Episode 9

"Bley, how wonderful that you've come," said his usual ballet coach.

He often went on tours, and when they ended, he'd focus on the next ones, keeping busy and never neglecting his routine ballet steps.

It was because he enjoyed and loved what he was doing, but also because his father ceaselessly demanded that he should be the best without a doubt.

"Sorry for being a bit late."

He saw her nodding and gesturing that it wasn't a big deal. She was Russian and didn't speak any other language, unlike Bley, who could converse in Spanish, Russian, and French.

"Did you argue with your father?" she asked, looking at him a tad sadly, aware that he quarreled with his dad daily without fail.

She knew the man well, was familiar with his personality and, in particular, his demands and strictness with his son, sometimes akin to how one might treat a mere dog instead of a person capable of kindness and goodness without a moment's doubt.

He simply shrugged his shoulders and started to get ready, carrying his bag with his practice clothes.

It was a grand place, with many rehearsal rooms, mirrors everywhere, and more than warm atmosphere. He liked going there because it felt more like home than where he slept. Having known the woman for five years, their friendship was rather close despite their age difference. She was thirty-five, had children, and was thoroughly professional in everything she tackled in her day-to-day life. She ran a well-known ballet academy that taught many young boys and girls.

"Do you have new bodyguards?"

He couldn't just ignore the two men at the entrance. One had black hair, the other intense red that stood out anywhere. He looked far too serious, dangerous, cold, and above all, exceedingly domineering.

"Yes, some seem friendlier than others."

"The red-haired one is really scary."

Bley glanced over his shoulder as he put on his dance shoes. Seated on the floor, he looked even more towering than usual.

He swallowed and looked away.

"Father wants you to go with me to the bathroom to avoid causing him trouble, he grumbled, standing up to walk over to them."

He didn't see much point in them standing there the whole time when they could just sit outside. Besides, he preferred practicing alone with Dominika, the woman. He wasn't used to others watching him.

His steps were short but brisk. The closer he got, the more piercing he felt one gaze, and it wasn't hard to guess whose gaze it was because it was quite obvious. The two inside just stood waiting to be told what to do. The other one seemed friendly. Camilo was there looking like a good chap, almost an embodiment of an angel. Maverick was the complete opposite. Standing imposingly and intimidating with a look that revealed he was nothing less than a demon.

But Bley didn't seem to care much.

He was used to being watched a lot, but having the red-haired guard scrutinizing him nearly all day was starting to annoy him because he didn't know if it was out of curiosity or disgust for his condition.

He had received many disdainful words and looks throughout his life, so he wasn't about to let one more make him feel terrible and worthless. He raised his eyes to look at both and opened his mouth to say:

"You can wait outside. I prefer to practice alone. If I need you, I'll call."

It was a directive, but it couldn't be missed that there was a lot of kindness in his position regardless. He seemed gentle, like someone not used to saying "no," or rather, someone who didn't know how to refuse. Otherwise, he would have freed himself from his father's injustices long ago and would have stopped remaining by his side under such poor treatment.

Camilo nodded and moved to leave.

"It's an order, Maverick, he stated, noting that he didn't budge an inch."

"Of course, call me if you need me."

Bley resolved that he would never call because he didn't find him friendly at all. He breathed a sigh of relief seeing them outside the door and returned to continue conversing with the woman.

Both began to stretch and warm up their muscles as they should to avoid any injuries or discomfort. The space was filled with lively classical music, and fortunately, the chairs were comfortable, noted mostly by Camilo who didn't hesitate to take a seat. Maverick simply remained standing like a statue.

"Alright, according to the schedule, you're here for about five hours. I have a good ear and wake up easily, so I will at least get three hours of sleep," he said, settling in out of tiredness.

It was five in the afternoon, and they'd been awake and on the move since seven.

"You should sit down, man; you're always on your feet. It's Friday, and I haven't seen you sit down since Monday even for a moment. What are you, a horse?"

He received no response.

He always talked by himself; the redhead never replied, but he felt comfortable with him. Others would shut him up after two words, but this one let him talk until he tired himself out.

"I remember my sister did ballet. She'd do splits, leap from side to side, all so magical. Honestly, it bored me to death, that's why I never fancied coming here."

He yawned and looked around to ensure nothing unusual was happening, only seeing some children no older than fifteen passing by.

"I can almost hear the instructor say: and one and two and three, jump, and one and two and three, spin. I'd get dizzy always hearing the same thing because…"

He talked for hours and didn't sleep a wink of what he said he would. He told stories, even about the time a spider bit him and disappointment overwhelmed him because he didn't turn into Spiderman.

Maverick just leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest, counting the minutes mentally until the five hours were up and Bley opened the door.

He came out talking to the woman in Russian. Maverick understood everything but deemed it unimportant.

Camilo was half asleep in the chair when someone tapped his shoulder and he jolted awake, ready to fight anyone, only to see that no one was there. The path was clear of any enemy until he looked left and saw everyone leaving, then hurried to catch up.

He straightened his clothes and pretended he hadn't dozed off on the job.

Upon leaving, Bley just got into his car to head home. He was very tired and let out a sigh while looking through the window at the snow continuing to fall. He hadn't walked in it for years. He longed to walk in the park and watch the children play with it but couldn't. Each day he had to focus on what his father told him, and he was tired of it. He yearned for one thing which he increasingly realized he would never experience.

Feeling sad because he had few friends, in fact, the only person he could consider a friend was Dominika, his coach.

He imagined things would remain bad until he arrived home and saw someone that cheered him up beyond doubt. His face lit up with a smile, certain he had died. Soel, one of his former bodyguards, was alive. Not fully recovered, for he walked with one arm supported by a sling across his neck, his chest bandaged. He had some injuries on his face as well, but he stood there alive.

He didn't hesitate to approach him and gave him a hug, the one who always made things easier on trips, with whom he could sometimes joke around because he was amiable and fun.

"I'm so glad you're okay," he said, embracing him tightly then recoiling immediately upon hearing him groan. "Sorry! Sorry! Where does it hurt? Dad never told me anything about you no matter how much I asked. So, I assumed you had died. Had I known which hospital, I would have visited every day."

"It all hurts, frankly," he joked. "But don't concern yourself, it happened, and I'm alright all things considered."

Seeing Bley's smile too, he thought the three bullets and near death were worth it just to see that sweet smile.

They walked across the venue.

"Wow, that bodyguard seems very attached to him," Camilo remarked to the redhead, watching them getting along excellently and, with him, Bley dropped his guard out of trust.

They were out of sight around the corner.

"Do you think he'll come to stay? Honestly, I don't want him replacing me because I need the job. If he tries to take my place, I'll beg and cry to the boss because I have two kids to support and a wife who doesn't hesitate to threaten with her slipper. If you saw her," he said proudly, grinning from ear to ear. "She's a beautiful, sweet Omega, but very dangerous when she wants to be. And you? Don't you have an Omega somewhere?"

Again, no answer, and he gave the redhead a brief glance because he seemed furious. It seemed at any moment he would burst into flames.

"You seem a bit tense, want some chamomile tea? Don't worry, I doubt it's you who'll be replaced. No concerns."

And it wasn't the job the redhead was worried about losing; it was that due to this Alpha, getting close to Bley would take much more effort, and he only began to think of a way to kill him as soon as possible, to remove the worthless trash from the way.

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