sorry for getting you involved in my stupid problems. Get out now while you have the chance. I wouldn't blame you for it."

"Hey, you aren't getting rid of me so easy. You know that I'm not one for giving up."

"Well, as you've probably discovered by now, I am."

"That's funny, because you've shown a lot of determination trying to kick me out of your life. And not a minute ago you were sobbing in my arms when you thought I'd left you."

"I...I'm sick, Sean."

"I know, and I want to help you. Please let me."

"How can you help me?"

"Well, for starters, I can give you a ride home. I promised Reagan I'd get you back safe."

Laurel remembered her friend. "Where is she?"

"I sent her home last night. I thought she should get back to her family."

"So you stayed with me all night?"

"I slept in a chair for you," he announced, rubbing his sore neck.

"I'm sorry. You shouldn't have done that." She paused a moment, then added softly, "Thank you."

"It was worth it, getting to watch you all night. Do you know how beautiful you look when you sleep?"

Laurel furrowed her brow increduously. "You've got to be kidding. Look at me."

He couldn't help looking. She was pale, and her eyes were red and cloudy from crying, but to him she looked lovely. He especially saw her hair, which flowed freely down her back like a honey waterfall. "You know, I've never seen you with you're hair down before. I like it. A lot." He reached out to touch it and she blushed warmly, smiling in spite of herself. "Maybe later you'll let me brush it. But right now, let's get you out of here."

"I can go?"

"Yeah, the doctor came in earlier and said he was releasing you this morning. I'll call the nurse to help you get ready and we'll split."

The nurse arrived shortly to disconnect Laurel from the various tubes and wires and to help her into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt of Reagan's that she'd asked her husband to bring when he came to pick up Melanie the night before. The nurse had her sign discharge papers and gave her some information about the therapist Dr. Conway had mentioned, then brought her out to Sean who was waiting with his car outside. "All set?" She nodded and he helped her into the car.

The older woman stopped him before he got behind the wheel. "You will take care of her, young man, I hope?"

"I promise."



Chapter 9

By Monday, Laurel felt well enough to follow her normal schedule, though by her first class at 5:00 she was already tired from a full day at the clinic. However, she didn't want to miss teaching. She'd call that therapist woman that Dr. Conway had recommended tomorrow. Tonight, she just wanted to enjoy what she loved most.

Laurel was leading the students in stretches on the floor when she felt someone standing over her. Sean. She didn't bother to look up. "If you don't mind, I'm rather busy at the moment -- "

"I most certainly do mind; stand up and look at me when you speak to me!"

"Uncle Max, what are you doing here?"

"What's wrong with you? How could you jeopardize your career like this, with everything you've worked for? I'm very disappointed in you, Laurel!"

Her face started to burn with embarrassment. "Uncle, not here. Please!"

"You've got some explaining to do young lady! What were you thinking?"

And then she was just angry. "I'm in the middle of class. And I don't owe you any explanation!"

"Don't you dare take that tone with me! It's just like you, putting this foolish hobby before what's really important!"

Laurel fought to keep her composure so that she wouldn't scream, taking a deep breath and turning away from her uncle for a moment. "Dani, would you take over. I'll be right back."

But she couldn't help storming out into the hall. As soon as they were out of earshot, she turned on her heel, preparing to tell her uncle exactly what she was thinking. He didn't give her the chance. "What are you trying to do? I thought we had this conversation ten years ago. After everything I've...you want to throw it all away for some warped aesthetic!"

She wasn't going to pretend not to know what he was talking about. "How did you find out?"

"Dr. Conway is one of our cardiology consultants at the institute. He called me today when he found out that you were my niece. I suppose you weren't planning to tell me?"

"I didn't think -- "

"Exactly, you didn't think. You still believe you have a chance with this crazy dream."

"What? That's ridiculous! I've kept my word, I don't dance anymore, except in the studio."

"Then why the weight control game? Are you saying you aren't trying -- "

" -- No, I'm not! It has nothing to do with that!"

"Don't lie to me! It's the same as it was ten years ago. Remember? I told you that dance was hurting you, killing you, and you promised you'd stop. And you recovered completely. You listened to me once, why don't you try it again? Forget about ballet; no dancing, no teaching..."

"What? You've got to be joking. I can't...I won't!"

He was unmoved. "Laurel, this is for the best, and you know it. I'm thinking of you're future, and your health. It's time to let go, for good."

Laurel didn't know what to say. She hated when her uncle ordered her around according to what he thought were her best interests. But maybe he's right. Maybe I would be a whole lot better off if I...

"Miss Laurel?"

The plea was soft, almost inaudible, but it startled her all the same. "Dani, what is it?"

"Should I go on with class?"

"I'll be right in, Dani. We're finished here."

Laurel started to walk away, but Dr. Johnson grabbed her arm before she could escape. "Didn't you hear a word I said?"

"I heard you."

"And you're going to ignore my advice?"

"I'm going to think about it, if that's alright with you."

His more sympathetic nature made a late entry, and he put his other arm around her for a quick hug. "I'm sorry for yelling at you, I don't want to treat you like a child. But I just love you so much, Laurel."

"I know. I love you, too, Uncle Max. I have to go."

He nodded. "You have to make a decision about what's important. You know that I'm right."

She watched him leave before returning to the classroom where her students were waiting for her to continue with class. "I'm sorry for that interruption. Let's get right into your dance."

Nobody moved.

"Come on, guys, shake the lead out. Only eight weeks until the concert!"

Still no reaction. Finally a girl dared to speak. "Is it true, Miss Laurel?"

"Is what true, Kayla?"

One of the boys finished the question. "Are you really gonna stop teaching?"

How could they have heard? Ha, you've gotta be kidding, sweetheart, all of Philly could have heard that conversation, the way you two were screaming at each other."Let's not talk that now while we have work to do. We have more important things to worry about."

"What's more important than that?"

"Robbie, I appreciate your concern, but now is not the time for this discussion. I don't want to hear anything more on the subject. Let's dance people."

But for the first time in a very long time, Laurel wished herself far away from the studio. By the end of the evening she was more than ready to get home to bed.

Dani's private lesson was particularly awkward. The young girl was very upset that Laurel might not be her teacher anymore. "Please, Miss Laurel, you can't quit. What would I do without you?"

"Dani, there are plenty of teachers here who could teach you just as well as I can. You'll be fine -- "

"NO! Nobody believes in me like you do. If I didn't have you to push me...I know that I'm not the best dancer, but you give me confidence. I couldn't dance anymore if you left."

Laurel listened to the painfully familiar feelings. "You don't need me, or anyone else for that matter, to be a great dancer. And I will always believe in you, but you don't need me to tell you that you're talented. You know that you are. Don't forget it, whatever happens."

"But I don't want to lose you!"

"You won't lose me. You can call me or come see me whenever you like. And I'm still your physical therapist, right?"

"So you are going to quit?"

Laurel thought for a moment. " It's complicated. But I don't want you to worry about that now. Just concentrate on the concert."

"Will you be there?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

This made Dani feel a bit better, and she was calmer when she left the studio after her class. Laurel was slightly less comforted. She could still remember...

"Mom, this is the most important dance of my life. I want to prove to everyone that I'm a good dancer. You have to be there."

"You know how much I want to, honey, but so much can happen in a year."

"Please, Mom! Promise me!"

"Alright, Laurel, I promise."

"Really?"

"Of course. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"It's okay, Mom. I understand. You didn't miss much anyway. I was terrible that night. But it should have been so beautiful. I loved that dance."

And she still remembered it, as if she were still sixteen, still dreaming of a scholarship to SAB and a future in ballet.

The music was very special to her. Her mother's favorite song. She still carried the taped recording she used for her piece in her dance bag, but she hadn't played it since that night. "I couldn't hurt just once. I never did get to finish it, and it was such a beautiful dance. For Mom's sake."

Laurel found the tape at the bottom of the canvas bag and popped it into the stereo. For my sake. Before hitting play, she peered out into the hallway to confirm that the other people at the studio were occupied with their own business, and closed the door slightly.

Just one more time, and then I'll let go. I promise.

The sweet voice poured from the speakers. Her mother's voice. She'd recorded it one summer at the beach as a teen at some silly boardwalk attraction, and Laurel had found the little record in a trunk one day when she was a child. She copied it to a cassette years later to use for the dance, planning to dedicate it to her mom. It was some small show of gratitude.

It was a beautiful dance, so close to her heart. Every word told her story, her dreams.

Had she not been so caught up in the melding of lyric and movement, she would have seen him standing there in front of her, but she didn't notice her company until he spoke. "I knew that you were talented, but I had no idea -- "

"AHHHH!" Laurel nearly jumped out of her skin, and her eyes flew open to identify the intruder. "Oh, God, Sean! Don't ever do that again!"

Sean smiled. "I thought you could see everything in this room. You told me there were no secrets."

"I thought I was alone. I didn't expect...how long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to know that you never should have stopped dancing. You're amazing."

"Well, at least I could end my career on a high note."

"Huh?"

"It's over. No more dance. No teaching, no choreography, none of it."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"I have to do this, Sean. It's for my own good. I can't handle it anymore, I have to let go and move on with my life."

"Where's all this coming from?"

"I...it's time I made some serious decisions about my future. I had a little talk with Uncle Max tonight..."

"Uncle Max, I should have known. Dammit, Laurel, you can't let that man rule your life, I don't care what he's done for you. You should do what you want."

"This is what I want, Sean. Uncle Max is right. Look what almost happened. This is killing me, holding on to some childish fantasy. There are more important things -- "

" -- There's nothing more important than your dreams! You can't really want this."

"If you care about me like you say you do, you would respect my decision."

"I do care, very much, but I can't believe...why give up teaching if you love it so much?"

"It's for the best. I'll stay 'til the end of the year, the spring concert. I owe it to them. But that's all. I'm ready to let go now. I have to let go."

Sean felt helpless. He wanted to scream at her that she was making the wrong decision, that she'd regret it. He'd never have let anyone talk him out of playing football. Even after his injury, he was determined to get back in the game. Why couldn't she? But she wouldn't listen to him. So instead he offered to buy her a soda.

He took her to a bar uptown, feeling the sudden need for something a little stronger than coca cola. They found a table in the corner and he ordered a beer for himself and a Shirley Temple for her.

"What, am I five or something?" she teased.

"I'll get you some Tequila shots if you'd rather..."

"No, thanks. Actually, my dad used to get those for me all the time when he took me to the track."

"Tequila shots?"

"No! Shirley Temples. He'd call me Little Miss Marker."

"Huh?"

Laurel sighed. "Doesn't anyone watch old movies anymore? It's this Shirley Temple film. The little girl's dad is broke, so he bets his daughter on a race. Dad would tease me, say that if he got a good tip he'd put me on a race."

"Nice guy."

She shot back an angry glare. "He is, thank you."

The waitress returned shortly with their drinks. Laurel took a sip of her bubbly red gingerale. "Do you want my cherry?" she offered, holding it out to him by the stem.

Sean nodded, but took hold of her wrist instead of the stem so that she'd have to feed him. She colored slightly, but held her tongue, not sure if she should infer anything from his simple action and not wanting to make the wrong assumption.

She continued to stare at him while she sipped at her drink, waiting for him to bring up the subject she was sure was on his mind. "Aren't you going to ask me?"

"Ask you what?"

"I know you didn't bring me here to get me loaded on grenadine. You want to talk about Friday, or rather what happened ten years before Friday."

"I have been wondering...I would like to know how you could do that to yourself."

"Just what did Reagan tell you?"

"She said that you were upset with yourself, because you were having trouble in dance class. I guess I can sorta understand that. I've heard that ballet can be real competitive and everyone has to be stick-skinny. You had a lot of pressure on you. I certainly know how that feels."

Laurel bit her lip pensively. "But I don't think...it was more than about having the perfect body, otherwise why would I...be doing it again? I know I can't be a dancer anymore."

"Why not? What's stopping you?"

"I'm too old for a career as a ballerina. You have to start out young so you can work your way up the hierarchy from apprentice to corps to soloist to principle. And there's only so long a person can continue to dance professionally, to keep up with the extreme physical demands. You must understand that, as a professional athlete."

"Okay, maybe you're right, but you can still dance. I'm sure there are plenty of opportunities for someone with your talent."

"You keep talking about my talent. Excuse me for being so blunt, but what do you know about it?"

"Granted, I'm pretty clueless about ballet, but I do have some artistic sense, and you looked beautiful tonight. It was like you never touched the ground."

"Really?"

He nodded. "It was breath-taking."

Laurel stared down at her drink, twirling the straw in the ice. "I can never open up in front of people."

"You did with me," he pointed out.

"But I didn't know that you were there."

"Didn't you?"

She was about to respond, but she stopped herself and though about it. "Maybe I'm not afraid that you'll judge me like other people will."

"Is that what you think they do?"

"Of course, it's only natural. It happened all of my life. I was always one of the best students at Terpsichore. That's a huge responsibility. People expected me to be phenomonal when I performed.
And I didn't know how to open up."

"You know, you do the same thing when you talk to people. Reagan told me that you don't even share your secrets with her."

"Are you trying to psychoanalyze me? Trying to say that I have a fear of closeness or something?"

"Well, I know that you were very close with your mom. It must have hurt a lot when she...died."

Laurel swallowed tightly. "She told you about...? I guess it's better she did, I wouldn't have known how to say it. Yeah, it hurt a lot, but deep down I understood."

"Are you serious? You think that suicide was the right choice?"

"Of course not! I hate that she did it. But you don't know what it was like for her. And she knew it would only get worse. She didn't want that kind of life. She wanted to be in control of her own future. That was the only way for her to stay in control."

"Did you know she was planning to..."

"No. But she kept diaries. She left them to me in her will. She wasn't trying to take the easy way out. To her it was a power struggle, and she didn't want to give in to her disease. That was the kind of person she was, always focused, always in control. I tried to be just as in control, to make her proud of me. I've made a terrible mess of it, though."

"So why did you start...?"

"Making myself throw up? I don't know really. I'd feel better afterward, stronger maybe. It sounds kinda silly to say that now, but I remember a sense of accomplishment."

"Was it the same these past couple months?"

"I suppose. Maybe I'm being ridiculous. Maybe I'm just so used to trying to be thin that I don't know how to be any other way."

"But you didn't do it for ten years."

"I don't know. I was so busy studying and then working, I didn't even think about it...maybe I just needed a hobby?" she wondered, smiling wryly. "I'm sorry, that's not really funny."

"It can be good to laugh at yourself sometimes, keeps you humble."

"Really, I'd expect you to be a bit more humble yourself, then."

"Hey, watch it, sweetheart!" he warned dramatically, trying to hide a smile.

Laurel yawned and Sean remembered that she'd been released from the hospital only two days ago, so he thought it best to get the check and take her home. They found themselves in a familiar spot in front of her door, only inches of space between them. Inches between me and heaven. He was still reluctant to kiss her, and at this point he wondered if he'd missed his chance to try for anything beyond friendship. He'd never known a woman this long without having seen her naked, but the closest he'd come with this one was the hospital gown. He felt awkward asking for more, yet he hated settling for casual hugs and good-night pecks on the cheek, after taking so much trouble to get to know her, to get her to trust him.

Laurel was likewise frustrated. Isn't he ever going to try to kiss me again? She wanted so much to rekindle the fire she'd felt that first time he'd taken her out, but she was too afraid to tell him. Maybe he doesn't want me anymore? That possibility had crossed her mind many times over the course of two months. Despite her lack of experience in such matters, she understood that adults normally engaged in physical relationships, and found it strange, almost disheartening, that Sean never tried to take advantage of her. She felt silly for wanting such a thing, but all the same, she wanted it. "Is it because I'm sick? Am I too skinny, or something?"

"What?"

Did I just say that out loud? Yes, yes you did, you silly little girl. Well, don't just stand there like an idiot, say something! "Aren't you attracted to me anymore?" Of all the things you might have said, you picked that? Brilliant, Laurel.

Is she kidding me? Not attracted to her? If she only knew... "I'm terribly attracted to you, Laurel. Why would you think I wasn't?"

"I...well it's just..." Come on, you've gone this far, you might as well totally humiliate yourself "...you never try to kiss me. Don't you want to?"

"Of course I want...I thought that you..."Damnit, Sean, why are you still talking, she basically just said that you can kiss her!

The moment his lips touched hers, words lost all meaning. He lost himself with her in his arms. Why did I wait so long to do this? How did I ever keep my hands off of her all this time?

Laurel felt like she was coming home after a lifetime in another world. Her hands braced on his chest, she could feel his heartbeat and her own echoed in her ears. She wished he could hold her like this forever.

"Laurel? Is that you?"

The porch light flashed on as a muffled sound came from inside the house. Laurel blushed deep red. "Yes, Daddy."

"Don't you have to work tomorrow?"

"Yes, Daddy."

A brief pause. "Are you coming in?"

She giggled. "Yes, Daddy. I have to go now," she almost whispered. "I'm still his little girl. He feels it's his job to play the disapproving father sometimes."

"Well, I'll give him something to disapprove of," Sean offered, pulling her back to him for one more crushing kiss.

The voice behind the door interrupted again. "You can tell that Sean Mitchell to come back when his team wins a few games."

Hearty laughter. "Yes, Daddy! You heard the man, get lost, you bum!" she exclaimed as she pushed him toward the curb. She added softly, "Goodnight, Sean."

"Goodnight, Laurel," Sean called loudly.

Mr. Sullivan felt compelled to add his own, rather emphatic, "Goodnight!"



Chapter 10

"No, Sean, I don't want to!"

"Come on, baby. Do it for me. Please?"

"I said no!"

"Aw, if you really cared about me you'd do it."

"Don't try to manipulate me to get your own way, 'cause it won't work. I won't do it."

"I bet I can persuade you..."

It was almost 10:30 on a Thursday evening and Reagan had been in the hall hanging up posters when she'd heard Sean and Laurel arguing in studio A, and was intrigued by the fairly intimate tone of the conversation. Curious to see if the situation was as steamy as it sounded, Reagan poked her head around the corner of the door frame, and her suspicions were all but confirmed. Laurel stood still at the stereo in the corner as Sean held her back against him, his palms pressed to her flat stomach as he tenderly kissed her neck. Sean's shirt was on the floor and Laurel was clad in a low cut lavender leotard and skin-colored cut off tights.

Reagan couldn't help but interrupt the scene. "Sean, if you're gonna take advantage of my dear friend here, the least you could do is close the door."

The discovered pair turned abruptly, and to everyone's surprise, it was Sean who blushed at Reagan's suggestion. "I was just trying to convince her to..."

"I know exactly what you were doing, mister, and I must say that I'm apalled! For heaven's sake, what took you so long?"

"NO! I swear, I was just..."

Laurel giggled. "It's not how it looked. My Sean's a gentleman. He merely wanted me to dance for him."

"Ha! Good luck. You'd have a better chance with my first idea. She won't dance anymore, the little coward."

The week before a dance concert was always a stressful time for everyone at the studio. It didn't help that the weather grew hotter and more humid every day, and Mary didn't like to turn the air conditioning on until the summer session, though the dancers had already begun to melt in April. The final week of May would soon be upon them, and the studio was buzzing with excitement for the upcoming performances the following Saturday. The students looked forward to their own dances, but even more they hoped to discover that the rumor circulating the studio was true: somehow, the general crowd had the impression that their beloved teacher, Laurel Sullivan, planned to end her career at the studio with one last performance at the spring concert. By now everyone knew that she intended to leave at the end of the term, but the prospect of seeing her dance again, for some of them to see her dance for the first time, was thrilling. Now the trick was convincing Laurel to do it.

"I'm not a coward."

"Yeah, right. That's why you refuse to dance in the concert."

"I never said that I was going to dance in the concert, and I'd like to know how that rumor got started, Reagan."

"Don't look at me, I had nothing to do with it. Ask Sean."

"What does Sean know about it?"

Sean shrugged. "I told a few guys in the locker room before class that week I saw you dancing in here, and some of them said they remembered the number, and they got the idea that you might be practicing for the show. This being your last year and all..."

"Oh, Sean! Why did you have to do a thing like that? I have no intention of performing. Ever."

Reagan broke in. "You never told me you saw her dance."

"Yeah, not long after she got out of the hospital."

"What dance?"

"It was amazing. You know that song from The Wizard of Oz, "Over the Rainbow?" I never heard that recording before, though. I meant to ask Laurel about it."

Laurel was silent, but Reagan was bubbling with words. "Oh my God, Laurel! Your solo piece, the one you choreographed yourself when you were sixteen. Your last piece. Why didn't you tell me?"

"There's nothing to tell! I just wanted to see if I remembered it, if I could do it one more time and get it out of my system. And now I'm ready to move on."

Reagan wasn't listening to her. "Oh, Sean, you're so lucky. It was the best thing she's ever done, that piece. I think because the music was so close to her heart."

Sean nodded. "Big Wizard of Oz fan?"

"No, big fan of the singer. It was her mom's favorite song, and that was her voice on the tape. She wanted more than anything to dance it for her mother."

"Yeah, well, that didn't happen, so let's forget about it, okay?"

"Fine. I have to get home anyway. Like I said, Sean, good luck."

As soon as Reagan was gone, Sean turned back to Laurel. "It's alright if you don't want to, I understand."

She smiled weakly, looking so miserable that he had no choice but to take her in his arms until she was happy again. But holding her brought on new problems, and soon Sean wanted more. He tipped his head to caress the side of her face with his lips, whispering sweetly in her ear. "Maybe this is a better idea after all. Let's go back to my place and -- "

"No."

She broke the embrace quickly as she caught on to his strategy. Frustration built within his chest, but he fought to suppress it. He'd been patient with her for so long, but it killed him everytime she pulled away. "I don't mean to sound like an ass, but we've been together for a few months now and you still won't let me...I don't see a cross around your neck or anything."

"That's not fair, Sean."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think what you're doing is very fair. We're not a couple of teenagers. I could understand if you're really religious, but..."

"Maybe I just don't want to..."

"Don't lie to me. I've been around. I can tell by now when a woman wants me. So why hold back? You're twenty-six years old. You've gotta start sometime."

Laurel glared back at him, trying to answer back. "I can't believe you said that."

"Really, Laurel, what are you saving it for?"

"Well, obviously not for you!"

Laurel didn't bother to put anything over her dance ensemble, grabbing her things and bolting for the exit before Sean could continue. Bastard! I thought he understood! I thought he cared about me!

Damnit to hell! Why did I say that? I really am a complete ass. "Please, Laurel, I didn't mean it! Don't leave!"

But she had already gone.

That...that bastard! Is that all that matters to him, to sleep with me? What kind of jerk is he? Laurel stormed off toward home, telling herself over and over again how angry she was with Sean. But the closer she came to her house on Chestnut Street, the more she realized that she was angry with someone else. He's right. I'm an adult and I should behave like one. What's wrong with me? How did I get so royally screwed up?

"Hi, Laurel."

"Hi, Daddy."

Laurel found her father in the same place every night, seated on the couch with the television on while he handicaped horses, several racing forms strewn over his lap and the cushions. "I'm going to the track tomorrow. Do you want to come?"

"No, thanks. I have my appointment."

Her father frowned. "You don't need a shrink, honey. There's nothing wrong with you."

Ha! "She's really helped me a lot. After everything...it's nice to have someone to talk to."

"You have me to talk to, and I don't charge $100 an hour."

"Dad, you never talk to me."

"What do you think I'm doing right now, knitting socks? I've got something great in the sixth at Aqueduct tomorrow, a nice two year old from - "

"That's just what I mean! There you go again talking about horses and changing the subject on me. Why won't you talk about it? Why won't you talk about her?"

He ignored her questions completely. "It's alright. If you don't want to go, you don't want to go. I'll take the bus so you can have the car. It's late, dear, you'd better get to bed."

Arhh! What's the use! "Yeah, Daddy. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Laurel."

Laurel had given up on that conversation with her father years ago, so it didn't take her long to bury it again in her mind as she climbed the stairs to her room. Then she remembered Sean. She decided to call him, knowing he could not be home yet, but as she was about to pick up the phone it rang. In her usual practice, she let the answering machine pick up.

Beep. "Hey, Laurel, it's me. Listen, I know you must hate me right now, believe me, I don't like myself all that much. But I don't want you to go to sleep still mad at me. I know you're there, Laurel. You might as well pick up. I'm gonna just keep talking 'til you answer. Please, baby, I know I was a creep, but...damn, I'm sorry. I probably don't deserve your forgiveness, but I'm asking, begging for it anyway. Pick up the phone, Laurel! I promise I'll leave you alone if you just let me hear your voice before I go to bed, so I can play it over in my mind and dream about you. And I promise, only good, wholesome, PG-13 dreams. Don't hate me, Laurel."

"I don't hate you..."

"Laurel! Were you listening? I'm so sorry, baby, please don't be mad."

"Sean, it really hurt me, what you said tonight."

"I didn't mean it. I was just frustrated. It's hard being with you and not being with you. But it's okay. I can wait forever, if that's what it takes. I just couldn't lose you."

"Sean, it's late. I have to get to bed."

"Yeah, okay, I'll leave you alone." He paused to clear his throat. "Uh, what are you wearing?"

"Sean!"

"Okay, sorry." He waited. "So, are you gonna tell me, or do you want me to guess? I have a pretty good imagination."

"I thought you said PG-13?"

"Come on, Laurel, let me have this at least."

"Fine." She switched to the softest, most sultry voice she could manage. "It's a short, pink satin nightgown with white lace trim top and bottom, and it dips to my waist in the back. My hair is down and almost reaches it. And underneath..."

Sweet Jesus! "That'll do. I have to go take a cold shower now. Can I call you tomorrow?"

"Okay. Goodnight, Sean."

"'Night."

It was a complete lie, of course. Laurel was still in her dance clothes with her hair tightly fastened, and she didn't own anything resembling the gown she'd described. She changed into a pair of short cotton pajamas like she always wore, but she wanted to give Sean something to dream about. And indeed he did dream that night, but his dreams were not of the PG-13 variety. So much for cold showers.

* * * *

"How are you this morning, Laurel?"

"Fine, I guess." Laurel had been coming to see Dr. Burrel for weeks, but she never really knew how to answer that question. She might get the wrong impression if I point out that I haven't thrown myself from the Ben Franklin Bridge yet. I should maintain at least a semblance of sanity.

Laurel's situation was not quite that hopeless. She simply needed a substitute for dance, an outlet for all of her passions, and she thought she'd found it. Or rather, him.

"Everything's fine at work? How about at the dance studio? I know that you are in preparation for next week's concert; that must be fairly stressful."

"No, I'm used to it. I know what to expect by now."

"About the concert: this is to be your final year at the studio. How does that make you feel?"

Laurel carefully considered her reply. "A little sad, I suppose. I'll miss the kids and the other staff members. I had a lot of fun working with them all. But it's time I got on with the rest of my life."

"So you have plans? Tell me about them."

"Well, I want to further my career. I'm going to start working full time at the institute with my uncle and his team. That's very exciting for me. And then there's Sean..."

"Yes, how is your relationship with Sean?"

"It's...complicated. Sometimes I feel so comfortable with him, but then things get intense and I feel overwhelmed. I want an adult relationship, but...sometimes he expects so much more from me than I want to give. I'm so tired of people depending on me to be what they want."

"So, what do you want, Laurel?"

What do I want? I want to dance with the New York City Ballet. I want my family back. I want my mother. "I don't know. But I can't give him up. I've given up so much already."

"Why do you feel that you have to give up anything?"

"Well, look what happened! It's like I went into self destruct mode. Obviously I can't handle everything I'd like to."

"Perhaps the problem isn't how much you're trying to do. Perhaps you just need a little help."

Laurel scrunched her right brow. "I thought that's why I was here."

Dr. Burrel shook her head. "That's not what I meant. You were very close to your mother. Since she died, have you had other close relationships?"

"No, not really. I've always had a hard time talking to people."

"And you started alternating between depriving and overindulging yourself of food not long after your mother's death?"

"I never thought of it that way, but yeah, I guess so."

"But you'd started having problems in dance before that? In fact, I understood that you'd already begun to improve." The doctor paused to consider her next question. "What was your motivation to dance?"

Laurel shrugged. "There's no deep philosophical explanation. Ballet was beauty, strength, confidence; everything I wanted to have. And Mom said..."

"What did your mother say?" Dr. Burrel prompted.

"She said that I had talent. I made her proud. Knowing that was enough to keep me going."

"What about your father or your uncle, or your teachers? Didn't they encourage you?"

"Dad...he thought it was cute that I danced. He didn't care what I did, as long as I gave him that smile. Uncle Max didn't approve, saying it wasn't a serious ambition. As for my teachers, they tried to help me, especially that year Mom...but I didn't know what to do with their advice. I felt like they were picking at every little thing, like everyone was expecting something wonderful that I had no hope of delivering. They asked more of me than I could give."

"Had you always felt this pressure to succeed?"

"Yeah. I kind of liked it at first. But it got to be too much. I was afraid I would disappoint them. In the end, I suppose I did."

"I think the person you really let down was yourself. Laurel, you do realize that it's no crime to depend on others for support? Needing help doesn't make you a weak person; it makes you human. As Donne says, 'no man is an island.'"

"My uncle prefers Emerson: 'Can anything be so elegant as to have few wants, and to serve them one's self?'"

"It seems to me that you need to concentrate on what you think more than what your uncle thinks. I know he means well, and he's done a lot for your professional success, but it's your life. How do you want to live it?"

Hours later, when she was home relaxing in front of the television watching nothing in particular, the good doctor's questions reverberated in her ears. What do I want? How do I want to live? She realized that she'd never before consulted her own feelings on the subject. She didn't know what she wanted. Or did she?

"Hi, Sean, it's me, Laurel. Um, I'm at home, all by myself. I don't know where you are or when you'll be back, but I'd really like you to come over. My dad's out of town this weekend, so...uh, yeah, bye." Abruptly she dropped the phone back into place, nervously chewing on her lower lip. Did I just...? Yeah, I did. What's gotten into me? He's gonna think...well, isn't that what you want him to think? Hmmm, this should be interesting.



Chapter 11

Finally at the end of his therapy, football star Sean Mitchell was back to his regular routine, now in preparation for summer training camp. He spent much of his day in his gym or pool or running sprints in his spacious backyard, but made sure to leave plenty of quality Laurel time. He liked to call her around 3:00 on Fridays, knowing she'd be home, so they could get a jumpstart on the weekends. Fortunately for him, she showed no signs of feeling smothered by his enthusiastic attentions. In fact, he thought he was beginnning to wear her down.

Sean, your a pig. That's a horrible thing to think. Have some respect for the girl. Indeed, he had the utmost respect for Laurel, but as he often liked to point out to his overanxious conscience: "I'm only a man, for Christ's sake, I have needs, too!" He regretted pushing her, but he simply wasn't accustomed to waiting. His reputation had afforded him countless one-night-stands, so this no-means-no chick was a new breed to him. Still, he had a deep suspicion that she was worth it.

He was just about to dial her number when he noticed the flashing light on his answering machine. He smiled at the sweet voice pouring from the speaker, chuckling when she identified herself, as if he wouldn't know immediately that it was her.

Sean started to pick up the receiver, but hesitated as the message continued. He listened carefully until it ended, and played it again for confirmation, but he wasn't sure...I'm fooling myself. She's just asking me over for a nice, casual evening. Takeout, old movies, some laughs. Nothing more. Don't get your hopes up, Sean. You know this girl. But, oh, how he hoped, all the way to Chestnut street.

When he arrived at her door, Laurel was dozing on the couch as Turner Classics was between programing. She roused at the clanging of the doorbell, knowing instantly who would be standing on her stoop. She practically ran to the door, but took care opening it, not wanting to appear too eager to see her guest.

"Hi, Sean," she managed with some degree of nonchalance. He'd obviously gotten out of the shower not long ago, his jet hair glistening like a spring field sparkling with dew and he smelled of fresh soap and aftershave.

She was gorgeous, her skin rosey and warm and her rich brown locks loose about her shoulders. She wore a small light blue tank top and baggy khakis slung at her hips, slightly wrinkled. "Did I wake you, baby?" he asked sweetly.

"It's okay, I was just resting. Won't you come in?"

"Thanks."

He followed her back to the tv room, and watched her flop down on the sofa and cross her legs under herself. "I was watching Marnie. Have you ever seen it?"

"No, I don't think so," he replied, cozying up to her on the couch.

"Let's watch it! It just started. It's a Hitchcock film. Not one of his best, but it has some redeeming social value."

Sean was more than a little disappointed, but not surprised. He was somewhat used to spending his afternoons curled up on a couch with Laurel watching some old movie. So far, she'd had him watch National Velvet, The Joker's Wild, April Love, A Day at the Races, and was beginning to notice a trend. "So when's the horse racing scene in this one."

She smiled, realizing that she did watch a lot of horse movies, thanks to her father's influence.

"So, you said Dad's away?"

"Yeah, he decided to go to Aqueduct, some incredible tip in the sixth race today." She looked absentmindedly at the clock on the wall above the tv. "I wonder if he won."

"He's stayin' all weekend?" Sean asked delicately.

"He likes to do that sometimes. He might try to get to a couple more tracks. It's fun for him."

"And he left his sweet, innocent little girl all alone, with no one to look after her?"

"I think I can take care of myself, thank you very much!" she announced with false indignance.

"Well, I think I better stick around to make sure you don't get into any trouble."

"Excuse me, but I'm trying to watch the movie, if you don't mind."

"Oh, I see how it is."

He didn't concentrate much on the movie, more intent to watch Laurel, but occasionally he'd turn back to see what was happening. "Hey, that's James Bond!"

"His name is Sean Connery, but here he's Mark Rutland, sexy, powerful boss man with a thing for Tippi Hedren, Marnie, beautiful, neurotic criminal with a traumatic past. It's all very Freudian."

"Should I be taking notes, professor?"

"Don't be smart with me, mister."

"Sorry, ma'am. I'll behave now."

Sean made a concerted effort to watch the film, paying particular attention to the scenes with horses that Laurel seemed to enjoy so much. Gradually he grew fascinated with the deeply psychological story, as Connery's character catches on to Hedren's devious plot and blackmails her into marriage, whisking her off on a honeymoon cruise. But the new Mrs. Rutland isn't as interested in consummating the relationship as her husband, screaming and wide-eyed when he tries to touch her. Laurel was very quiet and still, and Sean grew thoughtful.

"Laurel, why did you invite me over?"

She shifted uncomfortably, moving away from him slightly. "I wanted some company."

"Did you want me to watch this movie? Are you trying to tell me something?"

"What? No! It just happened to be on when you got here."

"Well, then what am I here for?"

Laurel looked down at her lap awkwardly. "I wanted to be with you."

"What do you mean by that?" he asked directly.

"Are you gonna make me say it?"

"You're gonna have to, sweetheart, or I can't be certain what you really mean!"

"Oh, nevermind!" she sulked.

Sean signed heavily, shaking his head. "Baby, you really are a coward."

"Why am I a coward?"

"You're afraid of going for what you want! Dance, love...me! And you know, you could have it all, if you had the courage to ask for it."

She didn't answer, and he didn't have anything else to say, so he got up to leave. "Sean, wait!"

"What?" he barked, his back to her.

"Please don't go," she practically whispered.

"Why?"

"Because I want..."

"What? What do you want?"

"You."

The delicate sound was barely audible, but it was enough to make his heart stop beating. He hadn't been looking at her when she said it, and now he was afraid to turn around with his eyes open and find out he'd dreamed it. But the touches of her hands on his shoulders, of the side of her face resting against his back, of her arms winding around his now rigid frame, were unmistakable. Still, he had to ask. "Laurel, what are you doing?"

"Exactly what I want to do. For the first time in my life."

"Are you sure, baby? This isn't a game. You can't suddenly change your mind and take it back. You have to be sure -- "

"I'm sure."

That was all he needed to hear. Within seconds he'd turned to gather her closely. Sean was in heaven, his very own lovely angel in his arms. Her skin was soft and warm under his hands, and the tighter he held her, the more she clung to him. Her lips were red wine and velvet, and like petals on a rose they parted to his will. He felt her fingers slide up to bury themselves in his thick black hair as she returned his greedy kisses. "Sean," she purred through a heavy cloud of passion, "let's go upstairs."

"NO!"

The strident plea came from a woman, but it sounded more like the cry of a frightened little girl. For a moment he'd thought it was Laurel who had screamed, but he realized the tv was still on, and Sean opened his eyes to find the those of a terrified child staring back at him from the screen. Brutally defying the woman's nervous refusal of his advances, Connery tore off her nightgown. The blond actress was perfectly still, paralyzed with fear, as her determined suitor laid her upon the bed. Meanwhile, Laurel was sprinkling Sean's face and neck with tender kisses.

She sensed his withdrawal, suddenly and painfully aware of how he had felt everytime she'd pulled away from him. "Sean?"

Ever so gently, and reluctantly, he put her from him, his hands caressing her face. "Let's watch the movie, Laurel."

She began to protest, but he silenced her with his fingers on her mouth. "It's not that I don't appreciate what you're offering, or that I don't want this desperately, but I can't let you do this. No matter what you say, I know that you're still really confused, with everything that's happened." He could see clouds of regret and embarrassment in her eyes, threatening to spill over. "Don't cry, baby. We have all the time in the world. I'm not gonna let you go so easy."

He kissed her forehead reverently as she blinked back the tears. "Tell you what: we'll watch the rest of this and see what else is gonna be on tonight, then will order a pizza and make a quiet night of it. How does that sound?"

She smiled, her timidity making a late appearance. "Okay."

It was an old formula, but a welcomed alternative to the noise and crowds of city night life. TCM broadcast films into the wee small hours, and somewhere around 1AM Laurel fell asleep in Sean's inviting arms. He briefly considered settling her upstairs and heading home, but felt no necessity to move, so instead he laid back, still holding his angel, and pulled a blanket off the back of the couch to drape it over the two of them. He was discovering that it didn't take a saint's resolve to hold a beautiful woman in his arms without taking advantage of the situation. What's more, he knew that Laurel wanted him, and that was pretty wonderful.

* * * *

"So, how was your weekend?"

In spite of all the things Reagan had to worry about that week for the show, she still had time to wonder what was happening with her dear young friend.

But Laurel didn't mean to share. "Fine."

"Fine? You can do better than that, honey. My weekend consisted of running back and forth between home and the theater, dealing with set designers, angry parents, Mary - who still isn't sure if I know what I'm doing after all these years - and meanwhile taking care of Melanie and Jason, who can't seem to handle anything without me. I have no life outside of work and home. You, on the other hand, are a young, beautiful; you must have exciting adventures so I can live vicariously through you."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Reagan, but I stayed in all weekend." It was true, actually, but Laurel deliberately left out the part about her house guest.

It was the Monday evening before the spring concert, and the studio was a blur of activity. There were no classes this week, but there was plenty to do in preparation for Saturday's performance. Reagan and Laurel had taken refuge in the office looking over the program, leaving the other teachers to deal with the costume fittings and set construction and all the other problems that went with putting on a dance production.

The order of the show was set, but Mary had asked the two to check it to make sure it would flow properly and that there were no conflicts for student in multiple numbers. "I don't like this line up before the finale."

Laurel looked up. "What's wrong with it?"

"I'm sorry, I know the advanced jazz class is one of your groups, and the dance is great, but I don't want it to end the program."

"I asked Mary to put my lyrical group here, but she wanted it in the first half, and the production numbers are set at the openings of the two acts. I don't know what else you could put before finale."

Reagan smiled mischeviously. "I couldn't perhaps persuade you to fill the spot?"

Laurel wasn't amused. "Nice try, but forget it. I'm not interested."

"You are such a liar, Laurel."

"Now what are you lying about, baby?"

Both women turned to the doorway. Sean was leaning against the frame, a questioning smirk on his face.

Reagan jumped up to greet the visitor. "Sean! So good of you to drop by. To what do we owe this pleasure?"

He gestured for her to wait a moment as he retrieved a package from the hall. "Milkshakes."

"There had better be one for me!" Reagan exclaimed.

"Strawberry for Mrs. Brown," he announced, presenting the treat theatrically. "and chocolate cherry for my beautiful Laurel."

Laurel smiled sweetly. "Thank you."

He eyed her ensemble, paying particular attention to the oversized t-shirt with the Eagles' division championship logo printed on the front. "I was looking for that. I must have left it at your place this weekend."

Reagan's ears perked up as she nearly choked on her milkshake. "What's this I'm hearing? Laurel, you were holding out on me."

"We just played house a little," Sean responded through a wicked grin.

Laurel spoke up hurriedly. "Nothing happened. We slept, that's all!"

Reagan frowned. "Oh, why did you have to ruin it for me. I was creating this beautiful story in my mind, and you go and kill all the romance."

"It was very romantic, Reagan," Sean assured her. "We just cuddled and fell asleep in each other's arms."

Reagan sighed wistfully, slowly making for the door. "Mmmm, that's more like it. Thank you very much for the goodies, Sean. I must get back to Mary and her other slaves. Hang on to this one, Laurel, I think he's a keeper."

Sean looked at Laurel, who was carefully sipping on her milkshake. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere."

"I hope you don't mind me wearing your shirt." She was a bit embarassed, but she hadn't been able to resist putting it on that morning when she'd found it in the bathroom. He'd spilled some soda and she'd offered to clean the spot for him, but it was really just a ploy to get him to take his shirt off. It had smelled so good, so much like him, that she didn't want to put it through the washing machine, instead just scrubbing the spill so she could wear it herself and keep him with her all day.

"Keep it. It looks good on you." Of course it swam on her tiny frame, but there was something so endearing, not to mention enticing, to see her in his clothes.

"So, is this a thank you for the weekend?" she asked, gesturing with the milkshake.

"No, just something sweet for someone sweet." Damn, that was lame. I used to be so smooth. But she smiled generously, so he didn't care if he sounded dumb. "How much longer are you here for tonight?"

She signed heavily. "A while. I have to help paint scenery after I send the program to the printer. I'm afraid I won't have much time to spare this week."

"Can I help?"

"Sure! That would be fabulous. We could use another painter. As long as your art skills are better than your dancing!"

"Hey, I've worked hard these past few monthes!" Sean cried. "Try facing a three hundred pound defensive tackle and then we'll see how strong you really are."

"Alright, superstar, enough of this macho talk. We have some painting to do."

"Yeah, that's what I thought!" he grumbled arrogantly as he followed her into the hall.

* * * *

It was an extremely hectic week for everyone involved in the concert, and the excitement mounted as Saturday night crept closer. By Thursday's dress rehearsal, teachers, cast, and crew were were in pre-performance hell as they trudged through a mess of technical difficulties, costume problems, and temperamental dancers, and no one felt it more than Reagan. "I don't know how I'm gonna get through this! It gets worse every year!"

"Yeah, but every year the show gets better. Don't worry so much."

"Oh, Laurel, you've always been so calm and level-headed about these things. I don't know what I'll do without you."

Laurel smiled reassuringly. "I'm not moving to Siberia or anything. I'll always be here for you."

"But it won't be the same. You belong here, Laurel. No matter what you say, you're a dancer, and you shouldn't walk away like this."

"Reagan..."

"I know, I'm sorry. I'm just gonna miss working with you. You're my best friend, and I love you." Overwhelmed with emotion, she threw her arms around Laurel as she tried not to cry.

"I love you, too."

"Hey, what's all this?"

Reagan turned away to wipe her face as she answered Sean. "I'm just a bit emotional right now. You know how pregnant women are."

Laurel's eyes widened in astonishment. "What? You didn't say anything...when did all this happen?"

"We found out yesterday," Reagan replied, hardly able to contain her joy.

"Congratulations!" Sean exclaimed.

"Thanks. Jason's very excited about it. That reminds me," she said, looking at her watch, "I promised to call him." She left them to find her cell phone.

Sean was very happy for Reagan and her husband. He wondered what it felt like to have children. "Do you want kids, Laurel?"

She seemed startled by the question, lost in a daydream of her own. "Yeah, that would be nice," she sighed.

Suddenly Sean started picturing Laurel with a baby in her arms. She would be the perfect mother, judging from the caring way she interacted with her patients and students. And they would make such beautiful babies together...

"Alright, everyone!" Reagan called as she put her phone back in her purse. "Good work tonight. I'm calling stage crew and everyone in the production numbers for five o'clock tomorrow evening. For the rest of you, be here Saturday on time. All the junior performers should be here by 1:00 for the children's mantinee, and the seniors must be in costume and ready to go on for the eight o'clock curtain. Thank you and goodnight!"

The crowd of students, teachers, and volunteers disseminated quickly from the auditorium after Reagan's announcement, except for Laurel, who was still sitting on the stage shuffling through papers. "Sweety, go home to bed. We'll be back tomorrow."

"I know, Reagan, I just want to finish with these light cues. You go on ahead. I'll see you tomorrow."

Reagan shrugged, but was more than ready to get out of there. "Okay. I'll see ya. 'Night, Sean."

"Goodnight. So, how much longer are you gonna be, baby?"

Laurel paused, waiting for Reagan to leave and the theater door to shut securely behind her. Once the coast was clear, she dropped the papers on the stage and sprang up to get her bag, rummaging though it for some secret purpose. "What's going on here?"

Laurel smiled deviously. "Just wait. I promise you'll like it."

She disappeared behind the stage left curtain for a moment, and when she returned, the t-shirt and jeans she'd been wearing had been discarded to reveal a black leotard and cut off tights. She also had put on her pink ballet slippers. "Okay, now you go and sit front and center and I'm gonna show you something that no one else has ever seen."

"You've got my undivided attention."

She darted back behind the curtain, reappearing with a boom box, which she set down by the footlights. In her other hand she carried a chiffon wrap skirt, a watercolor of soft hues. She pressed play and walked toward the middle of the stage as she tied the skirt around her waist. And then the music started.

Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high,
There's a land that I've heard of
Once in a lullabye...

Sean had never cared much for ballet, but he'd never seen anything more beautiful than this. And it wasn't about how high her leg extended or how many turns she whipped out; she was just so...free. She was a bird in the sky, graceful and delicate, but strong, confident. And at that moment, he knew...

...If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow, why, oh, why can't I?

As the music faded away, so did the magical haze that had come to lay across the stage. Laurel broke from her final pose to turn off the tape player and then lowered herself from the stage to face her audience of one. "What did you think?"

Sean didn't speak.

Laurel frowned. "What? You didn't like it?"

He stood up, and without saying a word, gathered the frail girl in his arms. And the tears poured down as if a storm cloud had torn open in the theater. But for once they weren't Laurel's.

At first she didn't notice, but the shallow tremors that began to shake his body were unmistakable. Laurel pulled away slightly to look up at his face, and saw warm green eyes that usually flashed with devilish intentions now glistening with wet emotion. She reached up to touch his dampened cheek. "Sean, what's the matter?"

He couldn't say anything, too afraid to make an even bigger fool of himself. Damnit, Sean, you're crying like a little girl! What the hell's wrong with you? What's she gonna think?

But it meant everything to Laurel. She'd done this, she'd moved him to tears. Ten years she'd waited to effect such a response through her dancing, and here was this beautiful man in front of her, speechless. This man, who had something to say about everything. This wonderful man, who she loved with all of her strength.

She wound her arms around him, closing her eyes and resting her head on his strong, heaving chest. "Thank you."

He laughed through his tears, both at himself and her words. "For what?"

"For asking me to dance."

Sean breathed deeply, trying to collect himself before speaking again. "Does this mean you've changed you mind about performing on Saturday?"

She shook her head. "I just wanted to dance for you. And now I can say that I got through it completely on stage. This time I didn't wimp out."

"I still think you should dance in the concert, now more than ever."

"Sean, we've been through this. I can't do it."

"But why? I just saw you, and you were amazing."

"But it was only you. It's a lot different with a packed house and your under the spotlight and everyone is waiting for you to do something spectacular. You don't understand what it's like to have so many people watching you..."

"Excuse me? Have you forgotten what I do for a living?"

"Okay, so you do understand. But I still won't do it. It's like you said, I'm a coward."

He started to object, but she interrupted him. "It's late. I should be getting home."

"Hey!"

She had started to pull away, but his sharp protest made her pause and look up at him.

Sean bowed his head to rest it against hers, his eyes half closed and his lips curling in a sheepish smile as he held her wrists to his chest. "Thanks for dancing for me."

And with one reverent kiss, Laurel forgot what they'd been arguing about.

* * * *

"Alright. Moving on, people! Let's try to get through this so we can all go home and sleep. It's showtime tomorrow, so let's work out the rough spots tonight. Like they say: 'bad rehearsal, good show.'"

Laurel tried not to laugh as she listened to the familiar night-before-the-show speeches. Every year Reagan became more like her Aunt Mary. I really am gonna miss this. So many memories. She could remember living for these shows as a child; her weeks were measured in dance classes, her years in dance concerts. Every day was spent in anticipation, and after the performance the cycle would begin again. But not anymore...

"Laurel!"

She blinked out of her trance. "What?"

Reagan stood impatiently peering from behind the left wing curtain. "What's up with you tonight? Get your skinny butt back here!"

Oh, Lord, what is it now? The evening had been troubled with dramas and catastrophes, mostly manufactured by the pregnant director's stress. By eight o'clock, Laurel was weary from searching for rosin, and bobby pins, and marking tape, and whatever else Reagan found lacking. "If you're looking for the mind you apparently lost hours ago, I can't help you."

Behind the curtain, Laurel met with a grim expression. "Is something wrong?"

"Go get Dani and bring her back here."

"Dani? Why? What's going on?"

"She's in the lockerroom. I wanted to run her solo again, after the problems at dress."

"I don't think that's necessary. Last night...that was just nerves, performing the number before an audience for the first time."

"Well, it'll be an even bigger audience tomorrow night, and I can't have her freezing up on stage again."

"Fine, but don't make her dance in front of the other students."

"The whole point is that she needs to get used to having an audience. I'm beginning to think that it wasn't such a hot idea to give a thirteen year old a lyrical solo."

"I had my first at twelve."

"But you were different. You never went out on stage and just froze...okay, except that one time."

Laurel didn't need to be reminded of that, not now, so close to the concert. "I'll go get Dani."

As Reagan had said, Dani was in the lockerroom, sitting on one of the benches folded like a pretzel, bent over her crossed legs so that her head and arms hung limply toward the floor. Laurel remembered that position quite well; she used to sit like that when she felt overwhelmed. "Dani, are you alright?"

The young girl looked up, and Laurel got her answer. Dani's eyes were red and her face was smeared with fresh tears. "I can't do it!"

Laurel was immediately at her side, pulling her up to wrap an arm around her shivering shoulders. "Yes you can. We've been through this before. It's natural to be nervous. But that doesn't mean you can't do it."

"But they'll laugh at me!"

"Who?"

"The other kids. They say I'm teacher's pet and I think I'm better than everybody else, but that's not true! I work very hard. I just know that they're all waiting for me to mess up so they can laugh at me. I'm sure they thought it was great when I forgot my dance at dress."

Laurel knew exactly how Dani felt. "They're just kids, Dani, they don't mean anything by it. They're a bit jealous of you, because they watch you dance and think everything comes so easily to you. But I know that you work hard, and I'm very proud of you. And I know that you're going to be beautiful tomorrow night."

Dani straightened a little, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "You really think so?"

"I most definitely do."

"Do I really have to rehearse it again?"

Laurel shook her head. "I'll explain everything to Reagan. It'll be fine. You just go home and get a good night's rest and be back here tomorrow evening. Don't worry about the fouettes or any of the techinical stuff, just imagine yourself in the dance and that everything's perfect. And don't forget to smile."

"Thanks, Miss Laurel."

"Anytime."

When she walked Dani outside to meet her mother, Laurel knew that the young girl would be fine. But what about me?

"How's my little ballerina?"

Laurel started to turn, but Sean quickly pulled her back to him, his arms around her waist. She savored the affectionate greeting for a few moments before responding to his question. If you let go, I think I might fall apart. "I'm fine."

"Are you ready to leave?"

No, I'm not. I thought I was, but... "Just let me talk to Reagan. I'll be right back."

Back in the theater, Reagan was wrapping up the final rehearsal, when she saw Laurel rushing down the aisle. "Where's Dani? I thought we were going to do a final run-through of her number?"

"I sent her home. She'll be fine tomorrow, I promise."

Worn out from the long evening, Reagan didn't argue. "It's quittin' time anyway. I'm beat. You look pretty exhausted yourself. Are you feeling okay?"

Laurel nodded. "It's only the strain of so many late nights this week. I'll feel better after the shows over." And I can put all this mess behind me.

"Amen to that. See ya, sweety."

"Yeah, I'll see you." Goodbye, Reagan.


Chapter 12

"What's wrong, sweetheart, why so down? Did something happen at dance tonight?"

Young Laurel tried to smile for her mother, who was tucking her into bed as she did every night, even now as her health declined. It was selfish of her only to think of her own silly problems when her mom wasn't feeling well. "It's nothing, Mom."

But Mrs. Sullivan was too wise for her daughter, sitting on the side of the bed with a knowing look in her eye.

Laurel sighed. "Some of the other girls...they were being mean to me. Reagan was having me demonstrate switch leaps in jazz class and Kiley, Becca, and Jan kept whispering to each other and giving me dirty looks. Then after class Kiley called me a stuck up bitch and teacher's pet and...well, some other things." She'd also joked about how Laurel's mom walked like a retarded robot, but Laurel didn't want to her to know. "Why don't they like me, Mom?"

"They're just jealous, honey. They wish that they were as lovely and talented as you. Children can be cruel sometimes."

"They don't think I'm talented. They think I'm gonna mess up my solo this year."

"What do they know? You don't have to impress them, Laurel."

She sat up abruptly, staring quizzically at her mother. "Of course I do! Don't you understand? I'm supposed to be the best. The teachers dote on me. The younger kids look up to me. I'm auditioning for a spot at SAB this summer. I have to show everyone that I deserve it."

"You do deserve it, dear. And you don't need to prove yourself to every jealous prima donna at Terpsichore. All that matters is that you believe in yourself."

Laurel rolled her eyes. "You don't get it, Mom."

"I understand perfectly. You want everyone to see that you're a wonderful dancer. Anyone with half a brain can see that. The question is, do you?"

Huh? "What do you mean?"

"Do you realize how gifted you are? It doesn't matter what I or anyone else says, if you can't recognize your own talent, Laurel. You don't need me to tell you that you dance beautifully. No matter where I am, you'll always have that."

"What are you talking about, Mom? Aren't you gonna be there at recital this year? You have to be there! This number's for you!"

"Honey, you know I'd rather see you dance than anything in the world, but there's no telling what could happen."

"Mommy!"

"Hush, dear. I didn't say something would happen. Don't you worry about it, Laurel. Just think about how perfect your dance will be."

"But Mom -- "

"...Shhh, Laurel, it's alright..."

"Wake up, my sleeping beauty." Strong, warm lips pressed gently against Laurel's soft, sweet mouth. "Your Prince Charming is here."

Laurel's eyes fluttered open to rest on the unmistakably male presence invading her senses. I never said goodbye to Mom... "Sean, what are you doing in my bedroom?"

He dangled a collection of shiny metal over her drowsy face. "I stole your keys last night after I dropped you off."

It occurred to her to be upset at this shocking intrusion, but she refused to be angry with this handsome angel seated on her bed. "That explains the when and how, but doesn't cover the why."

He smiled tenderly, leaning forward to stroke her flushed cheek. "I knew that I'd be missing you right about now."

"See, you go and say something perfectly beautiful like that and make it very difficult for me to be angry with you. This is highly inappropriate. I'm not even dressed..."

She was deliberately teasing him, and he appreciated her all the more for it, letting his hand wander casually from her face down the side of her languid body while imagining how it would be without the bed sheet and her Victorian sensibilities in his way. "Damn my own good intentions. If I had any sense I'd forget about being a gentleman and keep you right here all day, and you could forget about the concert -- "

"The concert! Damnit, what time is it?"

"Did you just swear, my sweet angel?"

"Don't be cute. It's almost ten. I have to get to the theater! Reagan will flip if I'm not there in half an hour."

Sean sighed heavily. "Oh, well, I'll let you go this time, but one of these days I plan to finish what I started."

"Whenever you're ready!" she fired back ironically as she escaped to the bathroom.

Laurel hurried through her morning routine, saving time by skipping hair drying, wrapping the long wet locks into the usual bun at the nape of her neck. She settled on a flattering pair of khaki hip-huggers and a lavender halter, and after quickly applying some light makeup she came running downstairs to meet Sean, who'd graciously decided to give her some privacy while she dressed. Purse in one hand and tan sandals in the other, she gestured toward the door, and he properly ushered her from the house to his car. Fortunately Sean remembered to lock her door, as Laurel's mind was busy with other matters.

This is so strange. I should feel nervous or something, I think. After all, this is the last show for me. It's sad, really. God, am I shaking? Come on, Laurel, pull yourself together. There's a lot to do today. Reagan's counting on you...

"...everybody's counting on me, Mom. I can't let them down..."

But what about me?

"Are you okay, Laurel?"

She swallowed. "Ask me again in a few hours."

* * * *

Reagan was clearly in no mood to hear excuses as to why Laurel didn't arrive at the theater until after twelve that steamy Saturday in Philadelphia. She was much too busy orchestrating the final preparations for the matinee performance. Normally Laurel was one of the first people to arrive at the theater the day of the spring concert, but she'd had a challenging morning. The destination was about twenty minutes from her home, but they had to turn back to retrieve the program and production notes she'd left in her room, and despite her many attempts to dissuade him, Sean insisted they stop for breakfast and wasn't satisfied until she'd finished every last bite of her veggie omelette.

When Laurel did finally appear running down the aisle amidst an uproar of anxious staff members she immediately took note of Reagan's state and decided not to call any attention to herself, pretending she'd been there all the time as she shuffled through her papers and nervously inspected the scenery design. Fortunately, with less than an hour before curtain, her boss only had time to hurl a brief scowl. Laurel knew, however, she'd be hearing from her later in the day about her abominable tardiness.

Contrary to the worry and tension wrinkled in Reagan's brows, everything was in order, as always. The concert was divided into two programs, one afternoon show for the younger students and one evening show at seven for the more advanced students.

It would be a long day, but she would get through it. It will all be over soon.

She meant to comfort herself as she usually did in these situations, but the words held new gravity this time. And all at once, she felt it pull at her heart.

"Miss Laurel?"

No, not at her heart, at her pant leg. "What is it Carrie?"

"Are we gonna be up there soon?" Her chubby little fingers pointed to the stage.

Laurel smiled at the little girl in the yellow tutu, her hair curled about her made-up face. "Yes, Carrie, very soon. You should be in one of the dressing rooms with your class." She scanned the auditorium for one of the older students asked to help out with the younger dancers. "Dani! Could you take Carrie back to the rest of her group? They'll be in dressing room four. They're called "Sunny Side of the Street," and they're all wearing yellow tutus, naturally."

"Yes, Miss Laurel."

"And Dani?"

The teen turned back to wait for further instructions. "Yes?"

"Are you feeling better today?"

Dani's face brightened with a smile, mutely answering Laurel's concern, encouraging her to return the confident grin.

The thirty minutes prior to the first show were filled with similar incidents with impatient children, many in desperate need of their mommy or the potty. But she didn't mind the little ones as much as their parents. Their anxiousness and overbearing attitudes didn't bother her so much as their comments to her. Almost every person who approached her asked about her decision to leave the studio, wondering if they could persuade her to change her mind. Several complimented her on her performances years ago, one man suggesting she "get up there and show those kids how it's done." Laurel thanked them, smiled warmly, and told them to enjoy the show. She tried to shrug off their words, especially those of praise, but they stuck with her.

And how she wished she could show them how it was done.

When she was a little girl, the day of recital was a holiday, an event anticipated throughout the year as the culmination of everything accomplished over the weeks and months of preparation. As a teacher, the excitement expressed a dichotomy of emotions and stresses. She always would be relieved at the end of the ordeal, wishing away each minute and thankful when they flew by cooperatively.

But this time, Laurel wanted it to last. She would have held more tightly to the young children's hands if it would have slowed down everything. If time couldn't turn back, couldn't it freeze, just for a little while?

Two hours passed in the usual 7200 seconds, but without counting each one, Laurel felt sure she'd been cheated out of some of them. One hundred and eighty would be enough to satisfy her. Three minutes she'd lost seemed suddenly so much more important than the ten years she'd lost after.

One of the other teachers tapped her shoulder. "Hey, girl, some guy's looking for you out front."

Sean had promised to pick her up in between shows to take her to dinner. Laurel wasn't particularly hungry, but she'd eat anything across from him.

Running to meet up with her eager chauffeur, she nearly knocked over a man standing near the stage door. Grabbing his arm to steady both of them, Laurel gasped as she recognized him.

"Uncle Max! What are you doing here?"

Dr. Johnson appeared oddly relaxed in his crisp linen suit. "That's a fine greeting for you're favorite uncle."

She didn't bother pointing out that he was also her only uncle. "I'm just surprised to see you. How did you even know where to find me?"

"Sean came to the institute earlier in the week for his evaluation, and he mentioned something about your last performance, so I thought perhaps I'd have a chat with you -- "

"You don't have to bother, Uncle Max, I'm not dancing, not tonight or any other night hereafter. So spare me your lectures on how ridiculous I'm behaving or how hard I've worked to throw everything away on some stupid dream. Trust me, my eyes are open now."

"Is that what you expect me to say?"

"It's all I've gotten from you for the past ten years, and I'm sick of it! I'm tired of you telling me what to do. One father is enough, thank you very much! I'm perfectly capable of determining what's best for me!"

Throughout his niece's tirade, Maxwell completely calm, his arms crossed at his chest. "Really? And what's that?"

Laurel froze as his words floated carelessly between them, wondering if she'd spoken too soon. Uncle Max didn't wait for her to regain control of the conversation. "I didn't come here to lecture you. I was only hoping we could have dinner, the three of us, with Sean to run interference if necessary, and I could stay to watch your show."

"Funny you should take an interest now that I'm quitting. Not once when I was still dancing did you ever come to watch me, even when I was little."

"Sean thought that I should see it."

"You should have seen it long ago. It's really too bad for you that you missed seeing me dance. I was really pretty good."

"So I've been told."

Fortunately Sean arrived with his car moments later to take them all to dinner. Laurel concentrated on eating her meal and not saying anything to precipitate another argument with her uncle, leaving the men to talk about training camp and next season's team. The ordeal ended quickly, as Laurel needed to be back at the theater by five so as not to further anger Reagan, who had yet to confront her over her tardiness that morning. As the house wouldn't open until a half hour before the show, Sean and Max planned to spend the interim at a nearby sports bar after dropping off Laurel.

Laurel used the stagedoor, hoping to escape her friend's notice.

"So there you are."

No such luck.

Reagan happened to be waiting backstage when Laurel entered. I'd better get this over with. "Look, Reagan, I'm really sorry about -- "

"Save it, Sullivan. You can make it up to me later. Right now I need you to get these lighting cues straight with the guys in the booth and make sure the assistants all have their programs and instructions."

Before Laurel could respond, the woman hurried away toward the prop room. Make it up to her? What's that supposed to mean?

She didn't have time to ponder that question, because within moments anxious students and teachers began to pour into the building, making their ways backstage and to the dressing rooms. Laurel set upon a variety of errands in the two pre-show hours, from sewing ribbons on new pointe shoes to mopping down the stage to finding hair pins in the prop room.

She was in the middle of accomplishing the latter task when she saw Reagan again.

"Ah, there you are."

Laurel didn't bother to turn from the cabinet containing various fastening items to find out what new calamity had arisen. "What is it, Reagan?"

"I just came up to look for a certain costume that Maggie said she put here long ago. Someone's gonna use it tonight."

Laurel nodded absently, still hunting for pins.

"Here it is. It's a shame you didn't wear it again. It was such a lovely costume. The perfect shade of blue with your eyes."

What? "Someone's wearing my costume? Who?"

"What do you care? Why should it sit up here collecting dust when someone could put it to good use?"

Yeah, what do I care who wears it? It doesn't matter. "You're right. She's welcome to it. God knows I don't need it anymore. I hope she has more luck with it than I did."

Laurel kept her back to her friend throughout the whole of the exchange, but Reagan could hear the regret in her words. When Reagan would have spoke again, Laurel preempted her questions with a hurried dismissal. "I'll be there in a minute to stage the opening. I just remembered that we need rosin for backstage for the dancers' shoes."

Reagan was reluctant to leave. "Would you like some help?" she asked, in truth offering her more than a hand at finding the rosin box and placing a few kids on stage.

"No, I've got it all under control." Ha! Good one, Laurel. The best you've told all day.

The door closed behind a rustle of fabric, and Laurel felt immediate relief to be alone again. But I don't want to be alone. I've been alone for so long... "Laurel, get a hold of yourself! You've got a show to put on. Everybody's counting on you."

"...everybody's counting on me, Mom. I can't let them down..."

"I won't let them down."

The building din seeping into the hallway behind the auditorium indicated that it was past the half hour and the seats were filling. Showtime. Soon, it would all be over.

The dancers had already began to congregate backstage when Laurel arrived. "Alright, people, places for the opening. Gary, I told you, blush on those cheeks, everyone in the theater wears it. And Jenna, those aren't hip-huggers, we aren't doing Britney Spears tonight, so that waist band better be at your waist when the curtain opens, or Reagan will drag you off stage. And you know I'm not kidding. Okay, guys, don't forget to smile and just have fun out there. I'm very proud of all of you. Good show, everyone."

She watched them take the stage and relaxed into a generous sigh.

"Wish it were you out there?"

Laurel turned abruptly to face her would-be confessor. "Sean! What are you doing back here?"

"I came to wish you good luck."

She smiled at his sweetness, but could not resist teasing him a little. "Don't you know that you should never say go luck in the theater?"

Sean beamed back brightly. "I didn't imagine you were superstitious. But I could never wish for you to break a leg. I mean, they're such pretty legs."

He moved to kiss her and it never occurred to her to be coy or shy, even with all of the students around. Instead she waited for him to break the kiss, which he did at length. She smiled into his eyes. "I suppose it doesn't matter anyway, since I won't be performing tonight."

He took her smile onto his greedy lips. "I suppose not."

A carefully articulated voice resonated through the auditorium and echoed in the hall, reminding Laurel of her real purpose there that night. "The show's about to start. Maybe you should find your seat."

"Can't I stay with you?" he pleaded, with his warm hands as much as with his words.

"I'm much too busy to babysit you, and Uncle Max will be wondering about you."

He sighed dramatically, slowly backing away. "I guess you're right. I'll be back at intermission, if that's okay."

She nodded, waving silently as he sprinted down the hall toward the auditorium entrance. The music began to spill from the speakers and Laurel remembered herself and made her way to the wings to watch the performance.

The lights went out as the dance finished and the theater erupted in eager applause. Many more numbers followed, each met with the same enthusiastic response from the delighted audience. At the last number before intermission, Laurel raised her hands to clap, too, but instead her palms flattened against her flushed cheeks just in time to catch the tears as they trickled down. She scolded herself for reacting in such a horrible way, but she couldn't help it. She was jealous.

She ran backstage to one of the empty bathrooms, locking the door behind her to hold in the sobs that her own heart could not keep any longer. Why can't they be clapping for me, for God's sake! Don't I deserve it? I'm talented! I've worked hard! All I've ever wanted was to impress them make them happy! "Make you happy, Mommy! But you weren't there for me when I needed you! You weren't there to clap for me when it really mattered! You left me! I needed you and you left me! Didn't you know what it would do to me? Didn't you care? Didn't you love me anymore?"

But somewhere in that tirade she stopped screaming at her long departed mother. After all, it wasn't her mother standing in front of her. It was her own reflection, tear-stained and anguished, staring back at her from the small mirror above the sink. At first she hardly recognized the girl, whose eyes glared back accusingly. But weren't they her own eyes after all? "What's happened to me? What am I doing to myself? Somebody help me!"

"Laurel, is that you in there?"

She wanted to sink into the tiles when she heard Sean's voice on the other side of the door. She listened to him struggle with the knob. "Come on, Laurel, let me in! I want to see if you're okay!"

"I'm not okay! I'm a complete mess, and I don't want you to see me just now!"

He was never one for giving up without a fight. "Just a moment ago you were screaming for help! I can't help you if you won't let me in!" He paused to take a breath, leaning his forehead against the door. "You keep shutting me out, Laurel, in one way or another, but I can't let you do it anymore. It hurts me, Laurel, deep. I love you too much to stand by and watch you destroy yourself like this. So it ends now, or else I'll...oh, shhh--"

Sean had been too busy pouring his heart out to notice the door begin to open from the other side, leaving him no time to brace himself when it swung open and sent him flying toward Laurel. Fortunately she was strong enough to slow his fall and he was able to steady himself before he knocked both of them to the ground. Sean recovered quickly, his grasp squared on the lean woman's shoulders, pulled back so that he could get a good look at her.

"Are you alright, Laurel?"

She was crying, it was true, but he didn't recognize these tears, or the expression on her face. "Did you mean it?" she asked hurriedly.

"Mean what?"

A different Laurel, the Laurel of months ago, might have dropped the subject, too afraid of the answer. Too afraid for him to take it back; too afraid to hear it again. But this Laurel needed to know. "Do you love me?"

He hadn't even realized he'd said it. He couldn't even remember thinking it before. He'd never said it to anyone without expecting something in return. But he only wanted one thing from this woman: her love. "Yes, I love you, Laurel." He practically sung his vow, words that had once left a bad taste in his mouth now dripping from his lips like the sweetest kisses. It felt so natural, so right. How could he not love her?

Her eyes were wide in disbelief. "But you never said anything before..."

"You never asked."

She should have been angry at him for laughing at her, she knew it immediately, but she refused to let something so silly stop her from jumping into his embrace and wrapping her arms around his neck. "Oh, Sean, I love you so much!"

At that moment, his heart was so full that he thought it would burst, and he didn't care if he died right there on the bathroom floor. Laurel loved him! What more could he want?

Reluctantly he pulled back to gaze into her swollen blue eyes. "Are you ready to tell me what's the matter now?"

He thought at first, from the look in her eyes, that she wasn't going to tell him, but she suprised him, opening her heart with little hesitation. "I just wanted them to like me, Sean!"

"What are you talking about?"

"I thought that if I was the best, they'd all love me. I wasn't one of the popular girls in school, I never had many friends. But when I was on stage it was different; everyone would cheer and clap and for three minutes I felt like the center of the universe. I thought if I could make them happy that I would be happy, too. If I could just make one person happy...I danced my heart out for them. But I let them all down, and they don't care about me anymore."

Sean kissed her face with his warm palms. "I care about you, Laurel. Very much."

Her eyes burned with happy tears. "I know, Sean. I'll dance tonight, for you, if you want me to."

"I don't want to force you to do something you don't want to do."

Her expression was soft, passive. "I don't mind."

"But what do you want, Laurel?"

"I -- "

"Laurel, what's wrong with you, girl, that you missed the second act opening?"

Laurel, hurriedly wiped her eyes and turned to Mark, one of her fellow teachers who was obviously in panic mode as he directed traffic backstage. He hadn't expected her tear-stained face, his concern registering immediately. "You okay, sweety?"

She nodded stiffly. "I'm fine, just a bit distracted. What do you need me to do."

He seemed unconvinced, but didn't push her. "Could you go get the 'Lulluby of Broadway' girls, the 'Carousel Waltz' pas de deux, and Dani for her solo?"

"Sure, no problem." When Mark had left, Laurel turned back to Sean. "You should get back to your seat so you don't miss anymore of the show."

"Laurel, I -- "

"Really, I'm very busy, but I'll see you after the show." Before he could object, Laurel had disappeared down the hallway, and Sean had no choice but to return to the auditorium.

In no time, Laurel rounded up the list of dancers, all except for the young soloist. "Have any of you seen Dani lately?"

The students looked at one another blankly, shrugging their shoulders. Laurel knew that Dani had performed several times that night already, including in the second half opening, but she should have been changed by now. "I don't have to escort you guys backstage, do I? My tappers, you start from stage left, and Gary and Jenna, you should be waiting stage right. Mark will cue you on stage."

Everyone nodded and set off down the hall, leaving Laurel to search for the missing dancer. One of her classmates thought Dani might still be in the dressing room fixing her makeup.

Laurel knocked lightly on the door. "Dani, are you in there?"

"Miss Laurel?"

"Yes, Dani, it's me. Are you ready?"

Laurel held her breath, praying that the young girl hadn't suffered another bout of nerves and would refuse to go on, but was surprised moments later when Dani appeared in full costume, her dark hair curled and swept back into a half pony tail, and her eyes and cheeks blessedly free of tears. "I'm a little nervous, Miss Laurel," she admitted softly.

Laurel smiled. "That's okay. It's good to be a little nervous sometimes, just as long as you don't give into it. But I know you won't. You're going to be wonderful."

Taking a deep breath, the girl nodded, trying to summon every bit of confidence she possessed. "I remember everything you said to me. Relax, breath, concentrate on the music, and...and smile, always smile."

"Good. Let's get you backstage."

Laurel was glad that Dani was able to recite the usual pre-performance speech, because it meant she didn't have to say them. She hated offering those inconsequential instructions. They'd never helped her, and she couldn't imagine them helping anyone else.

As the time drew near for Dani to perform, Laurel felt herself tensing, as if Dani's own growing anxiety were contagious. How can I help her? What can I say to make this easier? She looks up to me for guidance, expects me to know what to do. But I don't even know how to help myself! Please, God, I don't want her to be like me! She's so talented, but so unsure; if she just let go a bit...but she doesn't know how! And how can I explain it to her when I don't understand it myself? Why does she have to be so much like me? Why should she feel she has to impress everyone, please everyone? Why can't she...?

"Dani, come with me." Not waiting for her response, Laurel grabbed the young girl's hand and pulled her out into the hallway behind the stage.

Dani was stunned. "What's wrong, Miss Laurel? My number's coming up next, I should be waiting back there. I promise I won't forget anything. I promise I won't let you down."

Laurel shook her head frantically, waving her hands back and forth. "Forget about everything I've ever said. I should have known better than to give advice that I didn't understand for myself. And don't ever worry about letting me down, because you never could. I don't want you to be like me."

"But Miss Laurel, all I've ever wanted was to be like you! And so does everybody else! You're so beautiful and talented and smart, who wouldn't want to be like you?"

Laurel couldn't help laughing. "I'm a mess, Dani! I've spent the past few years telling you kids to smile and let go, thinking it would magically make sense. But it was foolishness! How could I teach you if I didn't get it myself? But I get it now. I know exactly how you feel, Dani. You're worried about all those people out there, the ones sitting in the theater, and the other kids crowded in the wings, and me. You want to amaze them all with your talents. You're afraid that if you're less than perfect, you'll have failed them. But if you go out there praying to be perfect, I promise that you will disappoint the most important person of all: you! You didn't start dancing because of those people, and you shouldn't keep dancing just for them. You dance because you love it! You dance because you can't imagine doing anything else! It's air to you, and you can't let anyone deny you that air! You don't breathe for anyone but yourself; so you must dance only for yourself! I don't care if you don't smile, or fall out of a turn, or if you don't want to do the fouettes at the end! It's your song, your moment, your dance. And no matter what happens, I'm so proud of you, and proud of myself for having any small part in the artist you've become."

Laurel heard the applause filtering from the auditorium, indicating that it was now Dani's turn to dance. She ended her speech with a quick hug. "I'll be in the wings the whole time, but you won't need me."

And she was right; Dani didn't have to look at her once for help of any kind. And maybe she didn't have breathtaking extensions or flawless piroettes, but to Laurel the performance was perfect. Even the not-so-spectacular fouettes at the end filled her with pride, because her student had the courage to execute them.

As the spotlight cut off the audience cheered enthusiastically, but the young performer seemed to hardly notice as she bounded across the darkened stage to the arms of her beloved teacher. "I did it, Miss Laurel! I did it!"

Laurel struggled to articulate her strong emotions, but she could only manage a few words. "Yes, Dani, you did."

The girl pulled away abruptly, her eyes wide. "I have to change for my next number! I almost forgot that I still have another dance before finale! Thank you, Miss Laurel!"

"You're welcome."

Dani was gone before the lights came back up on stage and Laurel followed shortly after. She didn't have much time, and she needed to find Reagan. There were only about ten numbers left before finale. Reagan was in the hallway yelling at some girls to hurry up with the lacing of their pointe shoes. "Less talk, more tying, ladies. You're on in two numbers. Laurel, what's up?"

"You still don't like the number before finale?"

"It's not that I don't like it, it's just not my ideal way to end the show. But it's too late -- "

"It's never too late, Reagan."

Reagan raised an eyebrow. "You really think so?"

She nodded. "Where's...?"

"In the green room. And I gave the tape to the guys in the booth."

"How...? Why, you conniving little -- "

"You can thank me later. Right now we both have things to do."

Laurel was half way to the green room when Reagan called to her. "You're gonna do it, right?"

"I'm gonna do it right."

Sean was beginning to fidget in his seat. The plush cushions were perfectly comfortable and the entertainment was surprisingly entertaining, but he found himself anxious for the whole thing to end so that he could hold Laurel in his arms again and know that everything was going to be all right. He hadn't like to leave her alone backstage, knowing she was so upset. She didn't deserve to suffer all of this pain and confusion. She should be happy. And even if it took the rest of his life, he was determined that she would be.

"Laurel, you look beautiful. How do you feel?"

"A little shakey, but I think I'll make it. Thanks, Reagan."

Reagan smiled incredulously. "For what?"

"For being more stubborn than me."

"Tell me, Laurel, what made you change your mind?"

Laurel thought a moment before answering.
"Something I said to Dani, it got me thinking about when I was her age. I would always pray before I went out on stage 'please, God, let me make just one person happy,' as if that would make it all worth while. I think tonight, that's all I'll try to do."

"Make just one person happy?"

Laurel nodded. "I'd like to announce myself, if that's okay."

"Sure. Go ahead into the wings, it's almost time. And Laurel...?"

"Yes, Reagan?"

"I'm proud of you."

Laurel's smile grew wider. "Yeah, me too."

When the curtain closed on the last number in the program, Sean started to stand up, planning to sneak backstage early, but a familiar voice on the microphone stopped him from rising.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, we hope that you have enjoyed our show, but before we say good night we would like to make a correction to the program. It states that 'le Jazz Hot' is our final number, but we should like to present just one more dance. Ten years ago, a young girl performed for the last time on this stage, but she never got through the entire performance. Tonight she...I...would like to give you the dance as it was meant to be shown."

It was the same girl who stepped out on the stage ten years ago in a short, flowing, soft blue chiffon camisole dress. Her hair was pulled back in the same simple low bun to keep it from falling in her face. It was very nearly the same face, with one essential difference: she smiled. Not merely with her lips, which glowed with more than gloss, or her eyes, which sparkled with more than glitter, but with every arabesque, every piroette, every renversee, or developpe, or grand jete, or whatever movement overtook her lithe figure.

It was a magical spell that she wove across the floor, and it captivated the entire assembly, but the enchanting dancer thought only of one person, someone she had not thought of in a long time.

And when the spotlight dimmed and the auditorium burst forth with overwhelming energy in appreciation of the inspiring performance, it was a different girl who left the stage. But she kept the smile.

And that smile was just for him.

Sean was waiting for her backstage, and at that moment he was the only person in the universe. Not long before she'd been shouting to the heavens for the audience to love her, but now she took no notice of the roar bursting from the auditorium. She didn't need their love anymore. She had something so much more important.

Laurel went right to his arms without hesitation, and Sean knew he could never let her go now. Oh, how he loved her. "I can't believe you did that for me. Your mom would be so proud of you. I know how hard -- "

But she was shaking her head and pulling away, bracing her palms on his strong chest. "I didn't do it for you. Or my mother. Or Reagan. I wasn't trying to prove myself to anyone. No, that's not true, there was one person, someone I'd sort of forgotten about in all these years. Me! I did it for me, Sean! I love to dance! It's a part of my soul, always has been, always will be, and no matter what happens, no one can take that from me. And I'm not giving it up. I couldn't; it's in my blood, I couldn't live without it."

"How...what happened to make you realize...?"

"It was you, Sean. You asked me, so many times, what I wanted. No one ever asked me that before. Everyone told me what to do: 'Laurel, you're gonna take dance lessons...Laurel, you're not gonna dance anymore...Laurel, smile, honey...Laurel, let it go...Laurel, you're gonna be fine'...and I didn't question it. It was so easy to let everyone else make decisions for me, I stopped thinking about what I wanted. But you helped me remember, you made me remember."

Sean smiled, his hands tight at her waist, his eyes focused on hers. "So, what exactly do you want."

"I want to dance. I want to keep teaching here. And I want to work at the institute with my uncle. I want to help other people's dreams come true."

"But what about your dream, Laurel?"

Laurel reached up to push back the black locks from his face, her hand lingering to touch his cheek. "When I was a little girl, all I really wanted was to be able to make people happy with my dancing. Even if I could only make one person happy, I would have made some difference. But all this time, I never realized that I could be that one person. I know now that it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks about my dancing, because I can always make this one person happy."

"I think it's safe to say you made at least two people happy tonight," Sean confided.

"Make that three."

Laurel whipped around to find her fan. "Reagan! Are you still mad at me for being late today?"

Reagan laughed. "I'd say you were about ten years late, sweety. But after that performance, I'll forgive you just about anything, including missing finale."

Laurel cringed. "I'm sorry, Reagan, I should have been helping with the kids. What can I do now?"

"You can stay where you are before Sean recruits the whole Philly defence to scrimmage with me for trying to take you away from him for a second."

Sean nodded. "I appreciate that, Reagan. How can I thank you."

"You can invite me to the wedding, for starters."

Laurel blushed at her friend's less than subtle manners. "Reagan! Behave yourself!"

Reagan had disappeared before Laurel could chastise her further. While she was still recovering, Sean took the initiative, stepping behind her to wrap his arms around her slender shoulders and pulling her back against him. "That's not such a bad idea," he whispered thickly in her ear.

"Where's Uncle Max?" Laurel asked distractedly.

Sean looked around the sea of bodies congregating in the hallways to round up students. "I don't...ah, here we are. So much for a private...hey, Doc, what's up?"

Max was unusually quiet, obviously a little unsettled to see this burly football player hanging on his pretty niece. "Sean, could I speak with Laurel for a minute."

Sean was skeptical, but conceded, at last loosening his firm hold on Laurel. "Alright, but I'm not finished with you, young lady."

Dr. Johnson noticed the open stage door and persuaded Laurel to join him for some cool night air. She dreaded the inevitable conversation, so she resolved on a preemptive strike. "I know what you've come to say to me, but I don't want to hear it anymore. I know how you feel, Uncle Max. You've been very helpful to me these past few years with my career, and I love you very much. But you're not my father. And even if you were, that wouldn't give you the right to dictate my life. I love physical therapy, and I would like to work with you and your team. But I won't give up what I have here. Dance is important - no, essential to me. And even though I'll never debut at Lincoln Center, I will always be a dancer. You'll just have to accept my decision."

Max held his tongue for the whole of the speech. Had she not been so meticulously drafting her opinions, perhaps she would have taken note of his uncharacteristic silence. In the midst of her oration, she turned away from him, so that he could not distract her. When she was finished, she waited for the thunder clap, and when it didn't come, she summoned all of her courage to turn around and defend herself against his certain disapproval.

But she wasn't prepared for that look in his eyes. "Uncle Max, what's wrong?" She tried to shrug off the expression, it was the heat of the crowded auditorium, or allergy season. But he couldn't be crying.

Finally he spoke, but not to say what Laurel had expected to hear. "I'm so sorry, Laurel. Can you ever forgive me?"

What!?

"Please believe, I only wanted the best for you. I was trying to help you, protect you. When Jillian died, I felt so useless. I hated the fact that I'd failed her, my own sister. I should have been able to save her. I promised myself that I wouldn't fail you. I wanted to make you strong, and independent, and I ended up taking over your life. But seeing you tonight and hearing you speak, I know that you don't need me, or anyone else for that matter. I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you, Laurel, and how much I love you."

"I love you, too, Uncle Max. You never failed me. And you didn't fail Mom either. It wasn't anyone's fault. That was her decision. And you don't owe me an apology. I'm a big girl, and I should be able to take charge of my life, even if that means telling you to mind your own business sometimes. I owe you a lot. You don't know how important it was that you believed in me."

"I always have. I still would love to have you on staff at the institute, if you're really interested. Maybe you could even teach some dance classes for our patients. It seemed to work well for Mr. Mitchell."

Dr. Johnson saw his niece smile at the mention of Sean's name. "About Sean, Laurel..."

"Uncle, what did I say about minding your own business?"

"I just wanted to say that I know how much he cares about you, and I'm glad to see you happy."

"Thanks." Laurel hugged her dear uncle. "Thanks for everything."

He pulled away, slightly embarrassed by the emotional scene in which he'd taken part. "I should be off." Half way to his car he stopped, remembering something else he'd meant to say. "By the way, good work tonight. I'm sorry it took all this time to see you dance. You were rather good."

Laurel shook her head as she watched Dr. Johnson drive away. "Good, huh? I was spectacular."

"Amen to that."

"And just how long have you been standing there?" She didn't have to turn around to know that Sean was grinning mischeviously.

"Long enough to know that you're okay."

"Yeah, I am okay."

"Maybe you wanna change before I take you out to celebrate, though."

She laughed when she realized she was still in ballerina mode. "I don't know, I think I look pretty good."

Sean looked at her a moment thoughtfully, arms crossed at his chest. "If I could make a couple of improvements...?"

Not waiting for her to answer, he carefully removed the pins securing her bun until her long brown hair spilled down her back and he could run his fingers through the rich locks. Enjoying the gentle touches of his fingertips on her scalp, Laurel sighed dreamily. "And what was you other, um, improvement?"

"Open your eyes."

Laurel hadn't remembered closing them. "What for?"

"Damn, you're stubborn. Will you just once do what I ask?"

Smiling, she opened her eyes, but she was unprepared for the sight that met them. "What is that some sort of football stance?"

She was kidding, of course. No woman alive could mistake that position, the picture every girl dreams of late at night in her lonely room. "Miss Laurel Sullivan," Sean began, moderatedly phased by her joking response, "I have a very important question to ask you, and I'd appreciate it if you would be serious, for once in your life."

It was too much. She couldn't help laughing, to see this huge man crouched in front of her on one knee, trying his best to be gallant and suave. Her giggles were exasperating. "Oh, come on and get up, Sean, you'll hurt your knee again."

"I was trying to be old-fashioned and romantic, thinking you'd enjoy the whole production."

"Thank you, Sean, but I've decided that sometimes you just have to come right out and say what you want, no production, no frills, just straightforward honesty -- "

"I love you, Laurel, will you marry me?"

She couldn't wait for him to stand up, wanting to be in his arms again, so before he had a chance to move she flung herself at him, landing them both on the grassy noll outside the theater, her lovely costume be damned.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"I'll marry you."

* * * *

There was always something special about the first game of the season, and this year was no different, except that instead of watching the game from his living room as usual, Mr. Sullivan had the opportunity to scream and curse at the fifty yard line. But the players still could not benefit from his coaching skills, thanks to the cacaphony building in Veterans Stadium. "These bums are gonna blow another season."

Laurel feigned indignance to her father. "Hey, Daddy, remember that one of those is my fiance!"

"He's still a bum, that Sean Mitchell."

Yeah, but he's my bum.