Postcards From… Collection. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.
I know what I’m capable of. I know I’ve got more in me. I can feel it here,” she said, thumping a fist into her chest so vehemently that the bony thud of it echoed.
“Careful, there, tiger,” he said.
She took a big, gulping sip.
“I still can’t believe that Andrew took Hanson at face value like that. Like it was gospel.”
“Hanson? I was wondering who treated you. He’s supposed to be pretty good, right?”
She shrugged a shoulder dismissively. “Yes. The best, according to Andrew. Which is why they use him exclusively. But he’s not the only doctor in the world. Remember Sasha? He was told he’d be crippled for life if he kept dancing, and he went on to score a place with the Joffrey Ballet. He’s one of their lead soloists now.”
He smiled. “Fantastic. Good for him. I’ve lost track of so many people, I’ve been out of it all for so long now. Is Peter still dancing? I tried to keep an eye out for him. Always thought he’d make it big.”
“He got sick,” she said quietly. “You know what he was like—never could say no.”
Despite the well-known risk of AIDS, there were still plenty of beautiful, talented dancers who slept their way into an early grave. The travel, the physicality of the dance world, the camaraderie—passions always ran high, on and off the stage.
“What about Liza? I heard she’d gone to one of the European companies but then that was it.”
Max and Liza had had a thing for a while, Maddy remembered. Was he thinking about making contact with her, now that he was free to make decisions for himself once again and Maddy had turned up on his doorstep, reminding him of the past?
“She’s with the Nederlands Dans Theatre,” she said. “I heard she’d gotten married, actually.”
Max looked pleased rather than pissed. She decided he’d merely been curious about an old friend. For all she knew, he was involved with someone anyway. She’d seen no evidence that there was a woman in his life in his apartment, and he’d never mentioned a girlfriend in any of his e-mails, but that didn’t mean a thing. He was a good-looking man. And there was that whole Rex thing. A man who enjoyed sex as much as Max apparently wouldn’t go long without it.
She frowned. Since when had Max’s sex life been of any concern to her? Their friendship had always been just that—a friendship. Warm, loving, caring and totally free of any and all sexual attraction on either side, despite the fact that they were both heterosexuals with healthy sex drives. Without ever actually having talked about it, they had chosen to sacrifice the transient buzz of physical interest for the more enduring bond of friendship. Which was why Max remained one of her most treasured friends—she hadn’t screwed their relationship up by sleeping with him.
She lifted her glass to her lips and was surprised to find it was empty.
Maybe that was why she was wondering about things she didn’t normally wonder about where Max was concerned—too much wine, mixed in with the unsettling realization that her old friend had changed while she’d been dancing her heart out around the world.
He pushed himself to his feet. “Let me fix that for you.”
She watched him walk away, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. There was no hint of the lithe young dancer she’d once known in his sturdy man’s walk. He still moved lightly, but his feet didn’t automatically splay outward when he stopped in front of the counter, and there were no other indications that he’d once been one of the most promising, talented dancers she’d ever worked with.
Max had abandoned his career as a dancer to care for his father. Walked away just as his star was rising. At least she had had the chance to realize many of her dreams before Andrew and Dr. Hanson had written her off.
Her bleak thoughts must have been evident in her face when he returned because he shoved a plate of sliced, pâté-smeared baguette at her.
“Eat something, soak up that wine. I don’t want you messy drunk too soon,” he said.
“I’m off carbs,” she said before she could think. “Need to drop weight.”
How stupid was that? She didn’t need to drop weight anymore. She could eat herself to the size of a house if she wanted to.
She looked at Max, desperately seeking some magic cure for the hollow feeling inside her.
“How did you do it?” she asked in a small voice. “How did you walk away? Didn’t you miss it? Didn’t you need it?”
He slid the plate onto the table. There was sympathy in his eyes, and old pain.
“I had lots of distractions. Worry over Père, practical things to sort out. I didn’t have the time to think about it for a long while.”
“And then?”
“It was hard. Nothing feels like dancing. Nothing.”
She nodded, swallowing emotion. “It’s my life. I’ve given it everything, every hour of every day.”
“I know. It was one of the things I always admired about you. You were the most passionate dancer I knew.”
Her jaw clenched.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to use past tense,” he said.
God, he was so perceptive. Always had been.
“I can’t believe it’s over. It’s too big, too much,” she said.
A heavy silence fell. She could feel Max trying to find something to say, something that would make it all right. But there was nothing he or anyone could say or do. The decision had been made.
She shook her head and shoulders, deliberately shaking off the grim mood that had gripped her.
“Tell me about you. About your dad and…Charlotte, right? That’s your sister’s name, isn’t it?”
They talked their way through the first bottle of wine and then the second. Maddy ate more than half of the bread and pâté and by ten was bleary-eyed with fatigue and alcohol.
“I need to go find a hotel,” she said.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re staying here.”
As soon as he said it, something inside her relaxed. She’d been hoping he would offer. She could still remember how she used to crawl into bed with him when it was cold and the heating wasn’t up to the task of fending off the drafts from the many, many cracks and gaps in their house. The smell of Max all around her, the warmth of his body next to hers. He used to pull her close and she’d fall asleep with her head on his shoulder.
Just the thought of feeling that safe again made her chest ache.
“You can have my bed, I’ll sack out on the couch,” he said, standing to clear the dishes.
She stared up at him.
“I don’t mind sharing with you. We used to sleep together all the time. Remember?” She hoped she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt.
He hesitated a moment. “Sure. I’ll try not to hog the quilt. It’s been a while since I’ve shared with anyone.”
She smiled up at him, relieved. “You know, I’m glad I came. It was a bit weird at first, but that was only because we hadn’t seen each other for a while. And now it feels like the old days.”
He looked away, his focus distant.
“The old days. Yeah.”
“Do you mind if I have a shower first?” she asked.
“Of course not. I’ll get you a towel.”
He moved away, disappearing through a doorway