Watching Over Me: A Dreams Novel Read online

  Watching Over Me

  A Contemporary Romance

  By Kamery Solomon

  Praise For Watching Over Me

  “The pages are laced with soul shattering revelations, mystery, and one character overcoming physical adversity. This is not your everyday - love at first sight- romance novel. I absolutely loved the intricate imagery Kamery painted with her words. Be prepared for the feels!”

  ~Annie Angelich, Book Banshee

  “This book is about passion, hope, true deep love, and commitment. The characters will come alive as they try to overcome their pasts and the obstacles presented to them in the present. You will be jumping for joy, grapping tissues as you cry, and worried like they are your own family. You will love this book more than any other book you have read so far this year!”

  ~Julie Engle, The Royal Court

  “Another great book with tons of twists and turns around every corner. Spice level is HAWT.”

  ~Lisa Markson, The Paranormal Bookworm

  “I could read this book over and over again. It’s a 5 star read—I loved everything about it!”

  ~Holly Cooper, The Royal Court

  “Watching Over Me and it will leave you wanting more! Get swept away into the world of dance and the United Dance Company, where you’ll find mystery, love, and suffer a good tugging on your heart strings. There were parts that left me crying like a baby. Not to mention, there are some steamy scenes that will leave you fanning yourself!”

  Heather Garrison, The Royal Court

  Other Books by Kamery Solomon

  Forever

  The God Chronicles

  Zeus

  Poseidon

  Hades

  Adrastia

  Swept Away

  Dreams Novels

  Taking Chances

  Watching Over Me

  Watching Over Me

  A Contemporary Romance

  By Kamery Solomon

  Happily Ever After Publishing - Arizona

  Copyright © 2015 Kamery Solomon

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Published by

  Happily Ever After Publishing

  Arizona

  Kindle Ebook Edition

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This book is available in print and ebook format.

  ~For those who encouraged me in my own dreams and those who provided me with the material that created them in the first place.~

  Chapter One

  Slamming my fists into the mirror, frustration and pent up anger ripped through me, a gurgled growl passing by clenched teeth. Sweat stuck to the glass from my skin, the only sign of my hard work.

  “Come on, come on, come on.” Muttering to myself, I turned away, sliding my stinging fingers over the top of my black hair, checking to make sure it was all still secured in its tight bun.

  A slow, somewhat calming breath became my focus as I returned to the barre, placing my left hand on the beam and flexing each foot in turn. Concentration burrowing deep into every single one of my muscles, I carefully rose onto pointe, testing the strength of my previously injured ankle. Once I was satisfied it would hold, I moved away from my support, crossing the floor in the same pattern we’d learned in class the week before.

  Toes aching for relief, I pushed on, determined to finally get the move right. Unfortunately, just like every other time I’d tried, my feet tripped over themselves and the reflective room witnessed me stumbling around until I fell against the far wall once again.

  Biting my lip always helped stave off angry tears, but today was being extremely difficult for some reason. Only when it seemed like the tears were going to be because of pain and not momentary self-loathing did I release the flesh from my teeth.

  My reflection stared back at me from across the room, and the only judgment in her eyes was that which I held over myself. It certainly looked like I’d been working hard, even if I didn’t have the results to show for it. My hair had stayed mostly intact, but my grey t-shirt was practically soaked through from all my perspiring, as well as my tiny, baby blue shorts. My tights had a run in them from one of several collisions with the storage caddy by the door. Even my leg warmers had somehow gone askew, one of them bunched down around my ankle and the other stretched out as far as it could go. Beneath it all was my pale, worn out body that couldn’t seem to get the basics of this season’s core ballet under control.

  It didn’t matter that I’d spent hours upon hours of extra time practicing like I was now. All of the books and videos I’d poured over weren’t seeming to help at all either. Worst of all, even during class I was making a fool of myself. Miss Gini, the head instructor, could stand right by me and tell me exactly what to do, but nothing would translate into my work.

  Normally, I wouldn’t push myself so hard to succeed at something, especially after doing so resulted in an injury. Over time, it would have to come to the correct point, as long as I kept practicing. Things were different now that my career hung in the balance, though.

  I’d spent every year since I was eight hoping to be accepted into the training program for the United Dance Corps in New York City. It was an intensive—and highly competitive—environment for dancers, where they would spend a year being trained by the finest performers in the world. The study ended with a final review and live showcase in front of a sold out crowd. If the director of the Corps liked what he saw, he would invite a few of the students to join the company, welcoming them into the world of professional dance. Everyone else would be asked to move on to other training programs or companies.

  So far, everything had gone according to plan. I’d taken dance lessons all through school, quickly rising to the top of my classes. My father would always sit in the front row at every performance and cheer me on. As soon as I graduated high school, he was looking at the audition dates for United Dance. When I was accepted into the trainee program, he almost had a heart attack from excitement.

  “My Scarlet is going to be a professional dancer!” he said to everyone, excitedly. “The prettiest thing to ever cross a stage.”

  I knew it was costing him a lot of money for me to be here, but he’d sent me over from the Midwest without another thought, telling me to do my best and come home to visit when I could.

  Ever since then, I’d been working hard, like he would have wanted. It was days like today that I felt I was letting him down somehow. If my inability to get my mind and body together caused me to lose a spot in the company, all of our preparation and hard work would be for naught.

  Finally, picking myself up off the floor, I returned to the barre. A quick check of the time confirmed I could still work for a few minutes before going back to the dorm and showering ahead of tonight’s class.

  “Concentrate,” I whispered to myself, wishing my feet would have the ability to do what I was telling them this time.

  Excitement filled me as I began to move gracefully across the floor, hope blossoming in my chest.

  “Sc
arlet!”

  The door to the practice room crashed open and I jumped, startled, losing my concentration and toppling over once more. To add insult to injury, I’d fallen into the storage caddy again, the entire contents of my bag and some items forgotten by other students toppling out on top of me.

  “What are you doing on the floor?” My roommate, Meg, looked at me quizzically, her blonde, curly hair piled up on top of her hair in an elegant twist.

  “Stretching,” I replied smoothly, wincing as I brushed my fingers over my ankle.

  “You look awful.” At least she sounded sympathetic. “Still no luck with the floor work?” Sitting beside me, she dropped her dance bag to the side and started stretching herself, warming up for her class.

  “Not even a little.”

  Frowning, she seemed to stare off at something behind me, her pink sweater sliding off one shoulder. I didn’t know how she did it, but Meg always looked like she’d just come from a runway somewhere. She was wearing black shorts over her tan dance hose, her feet wrapped up in her pointe shoes. Expertly applied makeup was a constant on her beautiful face, and her hair was always styled fashionably. It was no wonder that the boys here practically followed her around, begging for attention. Even the ones that weren’t interested in her sexually—her mom had been one of the principal dancers in the company, a world famous performer. There were a lot of students who thought they could get an in with the pros by going through Meg. It had made her slow to open up, but once she’d realized I didn’t want anything other than to be her friend, she was the soul sister I’d always hoped for.

  “Do you want me to come practice it with you again?” she finally asked, moving into a split.

  “No.” I was getting more and more frustrated. “I don’t understand what is going on! I was the best dancer in my school back home. How can I not do what I’m supposed to here?”

  “This is a school for the very best.” She shrugged, smiling gently. “You got in, so they must have seen something that made them think you were the best. You just need to find that thing and bring it out again.”

  “The best,” I scoffed. “All I’m ever told is that I don’t stand up straight enough, or my turn out is bad, or my shoulders are too high, my leg isn’t high enough. It goes on and on and on. And they’re so mean! I don’t understand how they can be absolutely terrible when they know I’m working very hard to do what they want. It’s been three months since we started and all I’m doing is showing them how well I mess everything up. I’m going to get kicked out.”

  “Don’t talk like that,” she said in a chiding tone. “You’re going to get it! You’ve been working so hard. The only thing holding you back is your injury. They know that. They know that you’re putting all of your blood, sweat, and tears into this. Don’t give up when you still have so much left to give.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” I said with a laugh, standing up. “You’re almost guaranteed a spot in the company. You’re amazing! One of the best dancers I’ve ever seen, honestly. They love you here.”

  “They love me because my mom is Cara Carpenter,” she answered, rolling her eyes. “They think I’m going to be her double. I mean, they cast me in her famous roll for the showcase.”

  “And you’ll do wonderfully,” I replied, smiling tightly. “I, on the other hand, will probably fall on my face and get laughed out of the building.”

  “That won’t happen.” She snorted, rolling her eyes as she reached into her bag and pulled out a piece of gum, popping it into her mouth with ease. “You do need to be careful, though, Scar. If you keep working like this, every second you can, your ankle is going to give out. You might not be so lucky that time—it might not heal so quickly and so well.”

  “Either I practice or I go home. There’s no room for quitters here.” My reply was firm and completely true. We both knew what would happen if I couldn’t dance.

  “Just watch it for me, okay? I don’t want you to leave.” She smiled at me again, the amount of worry she had for me showing in her eyes.

  “I’ll be careful,” I promised.

  “Here.” She came out of her split and began picking up a few of the things that had fallen out of my bag, crossing the room to grab a tube of Chap Stick that had rolled away. “Are you coming to conditioning tonight? I could use a lift partner.”

  “I’ll be there. I’m going to go shower the stink from this session off while you’re at rehearsal.”

  “Ah, yes. The first practice for the showcase. Started kinda early, don’t you think? We still have seven months left before the program is over.” She shrugged, returning to my side and tossing the tube into the bag I’d picked up.

  “Yeah, but we only practice for it once a week. I imagine as time passes that all of our classes will eventually become rehearsals for the show. Plus, we have all those weeks off in December and March for breaks.” Gathering the rest of my stuff, I stood, placing the bag back on the caddy and sighing.

  “Look at us,” Meg said happily, throwing her arm around my shoulder and turning us toward the front mirror. “Two dancers on the road to professional performance. Life has some great things in store for us, Scar. I know it!”

  I sincerely hoped she was right.

  Chapter Two

  “Oh. Em. Gee. Scar! I can not believe you missed Colt’s class!”

  Meg was squealing from her top bunk, her freshly painted toes and fingers held out like they were on a line dry. She’d opted to wear her lime green shorts and tank top pajamas, which I’d always really liked on her.

  “Colt? Are you on a first name basis now?” I laughed from my spot at the desk. In truth, I was only half listening to her as I tried to wrap my ankle tight enough to support my weight, but not so much that I cut off circulation. I had to sleep with it wrapped and elevated every night or it swelled too much to dance on the next day. Sometimes I put a half melted ice pack on it as well.

  “He’s totally cool,” she said in an offhanded way, flopping down on her overly stuffed pillows. “Anyway, he gave me such insight into my technique, I’m not even joking. I for real made a break through today.”

  I chuckled softly, knowing she would calm down considerably once her favorite lead dancer in the company had bossed her around a few times. Listening to her now was only a small price to pay for her great friendship. She babbled on about things for a while longer and I listened for the few places she would wait for me to make an agreeing noise of some kind. By the time she’d finished telling me about the experience, I’d completed my doctoring.

  “How’s the ankle?” She yawned, her pointe shoes in hand, needle and thread working through the toes as she fixed a few stitches, careful not to smudge the fresh paint on her fingers.

  “It’s still swelling a little at the end of each day.” Pulling the small ice pack out of the mini fridge next to the desk, I winced as I placed it on my now elevated ankle.

  “Did you talk to Miss Gini about it?”

  “No,” I said uncomfortably. “I didn’t want to be more of a bother with it.”

  “I’m worried you’re going to hurt it worse,” she said absentmindedly as she focused on her shoes.

  “I’ll be fine,” I replied reassuringly, smiling at her simple kindness. This was a conversation we had almost every night. She would express her concern and I would calm her, hoping that I would indeed be okay.

  Silence fell between us as she concentrated on her sewing and I took to examining our tiny, but homey, room.

  The twin beds sat in front of me, the desk on the adjacent wall under the window. The space behind me was basically an open closet, our massive amount of combined clothes piled on their respective sides. The door to the bathroom sat comfortably in the corner. Everywhere I looked, there were pictures of our families, outings we’d gone on, and the things that made us who we were. I couldn’t have been happier with it.

  The rest of the evening turned into a blur and before I knew it, the alarm was going off the next morning.
Our normal groggy ceremony followed, with the two of us not fully waking up until we were sipping our morning coffee at the shop down the street from the dorm.

  “I think you need to say something about your ankle,” Meg spoke, referring to the stiffness I had when I woke up. I’d had to use a heating pad on it before I could do anything else.

  “I really don’t want to bother Miss Gini with it,” I said seriously. “I’ve already been enough of a nuisance.”

  “Asking for extra help outside of class is not bothering your teacher, Scar. That’s her job.”

  “Yeah, but not making any improvement even with her help is a bother,” I replied defensively. “I don’t want to give her another reason to follow me around class telling me what I’m doing wrong.”

  “You could get really hurt,” she insisted, concern etched on her face.

  “I’m taking care of it.” My voice was smooth, despite the nervousness I felt as I thought of how right she was. “Besides, class isn’t until this afternoon. I’ll be fine by then.”

  “Yeah, if you don’t over strain it during jazz class.”

  She gave me her “you know I’m right” look and took a big swig of her coffee, sighing contently as she looked around.

  “I’ll be fine,” I muttered for what felt like the millionth time.

  Thankfully, she remained silent. I knew she meant the best, but she also didn’t really understand. Meg had been taking dance lessons since she was three. Everything we did in class was basically a touch up course for her. I’d bet millions that she’d never struggled with anything. The only reason she was even in the program, and not auditioning for companies, was because her mom didn’t think she was ready to jump right into the pool and had insisted she do this first.