His Ballerina

Chapter Three

Brent put the kettle on, setting down the phone.

The studio had not been the least bit happy with Annabeth having to stay at hom, but they said they would hold off auditions until she was able.

He picked up his own phone and dialled someone called 'Jon'.

"Hey." Someone answered.

"Jon, I think I may be here a while longer."

"Come on man!" An asperated voice answered. "This is hard work!"

"I know... something, somone has come up."

There was a bit of a rumble at the other end of the line. "You found her?"

"I'm not sure, it's just a... feeling."

"I get it Brent, but the pack needs you, and so does your mom, see you later."

He hung up. Brent sighed at the phone.

"Hey, hey, Brent!" Annabeth called from her room. Brent went.

"Yes?" He asked.

"Look, if you don't want to, you don't have to do anything, okay? I've managed with broken bones before."

Brent chuckled. "You're a ballerina, you shouldn't be this clumsy anyway and this is a sprained ankle, not a broken bone."

She huffed. "You know what I mean."

"Well," Brent looked down at his hands, "I'm doing this because I want to, you offered me a home here, I accepted. I'm under a roof here because of you, the least I can do is take care of you until your foot heals."

"I'm just saying you don't have to." Brent looked at her, she was in a lot of pain, he could tell from the creases in her brow and the twitches she made now and again, she was just talented at hiding it.

"Annabeth, are you okay?" He asked.

She sighed.

"I'm just annoyed I'm missing rehearsals."

"Do you need anything?"

Annabeth though. "That tea you promised earlier would be nice."

Annabeth strengthened herself by propping her arm up against the countertop, pushing herself towards the fridge.

The dissapointed shelves looked back at her, bearing nothing but a small jar of pickles and a half empty can of peaches.

"Brent!" She called.

There was an answering mumble from the guest room.

"We're out of groceries, I'll have to go out soon." She said.

"Alone?" Brent asked.

"I can manage." She replied.

Brent came out of the room, a strangled look on his face, "You can't go, youre ankles hurt!" He protested.

Annabeth shook her head. "I'll be fine, it's just a while down the road."

"I'll drive you." Said Brent.

"I'm fine."

"You can't go." 

"Yes I can."

"I'll take you."

Annabeth sighed, "Look, I'm fine, Brent, I can take care of myself."

He had a stern look on his face. "I'm taking you." He snapped, walking over.

Annabeth was about to rebut when to strong arms picked her up bridal style and carried her away.

"Hey!" She protested, jerking back, trying to get out of his grip.