The harsh lighting of the dance studio kept me going and had me forgetting just how much time had passed. Outside, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the world into a cool twilight. Inside, the music the girls and I had selected for the recital and the light tapping of my dance shoes against the polished floor were the only things keeping me company. The darker the starless sky got, the more aware I was that I would have to begin making my way back to the Hockey House.

I just wasn't ready yet.

I moved across the room in fluid motions, my limbs heavy with exhaustion but still somehow determined to follow the choreography I'd mapped out in my mind. My muscles seared, crying out in anguish as I pushed them through the song one more time. The strain of back-to-back rehearsals weighed on me like lead. Sweat rolled down my temples. My breath came in shallow gasps.

The song playing over the speaker was a sweet, upbeat melody—a hopeful tune that was supposed to feel like sunshine. But my mood dragged against it, like sandpaper on silk. No matter how hard I tried to let the music lift me, my heart wasn't in it.

My arms weren't quite as sharp, my spins weren't as crisp. Everything looked sloppy and forced, and it was clear my energy had nothing to give to this particular routine. I faltered in my movements, catching my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. My body was a vespa running out of gas and I fumbled, not properly transitioning into the jeté with a reach that I had added to the later half of the piece.

A grumble ripped through my throat as I angrily swiped the fly-away hairs off of my damp forehead. I sucked in a breath, hands melding to my hips as I paced around the space.

Perhaps it was time to call it quits.

I sighed, dragging my feet over to the speaker to pause the music. The silence that followed was heavy, reminding me, once again, that I was alone.

Maybe I wasn't in the right headspace for this piece.

I scrolled through my playlist, my finger hovering over a different track. This one was slower, somber, and raw—everything I didn't want to feel tonight but couldn't seem to escape. It was a piece I'd been working on for class, one that was more like a reflection of the inner thoughts I had experienced during the darkest part of my relationship with Miles than I wanted to admit.

I selected the song, letting the first few notes fill the studio, their weight pressing down on me. As the music swelled, I stood in the center of the room, closing my eyes and allowing it to wash over me. The choreography was still forming in my mind, each movement steeped in the emotions I was trying so hard to suppress.

Having your heart broken twice in a year really makes dancing to sad songs easier.

It was a bitter thought and I couldn't help the rough laughter that escaped my lips. I started to move, letting my protesting body follow the rhythm. My arms extended, my feet slid across the floor, and with every step, I poured my frustration, my confusion, my hurt into the motions. Each twirl a poor attempt to fling the pain I was experiencing from my chest.

"Still pushing yourself too hard, I see."

I froze, my heart lurching as I snapped my head toward the doorway. Miles stood there, leaning against the frame with his hands shoved in his pockets. He looked exactly as I remembered him—perfectly put together with his clean shaven face and pressed shirt, his expression that infuriating mix of charm and confidence that had once swept me off my feet.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, my tone sharper than I intended.

He held up his hands in mock surrender, stepping into the room. "Relax. I was walking by and saw you in here. Thought I'd stop by to say hi."

"Well, you've said it." I crossed my arms, glaring at him. "Goodbye."

"Celeste." He furrowed his brow, not daring to come any closer. It was very rare that I ever lost my temper with Miles while we were together. I was often trying too hard to please him to get defensive. The shift must have been jarring. The sweet Celeste he was used to wasn't the one standing in front of him. "I'm not here to fight with you or... whatever you think this is."

"I'm not in the mood to talk, Miles," I said, turning away and making my way toward the speaker. Practice was officially over.

"Good thing I'm not leaving until you do," he replied, his tone light but firm. Feeling brave now that my back was facing him, I rolled my eyes. "Are you okay?"

I sighed, resting my hands on my hips as I faced him again. "That's what you want to know?"

He stepped closer, the door coming to a close behind him. His sneakers squeaked against the floor. "I just wanted to check in. See how you've been doing."

I shook my head, allowing myself to scoff. "You mean since moving out? Never been better."

"Sure doesn't seem like it."

I pursed my lips. He caught me at a bad time. Up until lunchtime that day everything had been peachy. Then I went ahead and ruined it.

Miles studied me, and for a moment, the mask of confidence slipped. "I didn't come here to dredge up the past, Celeste. Whether you believe it or not, I still care about you."

"That's funny," I quipped. "You didn't seem to care much while we were together. While we were living in the same apartment. It feels like you only care when it's convenient for you."

"I deserve that," he admitted in a quiet tone. "But I mean it. I care about you. I know you and I can see something is going on that maybe you don't want to talk to me about. I completely get it. That's fine. I know it's too late for us," he motioned his hand between our bodies––a mere few feet from one another. "But whoever is making you hurt right now isn't worth your time. Not even me."

The words cut deeper than I wanted to admit, and I crossed my arms tighter over my chest, trying to shield myself from the memories he was stirring up. "Why do you think someone's hurting me? Did you stop to think that maybe I'm acting this way because I don't like you?"

The corner of his lips twitched upwards. It was a knowing smirk that I once adored. Now it made my stomach turn. "The only time you'd ever listen to this artist was when we were fighting and you thought you were home alone."

I swallowed, not liking the reminder of how well he knew me. "Funny how your memory is so much better now that we're broken up."

"I was fucking stupid, Cel." Those five words were all I wanted to hear for the longest time. But I was afraid that too much time had passed for them to mean anything. "You deserve the world––a guy who will treat you like gold. I know it's too late, but I see that now." A sad smile crossed his face. "It's true what they say; you don't realize what you have until it's gone."

"I don't need a confession from you, Miles." My tone was frigid, so cool I almost didn't recognize myself. "And I definitely don't need you pretending to be the good guy now."

He stepped closer, his expression softening in a way that used to make me melt. "I'm not trying to pretend anything. I'm just saying...I wouldn't fuck things up if you gave me a second chance."

I was going to shoot him down for the hundredth time when he continued, "That dumbass hockey player is the reason why you're so upset, isn't he?"

The vague mention of Maverick caused my heart to seize. A shiver ran down my spine and I stopped glaring at my ex and stared down at my phone. I knew I had no reason to be upset with Maverick. It was unfair to expect something more when he had been clear as day with our situation; sex. Nothing more.

But I couldn't disguise the wound that was digging into me. The home screen flashed up at me. There was a notification from the group chat I was in with Eden and the other hockey ladies in that friend group. Maverick? Not so much as a text or a call. A shred of hope broke through the shadows of my mind, telling me that he was probably waiting for me to go home. This was more of an in-person conversation, was it not?

I swallowed again, embarrassment causing me to blink my watery eyes. Whether that was the case or not, I wasn't sure if I had the strength to go home and have Maverick place the final nail in the coffin.

"I know this is none of my business," Miles started, fixing the strap of his back over his shoulder. "But if you need a place to chill for a bit you can come back to the apartment for a while? Until you figure things out."

I stared at him, the offer hanging heavy between us. The audacity of it made my chest tighten, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. But before the spark could become a blaze, it fizzled out.

If I had learned anything from dating Miles it was that it was sometimes hard to think straight when you were so close to a person. Distance helped put things into perspective and I wasn't able to get that with the woman-loving, tattooed hockey player staying in the room across the hall. Maverick clearly wasn't too concerned about giving me time to think.

And perhaps a little space was what I needed.

_ _ _ _ _

author's note:

This was definitely not the right time for Miles to show up. Celeste is taking things pretty hard and I can empathise with what she's going through. How are you feeling about what's going on right now? Let me know in the comments!

Happy reading!