CHAPTER 1

          She could still hear the doctor’s verdict…

          ‘The knee isn’t working the way it's supposed to, Blaze… I know it’s not what you needed to hear, but… you can’t go on. As a ballerina, this is the end of the road for you. I’m sorry.’

          No, she couldn’t stop now. All she needed to do was work even more. In time, the pain will go away. No, this wasn’t the end of the road. Dancing was her reason to be… it has been since she was three years old.

          Dammit! This injury could not have happened at a worse moment. The Company was preparing ‘Swan Lake’, the most known, loved, and extremely difficult ballet in the dancing world. It has some of the most notorious steps in ballet repertory.

          There were still so many rehearsals to attend… And Violet had some problems with those 32 fouettés. On their last rehearsal, the last five of them were quite slow. Odile/The Black Swan was as important as Odette/The White Swan, so Violet needed to pay the same amount of attention to both parts. 

          Better to show Violet the right way to make it look effortless. Better show her now before… Well… before… No bad thoughts! No negativity! No distractions! She couldn’t lose focus now!

“Oh, God… Take the pain away and give me more time…” she muttered and stopped for a second, trying to catch her breath. “Damn it, B.B., breathe… Just breathe…”

          But Blaze Autumn Bergdahl, B.B. for her friends, was finding it hard to do it.

          Once again, she started walking, lengthening her stride, eager to reach the rehearsal studio. Blaze could almost feel the familiar smoothness of the barre beneath her hand and almost see the glint of bright lights in the mirrors and hear the regular scuff and thump of other dancers leaping and landing and twisting and turning around her.

          Blaze needed the comfort of the familiar dance environment quite badly right now. The double doors to the ‘London Dance Company’s rehearsal studio A came up on her left.

          Slightly smiling, Blaze pushed through them and the scent of warm bodies, clean sweat, and a dozen different deodorants, perfumes, and aftershaves wrapped itself around her.

          Thank God, she was… HOME.

          This was her home, her safe space.

“B.B.! How did your doctor’s appointment go?” Violet asked the moment she spotted Blaze entering.

          The other dancers turned toward her, faces expectant. Blaze forced herself to smile and shrug casually.

“Oh, it’s all good, Vi,” she replied. “No problems… Go now and prepare yourself for those fouettés.”

          Blaze couldn’t bring herself to think or say the truth. Saying it out loud would make it real. And for just a few more minutes, she wanted to lose herself in the world that had held her captivated since, at the age of three, she first saw a picture of a ballerina.

          Violet flew across the room to give her a hug, her slender arms strong around Blaze’s back.

“That’s fantastic! These are great news. The best,” Violet exclaimed.

          The other woman’s gauzy rehearsal skirt flared around her legs as she returned to her place in the center of the room. Violet was twenty-five. She could become the Company’s prima ballerina any moment now. Violet had her whole career ahead of her. She was a beautiful dancer… powerful, delicate, emotional, and intense.

          ‘Prima ballerina…’

          Blaze felt someone watching her and lifted her gaze to find Robert Kerr, the choreographer, eyeing her closely. She turned her shoulder, breaking the eye contact. Robert had been watching her a lot lately, checking her range of movement, and testing the capabilities of her injured knee.

          Had he known, or guessed, what she’d been told today?

          Had everyone known except her that her career was over?

          That she would never dance again?

          Her heart pounded against her ribs and again, Blaze couldn’t quite catch her breath.

          She threw her bag into the corner and slid off her street shoes, bending to tug on a pair of slippers with shaking hands. The ribbons whispered through her fingers as she wrapped them around her ankles and tied them neatly.

          Blaze shed her skirt to reveal tights and leotard and took a place at the barre to begin warming up. Okay, ‘pliés’ first, then some ‘rond de jambes’, keeping her head high and her arms relaxed.

          Every time she rose up ‘en pointe’, Blaze felt the seamless, fluid glide of her body responding to her will, saw her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, posture perfect, form ideal.

          Her heartbeat slowed.

          She was a ballerina!

          Always had been, always will be!

“Blaze?”

          She tore her eyes from her own reflection to find Mark Lorimer, the company director, standing behind her. He, too, had been studying her perfect form in the mirror.

“Why don’t you come to my office?” he said.

          His voice was gentle, as was the light in his eyes.

          God… Mark knew.

          He’d spoken to Dr. Alston… Of course, he had. Alston was the company’s doctor, after all. When she’d come on board four years ago, she’d signed a contract agreeing that the company could access all health matters pertaining to her career.

“After rehearsal,” she countered slowly. “I’m warm now. And the rest of them are waiting for me.”

“I think we should do this now, don’t you think so, Blaze?” Mark asked.

          Mark was frowning, as though what she’d said pained him in some way. He moved closer and reached out a hand to touch her. She took a step backward. Rising ‘en pointe’ on her bad leg, Blaze lifted her right leg in ‘grand battement’ to the side then up, up, up, until her toe was pointing toward the ceiling, her thigh straight beside her ear.

          Blaze held the position in a blatant display of skill and strength, her eyes daring Mark in the mirror. He held her gaze, never once looking away. And when her muscles began to scream and shake from the pain of holding such a demanding, strenuous position, he stepped forward and rested his hand on her shoulder.

“Enough, Blaze. Please, come to my office… Now.”

          She let her leg drop and relaxed onto her flat feet. Her knee throbbed, as it always did these days when she demanded too much of it. She hung her head and stared blindly at the polished floorboards.

          Blaze felt Mark slide his arm around her shoulders. Then he led her toward the door. The other dancers stopped mid-rehearsal to watch her. She could feel their silent stares as she and Mark stepped into the corridor. Mark didn’t let her go until they were in his office.

“Please, take a seat,” he said.

          He crossed to the wooden built-ins that spanned one wall of his office and opened a door. She heard the clink of glass on glass as he poured something.

“Drink this.”

          Brandy fumes caught her nose as he lifted a glass to her lips.

“No,” she countered, turning her head away.

          Mark held the glass there, waiting. Finally, she took a token mouthful.

“And again,” he added.

          She took a bigger mouthful this time. The brandy burned all the way down her throat to her belly. Blaze shook her head firmly when he offered a third time. He took her at her word and placed the glass on the coffee table in front of her.

          Then, Mark sat in the armchair opposite Blaze. In his late fifties, he was a former dancer, his body slim and whippet-strong even after years away from the stage. His tanned skin was stretched tightly across high cheekbones, and thin lines surrounded his mouth from smoking.

          His eyes were kind as he studied her, a rarity from a man who was known throughout the dance world as a perfectionist first and a human being second.

“We will look after you, Blaze. Please, know that. Retirement pay, any teaching work you want… you name it, you can have it. You’ve been one of our greatest dancers, and we won’t forget you.”

          Blaze could feel the sweat cooling on her body in the air-conditioned chill.

“We need to prepare ‘Swan Lake’, Mark. I must help Violet with Odile’s part. So, I can’t stop now… I must keep on dancing,” she replied quite determined. “That’s what I want.”

          Mark shook his head decisively.

“Blaze, you can’t keep on dancing! Not for us… Not professionally. Your spirit might be willing, but your body is not. Dr. Alston was very clear about that. We always knew that complete recovery from such a significant tear to your cruciate ligament was going to be a long shot. It’s time to hang up your ballet shoes, Blaze.”

          She stared at Mark, a storm of words closing her throat. Anger, grief, resentment, denial… Blaze didn’t know what to say, how to react.

“I’m a ballerina, Mark… I can’t stop now. I just can’t,” she said once again. “Please, give me more time. I’ll show you I can do it. I’ll do more rehab work, more yoga, more Pilates. I’ll rehearse more… I’ll do whatever it takes.”

          His face went slack for a moment, and he leaned back and closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his hand. He looked defeated, sad.

“B.B., I know how hard it is to give it up. Believe me, I do! It nearly killed me. But I made a second chance for myself.”

          He paused a moment to let his words sink in.

“You’re a beautiful, smart, resourceful woman. There’s another life out there waiting for you. You just have to find it.”

          ‘I don’t want to find it.’

          She almost said it out loud, but some of the numbness and shock were leaving her as the brandy burned its way into her system. The doctor had handed down his decision, and Mark had made his, too.

          She was broken, old.

          They had no use for her anymore…

“We’ll throw you a party, B.B. A real send-off. And we’ll help you in any way we can. Retraining, or, as I said earlier if you want to teach…?”

          The thought of a party, of standing in front of her peers while people made toasts to her former talent made bile rise up the back of her throat.

“God, no! Not in a million years! I want no damn party!” she almost shouted.

          Suddenly, she didn’t want to be here anymore. When the doctor had given her the news an hour ago, the company had felt like home, like the safe place to be. But now, she knew it would never be her home again.

“People will want to say their goodbyes, pay their due respects, Blaze,” he insisted.

“Respects? I’m only injured, Mark, not dead,” Blaze said, standing abruptly.

          Then, she strode to the door.