She quickens her movements, climbs into her car, and then takes off. It’s only then that I release I’d been holding my breath since the moment she almost spotted me.
I thought I was ready to confront her.
Clearly, I’m not even close.
Chapter Three
VIOLET
A blank slate.
That was the first thing I thought of when Trevor and I first walked into the commercial studio in the Friday Harbor area of San Juan Island over a year ago. It was an empty two-story space, still in the midst of construction, but that wasn’t what I saw.
My imagination was vivid as I pictured a classic black-and-white reception area where dancers of all experience levels would sign in and mingle before their classes began. I saw dressing rooms filled with vanity mirrors, rows upon rows of outlandish costumes, and theatrical makeup. I saw dance-surface flooring, wall-to-wall mirrors, and a comfortable staff lounge for instructors. I saw smaller private studios, a theater for in-house recitals, and a common area where dancers could congregate between classes. But that wasn’t all.
I could practically hear the joyful chatter down the halls. I could feel the bass of the stereo systems reverberating against the floors. I could smell the freshly cleaned surfaces and windows. When I closed my eyes and executed a series of pirouettes, I could practically feel the give and take of the floor at my feet.
Endless possibilities filled my heart and soul in that moment upon entering, and Trevor witnessed the entire thing. He had found my weakness at a time he needed to the most. Then he did the last thing I ever expected, and the one thing I selfishly wanted… no matter the cost.
“We’ll take it!” he boomed to the real estate agent, who looked as shocked as me.
We hadn’t even discussed it. We hadn’t even made our way to the top floor of the building. Trevor took one look at my face and saw a solution to our dying marriage—the final bargaining chip to get me to stay. And I didn’t hesitate to accept.
I’d been dreaming about owning and running my own dance studio since I was a little girl. Dance has always been more than performing to me. It’s an escape from the harsh world. It’s a place where diversity is accepted, where culture is celebrated, and where the best version of myself breaks free from the chains of my insecurities.
Dance is my life. My escape. My salvation. And just like that, Trevor handed me a key to my biggest dream in the form of a blank canvas I could call my very own.
Until the day I ended our marriage.
Second to child support and joint custody, the studio was the biggest topic of contention. Trevor wanted to sell and split the profit, at the very least. And I wanted to keep it. After much debate and several months of divorce proceedings, he was forced to make me a deal. He would continue to pay the mortgage, so long as I paid him rent. The agreement being that when I was ready, he would sell to me. In my desperate attempt to hold on to the last shredded fragments of my dream, I agreed.
Luckily, the studio brings in enough to cover rent but not much more. Hence my need to maintain my jobs at the bar and the private parties Malik schedules me for. Between the three, I’m able to give Brayden a good life. A safe life. And one day, after the destruction of the divorce is behind us, a happy life.
“Thank you for class today, Miss Violet. See you tomorrow?” one of my students, Cate, calls out when she reaches the front door. We’ve just ended an advanced jazz class where we practiced a new routine I choreographed that the students will be performing in the winter recital, and the excitement was unmatched.
Cate’s blue eyes are so wide and bright, I can’t help but smile. “I think Andrew is teaching your class tomorrow.”
She lights up even more. Everyone loves when Andrew teaches. He’s a stickler for the performance factor above technique, so the students embrace the party atmosphere of his classes. “Okay. Bye, Miss Violet.”
I follow her to the door. “Have a good night, Cate.”
She gives one final wave before dashing toward her mom’s car. After locking the door behind her, I make my rounds to shut down lights and stereo systems. When I’m done, I shower and change into my bar clothes, adding a long zip-up jacket.
Before I completely exit the building, I make sure to take one long sweep of my surroundings before I make my way to my car—a lesson I learned last Thursday evening when I spotted a strange black truck in the otherwise-empty parking lot. A chill had spread through me upon first glance.
It wasn’t the truck itself that was unusual. It was the fact that it was parked there after hours, tucked into the back-corner lot, shaded by a Douglas fir with long, hanging branches. Purposefully secluded.
But that wasn’t all. There was something about that particular vehicle that had me on edge. Something haunting. Something… familiar.
Once I confirm no one else is around, I rush to my car and drive off to Pinklettes, the bar conveniently situated right beside the gentlemen’s club. It isn’t until I’m entering the bar for my night shift that I spot what appears to be that same black truck parked along the opposite curb. Warning flags begin to wave in my mind.
Peeling my eyes from the truck, I let the door close behind me while catching sight of my friend and coworker behind the bar. “Hey, Skyla.”
She looks up from where she’s pouring a beer from the tap, and she smiles wide at the sight of me. “Hey, Vi. Just in time. Malik scheduled some VIPs for me tonight.” She shimmies with excitement, which has all to do with the amount of money she’s set to walk away with tonight. Malik’s VIPs pay top dollar for private dances, and everyone knows it.
Her excitement fades at my worried expression, and she frowns. “You okay?”
I look back out the front window toward the black truck while removing my long jacket. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little weirded out by this truck outside.”
Skyla sets the beer down in front of her customer and walks around to stand beside me. “What’s wrong with that truck?”
“I’ve been seeing it everywhere lately. At our apartment complex, at the dance studio, and now here.” I shake my head, realizing that those three sightings might not justify my worry. They could all very well be a coincidence, considering the population of the small town where I live, but my gut tells me this coincidence is one I shouldn’t ignore.
“It’s just strange, that’s all.”
My friend wraps an arm around my waist and squeezes. “We live in a small town, Vi. Trucks like that are very common.”
Just then, a similar black truck drives down the street, causing us both to laugh at my ridiculousness.
“Think about it,” she continues. “We live in the same apartment complex, and we see each other here and at your dance studio.”
“We work together. That’s different.”
“Still, I don’t think it’s so strange. Besides,” she says with a sultry smile, “he’s superhot. Tips well too.”
My gaze snaps to hers in surprise. “He came in here?”
She nods. “Just for one drink. Left fifteen minutes ago.”
“Then why is he still sitting there?”
She shrugs. “Maybe he’s on the phone or something.”