“Me, too,” Meagan whispered. “Me, too.”
Sam stepped into view across the stage, out of audience viewing range. It was the perfect place; exactly where she needed him to be. She sometimes worried she was becoming too dependent on him, that she was forgetting how to be alone, how to be strong without him. Then there were times like this, when just knowing he was in this with her made her stronger, not the opposite.
Someone grabbed Meagan’s arm and asked her a question and she had to turn away, and when she refocused on the stage she noticed Sam had gone. He’d been concerned about Carrie, too. She’d seen it on his face.
When they were live again, it was time for the reveal. Derek called out the first safe contestant. “Tabitha.” The crowd went crazy.
Carrie and Kevin joined hands, and Meagan could see Carrie’s hand shaking. In that instant, Meagan knew that although this was her vision, her show, but she just wasn’t sure she had it in her to get to know the contestants and see their hearts broken. She wasn’t sure she could be this close to it all next season. Next season. If there even was a next season.
“And the other dancer who is safe tonight is...Carrie. Kevin you will be going home.” Meagan’s breath rushed past her lips, guilt twisting inside her at the relief she felt that Carrie would continue on for another week.
Poor Kevin. What did she say to him? How did she make this better? Sure, he’d been picked out of hundreds of thousands of wannabes, but the result was the same—he was still chasing a dream, and still going home. Meagan watched as Carrie, Ginger and DJ surrounded Kevin, to comfort him.
Tabitha signed audience autographs, ignoring Kevin. Meagan realized then that she didn’t want Tabitha to win. She was definitely way too close to this to be objective, and she was frustrated at herself for allowing that to happen.
Hours after the broadcast had ended, Meagan was just finishing some paperwork backstage, when her cell rang. She smiled at Sam’s number, knowing he, too, was probably finishing security matters for the evening.
“Hey.”
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said. “Listen I’m going to be a while. We’ve had a few complications here tonight—nothing to worry about. At least, not related to security. But I thought you might want to know that Carrie is still at the rehearsal studio.”
“What? What’s she doing there?”
“Dancing in the dark and crying.”
Meagan sucked in a breath. “Oh,” she expelled. “I’m going to her now.”
As Meagan arrived at the dim rehearsal studio, the sound of music touched her ears. She found Carrie in the middle of the hardwood floor, in front of the shadowy mirrors, dancing her heart out. Meagan set her purse down and opened her bag, where she kept her old ballet shoes as a reminder of how easily dreams could be lost. She stared down at the worn black shoes, her throat tight as she slipped off her street shoes, and slipped on the dance shoes.
“Want some company?” Meagan asked, flipping on the light.
“Meagan,” Carrie rasped, her throat thick with tears and exertion. “I just needed—”
“To rehearse and feel like you have some control of your destiny,” she said. “I know. I get it.” Meagan went to the sound system and switched the music. “Why don’t I teach you a routine that once got me into Juilliard.”
“You got into Juilliard? I thought you went to a Texas college?”
“After Juilliard,” she said, confessing the small part of her life she spoke of so infrequently that sometimes, sometimes, she almost convinced herself it had never happened. “How about I teach you my audition piece?”
“Yes,” Carrie said excitedly. “Yes, please.”
And so they danced, and danced, and danced some more. And Meagan’s leg hurt, and hurt some more, but she didn’t stop, until they were both ready to collapse. Until Carrie broke down in tears, and Meagan with her, and they hugged.
“I don’t want to go home, Meagan. I don’t want to go home.”
“I know, sweetie,” she said. “But this show is one opportunity, just one. There are so many more. Look at Rena. She joined a Broadway show. You don’t have to win to have doors open. Focus on one week at a time.”
“I’m trying. I’m trying so hard. To focus, to do well. I want to do well.”
“You are. You will.”
The sound of a male voice clearing his throat echoed at the door, and Josh appeared in the entryway. “I’d like to offer to take Carrie to get something to eat on the way back to the house.” The light in Carrie’s eyes was almost instant. Josh was at least seven years older than Carrie, but Sam thought a lot of Josh, and that held weight with Meagan.
And Meagan was in pain, and afraid she wouldn’t hide it well if she didn’t get some distance from Carrie fairly quickly.
“I’d like that,” Carrie said, before casting Meagan a hopeful, cautious look. “Unless that breaks any of my contractual rules?”
“You’re safe with Josh,” Meagan said, casting him a warning look. “Right, Josh?”
“Without question,” Josh assured her. Carrie hugged Meagan and gathered her things.
“Turn the light out behind you,” Meagan called as she switched off the music. The lights went out, and she dropped to the floor, against the mirror, pulling her knee to her chest and squeezing her eyes shut.
She knew long before he was kneeling in front of her that Sam was there. Felt that prickling, tingling wonderful sensation, that only he could create.
“How bad?” he asked.
She bit her lip and forced her eyes open, and that was her mistake, looking into his eyes, knowing he saw everything—her pain, her defeat, her loss of a dream. Suddenly, she felt completely vulnerable. This man knew her in ways no one else did. This man could hurt her with the same deep cut that the loss of her dancing had.
He massaged her leg, like he’d done his own any number of times, and it helped the pain but somehow made her feel all the more exposed.
“How bad, sweetheart?” he prodded.
“I deal with it.” It had been what he’d said to her, when she’d asked about his leg. “And don’t call me that. You call me that all the time. My name is Meagan, Sam. Meagan. I need to go back to my place.” She tried to get up and moaned.
“Meagan, sit.” It was an order.
“No. Damn it, Sam. I’m fine. And you don’t get to tell me what to do.”