The second Dimitri’s Porsche drove off, Natasha resumed packing. After finding her phone under a pair of sweat socks, she called Kevin.

He picked up on the second ring. “Tash! What’s up, girl?”

“I need a favor.” She shoved more rolled-up socks into the corners of her suitcase.

“Sure, whatchu need?”

“A ride to the bank.”

A beat of silence. “Yeah, of course. Everything okay?” The joking, pleasant tone had faded from his voice.

“Just please come get me, okay?” Her voice broke, and Kevin’s tone turned instantly alarmed.

“Anything you need. I’ll be right there.”

When Kevin showed up, he didn’t ring the bell. He banged on the door and hollered her name until she made her way over on the crutches to let him in.

“What the hell? Why are you screaming?” She scowled as he entered the house. “Are you trying to make the neighbors call the cops? And how’d you get here so fast?”

“Are you hurt?” Kevin’s normally carefree demeanor was replaced by intense concern. He gripped her shoulders, scanning her with his pale green eyes. “You scared me. It sounded like you were crying, and I was worried—”

She shook him off. “I’m fine. Just overdid it walking around on my ankle yesterday, so I’m not taking chances. I need to be fully healed by the time the show starts up.” She pointed to the bedroom. “I have to get out of here. Can you help me get my stuff out to your car?”

Kevin’s face transformed into a dark scowl. “What did he do to you?”

“Nothing! Carajo, Kev. I was going to explain in the car, but I guess I better tell you so you don’t think Dimitri’s some kind of monster.” She pushed up her glasses and rubbed her eyes. This was all too fucking much. The stress had her permanently on the verge of tears, and her arms were starting to hurt from leaning on the crutches. But Kevin was going to be an overprotective pain in the ass unless she explained. “Donna came by today. If I don’t get out of here, I can kiss my job at The Dance Off goodbye.”

“That asshole.” Kevin ground his jaw. “I swear, she lives to torment people.”

“Yeah. So, help me with my stuff and drive me to the bank.”

She hadn’t brought much with her to Dimitri’s, and they were able to jam it all in Kevin’s Tesla. What the hell was up with these guys driving around in totally impractical vehicles?

“Maybe we should take my car,” she said. “There are thousands of dollars’ worth of beauty products in that tote bag you’re manhandling.”

“I’m not leaving my car here.” Kevin gave it one last shove, then slammed the trunk. “Besides, what do you think Dimitri will do to my car when he comes home and finds you gone?”

Her palms started to sweat. She didn’t want to think about Dimitri’s reaction. “Just get me to the bank. Please.”

Kevin helped her into the passenger seat, then climbed in on his side. They took off down the driveway. Kevin drove like the hounds of Hell were nipping at his heels. Natasha scrambled to put on her seatbelt.

“What are you going to do at the bank?” he asked, as she set up the GPS on his phone.

“Ask for a loan or a credit card.”

He shot her a pained look. “Tash. Come on. Why won’t you let us help you? Lori’s worried. She texts me about it all the time.”

“I know. She texts me, too.” On her own phone, Natasha price-checked hotels and sublets. There had to be something she could afford without going into overdraft.

Kevin banged a hand on the wheel as his phone called out the freeway exit. “This is ridiculous. Just stay with one of us until you get back on your feet. I mean, literally and figuratively. We want to help.”

“You guys have been incredibly helpful. More than I ever would have asked for. Covering my classes, checking on me—I really appreciate it. But this is something I have to figure out on my own. I can’t keep leaning on other people. And if I stay with you or Lori, Donna will accuse me of the same thing—sleeping with you guys for the convenience of having someone take care of me. She basically called me a slut, and Dimitri a sugar daddy.”

Kevin shook his head, glaring darkly at the road. “I can’t stand that woman. Manipulative people make me . . .” He trailed off, but his hands tightened on the wheel and his knuckles turned white.

At the bank, Natasha limped inside, wearing the boot. Twenty minutes later, she was back in the car, mouth pressed into a thin line.

Kevin glanced over at her. “What happened?”

She didn’t want to tell him. Didn’t want to admit how fucked up her life was, or how much of a failure she was. She’d never wanted her friends to know. But she’d dragged Kevin into this now, and he deserved the truth.

Besides, what did it matter anymore?

“My credit is terrible. A new card will need to be approved, and I haven’t updated my latest tax and income info, so all of it will take time. Same for the loan. Dimitri was right. I do need to get my finances in order. Fuck.” She shoved her glasses up and pressed her hands to her eyes. “I’m screwed.”

Helplessness surged in her, a hot wave that threatened to spill out through her tear ducts. “I don’t know what to do.”

Kevin gave her shoulder an awkward pat. “If you won’t stay with me, at least crash with Lori.”

“Lori has two other roommates who are horrible to her. I’m not going to sleep on their sofa.” The tears started, and she wiped them away. “I’m stuck. I’m going to have to go home.”

“Home?”

“The Bronx.” She let out a shuddering sigh and dug a tissue out of her purse. “To my mother’s apartment. I’m still injured, so I can’t work. Can’t work, can’t make money. Can’t make money, can’t get my own place before The Dance Off starts. I’m a failure, and everyone was right. I can’t make it on my own as a dancer. Without Gina’s help, keeping me on track, I’m a fuck-up on my own.”

“Whoa, whoa. Slow down. Who was right? Who’s saying that? Dimitri”

“No.” Natasha blew her nose. “My mother. Donna.”

“Tash—”

Her phone rang, cutting him off. She frowned at the screen. “Hold on. It’s my super.”

She picked up and held the phone to her ear. “Hola, Manny. ¿Qué tal?”

He said something, but it was so outrageous, she cut him off. “Esperate, Manny. No entiendo. Por favor, dímelo despacio.”

“Sí, señorita.”

She put the phone on speaker and set it on the dash.

“Su apartamento está listo. Debido a los problemas con la habitación, no tienes que pagar la renta por dos meses.”

“Gracías, Manny. Un momentito.” Natasha tapped the mute button and stared at Kevin. “Did you understand any of that?”

He scrunched up his face in thought. “Your apartment is . . .”

“Ready.” She punched a fist in the air. “My apartment is motherfuckin’ ready and two months free rent!”

She picked up the phone again, taking it off mute and speaker, and made arrangements with Manny. When she hung up, relief flooded through her, and she heaved a huge sigh. Finally, things were starting to look up.

“Where to?” Kevin asked, starting the car.

“Home. My home.”

“What about Dimitri and your car?”

Good question. “I’ll figure it out later.”

Hollywood, get ready. Natasha was coming home.