Dancing with the Varsity Bad Boy

Chapter 19

Jordan's POV

***

Eric pulls my pick up outside the dance studio we know Violet's last lesson of the day took place in. Thankfully Gypsy was willing to tell Eric where it is eariler today, because we had no idea where and I was not looking forward to asking her father where the studio was. That would only show him that we were lax in our duty of care for the man's daughter.

I get out of the passager seat along with Eric, Xavier, Mikey and Chris, taking in the quiet car park and noticing two cars I've not seen before as the rest of the football team pull into the car park, parking beside my pick up truck and joining us in the early winter air. It's Thursday, and we have an away game on Saturday, a challenge I'm truly looking forward too.

Checking the time I frown. It's 8:30pm, classes stopped hours ago, and yet the studio's open. Standing outside, talking to a tall, slim woman is the man himself, Maxwell Beckingham. He's a good bit taller than we are at 6"4, and his brown hair styled with his sides shorter and the top only slightly longer and styled so it's combed to one side, and it's showing the first signs of greying.

He's still in the same athletic condition he would have been when he retired, it's clear the man still works out, probably with his sons. Heading over to him, my palms sweat to the point I have to wipe them on my shirt. He catches sight of us and says goodbye to the women who tells him something, but when she notices us she frowns as the team while we continue to get closer to them.

"I don't want them distracting her Max. Make sure she finishes soon and locks up and please make sure she's watched tonight. Thats going to knock her for six." The woman states, poking Maxwell in the chest. The man just smiles down at her, and shakes his head.

"She's got Gypsy, Imogen, Tamsyn and Lex meeting us for dinner. They'll keep a good eye on her tonight, I'll also make sure the studio is locked up for you," he states, his deep voice warm with humor at the woman's comanding tone. She scowls at us, but passes Maxwell the keys to the studio and walks away, pulling her coat closer around her body before she gets into her car and drives away.

"Which one of you is Jordan Mathews?" Mr Beckingham asks, looking the team over. I swallow hard but step forward and hold a hand out to him and smile polietly at him.

"That would be me sir," He ignores my hand and opens the door to the studio where music is blaring.

"Come and see," he smiles at us, his eyes twinkling with love as he walks in. He gets us into a room that is hidden behind the wall of floor to ceiling mirrors and presses his finger to his lips when one of the team goes to ask him something. The music is so loud that she doesn't even notice we're here. The music stops and I watch as Violet checks her phone, and picks up her water bottle. She doesn't sit to catch her breath, she sips at her water and stretches, rising up on the points of her ballet shoes and back down a few times every few minutes, moving around the room.

In the silence she mutters to herself, practices for a minute before she huffs, and then pulls out a notebook and scribbles something with a pen. She looks so different tonigh in her black leotard, with a tiny black flowy, wrap around skirt, and brightly coloured knitted leg warmers sitting over white tights on her calfs and pink battered ballet shoes. Her knee and wrist supports on along with the compression gloves she lived in while staying with us standing out against the black and white outfit. She doesn't take notice of anything else until she tears all her supports off, dumps them next to the laptop set up to play music and then presses play. She takes quick steps to the centre of the room where she gets into what must be her beginning position, watching her form in the mirrors. She becomes so still that she could pass for a living statue. I glance at her father, noticing his proud smile and the pain that's hidden underneth that pride.

It takes the laptop about three minutes to start the song, Hand That Feeds, by Halsey and Amy Lee, and when it does, it's as though Violet comes alive. I have no idea what type of dance it is, but it's beautiful.

I've never seen someone become a moving, living piece of art, but that's what it feels like to watch Violet dance. The story she tells with her body and the emotions she expresses and evokes in her audience. She moves as though there's a battle waging inside her, a tug of war between two opposing styles of dance. When the song stops, she takes up her beginning position again, and holds it, until the song repeats and she in turn, repeats the dance routine. If I'd been told a year ago I'd be here, standing next to one of my sporting hero's while watching his daughter dance, and happy to continue watching her... I'd have laughed in their face. It's impressive really, having seen how much pain she suffers through every night, that she's willing to suffer so much just to continue dancing. It's a level of dedication I'm not even sure I'd have for the sport I love if I was in her shoes.

"This is because you and your team stepped up," Mr Beckingham says quietly as he watches Violet dance, a smile curving her lips, her eyes closed as though she's at peace.

"Sorry sir?" I ask, not really understanding why he'd say that.

"She doesn't feel pain when she's dancing, it's probably the only time she doesn't. It's only afterwards that it comes crashing down on her." He sighs, a heavy, exhausted sigh. The kind that tells of many years of sleepless nights of worry.

"You being there for her to help her through the aftermath is what truly helped her. She could continue to dance no matter how bad those nights got because she had your support. Without it she'd have been unable to attend her classes." He turns to me with a slight smile.

"Thank you," he says. The sudden blairing of a fog horn cuts through the music and Maxwell Beckingham shakes his head with a laugh, turning to watch her stop dancing half way through the routine and rush to turn the music and alarm off. Without another word, he pushes through the connecting door, grinning when Violet gasps upon noticing him.

"Dad!" Violet shouts and rushes to jump into her dad's arms, her arms around his neck, her feet off the ground as he spins her around, the both of them laughing before he sets her back on the floor.

"I see your still using Axel's alarm for you," he chuckles. Violet shrugs and then wraps her arms around her dad's waste, leaning into his side, her eyes twinkling with mischief, a sly smile curling her lips.

"Were you watching? What do you think?" She asks, only to stiffen and screw her eyes up, a pained whimper escaping her lips. With practiced ease Mr Beckingham gently guides her over to her laptop, and helps her to sit on the floor. I watch as someone I've idolized over the years slips into a praticed routine, taking Violet's ballet shoes off, before strapping her ankles with supports, then her knees. With a gentle touches he helps her pull on her compression gloves, and straps her wrists.

"Yes I was watching, just behind the mirrors. I think it's an interesting combination of ballet and contemporary. Using it to show a war between the two sides of you to see who'll win, the ballerina or the contemporary dancer. I like the song choice but I think that first chorus where you transistion from ballet to contemporary needs a little work." He says, calmly helping Violet to put on a pair of jeans.

"Maybe think about bringing a little contemporary into it just before the second singer starts?" Mr Beckingham suggests, Violet listens intently to her father, taking deep breaths. Eric leans against the door next to me, watching as this hulk of a man gently helps his daughter pull on a shirt over her leotard, then a thin jumper, getting her ready to go before packing up her sports back and collecting her back pack and laptop bag before helping her to stand.

"Jordan? I didn't know you all were here," she looks from her dad to me, and behind me to the team.

"Your dad wanted to take the team out for dinner, to say thanks," I smile at her, but the smile she gives back is guarded, not the genuine one I've grown so used to seeing over the pass couple of weeks.

"Let's get some food in you. You must be starving," Mr Beckingham states, looking down at his daughter and kissing the top of her head. Violet hands him a set of keys and leans on him as they walk out of the studio, the football team following on behind them.

"There's a great Surf 'n'Turf just down the road from here. I've booked us a table under my name so we'll meet you there." Mr Beckingham says, helping Violet to his car and pulling his phone out to check before placing her bag in the back seat.

"We'll see you there sir," I tell him, already heading to our car.

"Is it just me, or did Violet start acting different as soon as she realised we were there too?" Mikey mutters as we pile into my pick up.

"Not just you." I reply, knowing that wasn't the Violet I've known for the pass few years. She's become guarded, but why? And why only after we met her father?

****

Violet's POV

****

Dad helps me to my seat, Imogen giggling at something Lex whispered in her ear.

"How are you doing son?" Dad asks Lex, who's cheeks still slightly blush as he coughs to clear his throat.

"I've been doing well.... dad. I've had my interview and just waiting for a reply." Lex takes a sip of his beer, and I giggle. It's cute to watch Lex slowly get used to my family treating him like a son or brother. I always get a little warm and fluffy inside my tummy when I see them together.

"They'd be fools not to take you on, I've seen your work." Dad states, rubbing my hands gently, smiling at his adopted children, as he calls them. He makes the effort to talk to each of my friends, giving his full attention, actively listening to them and asking thoughtful questions, even debating music with Imogen and congratulating Gypsy on her newest win. Even scolding Tamsyn for not calling him about her hospital appoint and how he had to find out about it from her mom. I giggle at Tamsyn's wide-eyed, shocked expresion.

"I told you all that first summer you and your families came on holiday with us. You are my adopted children, your parents are now dear friends and we talk at least once a week to share news on you all, or to catch up. Take Imogen's brother's for example, they're getting together with Axel and Zeke the next time the boys have a break in their training schedule." He says, taking a sip of his iced water and looking round the resesturant.

"Ahh there they are," dad states, passing me the menue and standing to greet the football team. I freeze, muscles coiling already knowing what will happen now they've met my dad. It happens every time.

Why did you have to thank them in person dad? I don't resent my dad, he's the best dad I could have ever asked for, raising three children alone while being the Captian and star quarterback for his NFL team. He can't help who he is. I just hate that once football players, or supporters of his team, find out my dad is the famous Maxwell Beckingham they stop seeing me as Violet and begin seeing me as only his daughter, and my brother's sister. There's more to me then just who my family are, but once people meet my family they tend to forget I'm my own person with passions and struggles of my own.

All except my friends that is. I did worry about Lex being like everyone else after learning he'd been his High School's Quarterback. But he couldn't care less, he loves my family for who they are, just as he loves me for who I am, not for the career they have. He's a rare gem Lex is, and one day Chris will regret making him his dirty little secret.

"It's ok Vi, just grin and bare it. After this you won't have to deal with them again," Imogen says quietly from opposite me and I force a smile. Exhaustion creeping up on me and pain throbbing in my joints.

"I have your medication in the car sweetheart, you can take something after you've eaten," Dad says and kisses the top of my head as the football team find their seats.

"This seat taken sweetheart?" Jordan asks with a grin and a wink, sliding into the seat next to me so I'm sandwiched between my dad and him.