The Dance We Remember (Love and Other Dreams #4)

Chapter 32

Maxime

David waits for me outside the gym. Smiling, he raises his hand as I turn the corner with a towel over my shoulder. "Great that you made it," he says.

I force my lips into a smile. Being away from Aurora outside of work hours feels strange. She reassured me multiple times that it's okay, and I saw nothing but openness in her eyes. Still, I'm not entirely sure if it's the right thing to do.

Especially because it feels liberating to enter the training room with David now, breathing in the subtle scent of leather and sweat. Anouar and Louis from the second year are doing pull-ups, and Alice pants at the back during interval training. It's like I'm reclaiming a small piece of my old life.

"Where should we start?" I ask.

"Bench press?" He points at the separated area with the dumbbell rack and the training bench. I nod, and we enter the area, starting to warm up. "How is Aurora?" he suddenly asks in the focused silence between us.

"Good," I reply evasively. I know it's not the truth, but I just don't know how to handle it. I act like a fool even though I promised myself not to be one anymore.

David sizes me up. "When will she return to classes?"

"I don't know." Despite my attempts to shrug casually, I feel everything inside me tense up.

He frowns and picks up two dumbbells. "If you want to audition for that TV gala in Lyon in January, you should start training soon. The competition will be fierce."

I'm aware of that. "Maybe we'll skip the show." I pretend to urgently look for resistance bands.

David had been busy with bicep curls, but now he pauses. "Excuse me?"

Alice passes by the door and waves at me with a sweet grin. I wait until she's gone, then clear my throat and lower my voice. "I said, maybe—"

He interrupts me. "I heard you. But I don't understand."

Now, it's my turn to fixate on him as puzzle pieces start coming together in my head. He knows. It can't be any other way. "What did Madame Durand tell you?"

He puts down the dumbbells and steps closer to me. "She's worried. Very worried."

And rightfully so. I don't even know if Aurora and I will be able to dance again quickly. But what's clear is what will happen if we don't perform in Lyon. We'll no longer be of any use to the Academy.

I've thought long and hard about how we'll sustain ourselves. Dancing is the only thing I truly know how to do. So I'll probably visit all the dance schools and see if they need a trainer. Of course, the pay will be worse than at the Academy, and as long as Aurora isn't dancing, we can't earn money from show performances or anything like that. If Aurora doesn't at least return to her job at the café, we'll have to give up the apartment and move.

Maybe back to where I grew up.

Sighing, I plop down on the training bench. "I'm also very worried," I admit, tired of pretending to the whole world.

I still can't talk about it with Aurora. My fear is too great that issues will surface that we can't handle. David has been my best friend for years. Perhaps he knows what to do?

I rest my head in my hands. "Everything is falling apart."

He's immediately by my side. "What do you mean?"

My feet tap out a staccato on the felt floor. "I don't know how to describe it."

David gives me the time I need to find the words for what has happened over the past five weeks.

"Before the miscarriage, I just had to look at her to know what she was thinking. Not for a second did I doubt it." Not when we surreptitiously gave in to our feelings. Not when she told me about her pregnancy, and not when we stood together in front of Madame Durand to confront her. "But now, when I look at her, all I see is what everyone else sees."

How incredibly beautiful she is.

And how difficult it is for her to smile.

David's hand rests comfortingly on my shoulder. "She's keeping you at a distance."

It's not that simple. "Superficially, everything is fine. But beneath that surface, we've become strangers to each other." Yes, that's it. We kiss, we talk to each other, we live together. Everything is as it was, with one difference: a transparent wall has been erected between us. It's paper-thin and completely invisible. Without scratches and without blemishes.

"Why don't you talk to her about it?" David asks.

I've tried. Multiple times, actually, but I've always failed. I've failed myself, but also against her relentless fighting spirit.

I should be stronger and braver.

"She just needs time, that's all," I say because that's what she claims every time. Then she kisses me tenderly, yet it feels different from before.

"Does she know that time is running out?" David asks, hitting right on my wound.

Silently, I shake my head.

With a meaningful grunt, he stands up from the training bench. "Alright, let me sum it up," he says and reaches for the dumbbells again. "She doesn't want to train, and basically, you have no idea why." His legs find a shoulder-width stance. "You're hiding from her that your future together is about to vanish into thin air." He lifts the dumbbells laterally with his arms extended. "And now you wonder why something is standing between you?"

Perhaps from his perspective, it all seems logical. If I weren't in this situation myself, I would probably see it the same way.

But this is not a question of black or white. It's about shades of gray that scare me.

"If I tell her, everything might get even worse," I reply. Isn't it my duty to keep any additional burdens away from her that could weigh her down? If I can't help her in any other way, I should at least do that, right?

While David continues his exercise, he raises an eyebrow. "And if you continue like before, will everything get better?"

Once again, I bury my face in my hands.

This just can't be true.

But it is. And I feel that I can no longer put it off.

"You're right; something needs to change," I admit. But at the same time, I lack any idea of how I could make that happen.