“Dante?” Em’s familiar voice wavers, small and breakable.
“Em?” I retreat from the party’s glow into the shadows, phone pressed against my ear like a lifeline.
“I’m in jail.” Her fear mirrors my own at fourteen, when the cops arrested me for joyriding in my father’s Rolls-Royce.
“Why the fuck are you calling me from there? You’re not even eighteen!” The words crack like a whip. Christ, I sound like him.
“Wouldn’t give the cops my info. No ID.”
I dig my thumb and forefinger into my eye sockets, my jaw working. Of course she called me instead of her parents. Fucking hell. “Jesus Christ, Em.” I exhale. “I’m coming. Oakland Central, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Thirty minutes.”
“Okay,” she mumbles, fear bleeding through her tough-girl act.
“It’ll be fine.” I soften my tone, the same way I do when I’m walking her through a complex parry. The line clicks dead, and I pocket the phone, already mapping the quickest route.
“Didn’t realizeyou were into pearls and gold,” I say, my grip tightening on the wheel. “Not your style.”
“Fuck off,” Em snarls, shoulders hunched.
The engine’s low growl fills the space between us as we cut through Oakland’s empty streets. I catch my reflection in the rearview—fuck, I see myself at her age, same cornered-animal look after my own brush with handcuffs.
The chief’s words echo in my head.Caught shoplifting, jewelry stuffed in pockets.
Getting her out was easy enough once I dropped my father’s name—same playbook as back then. Money talks, strings getpulled. But watching her shrink under the harsh station lights had stirred something visceral in my chest. What stings more is that she didn’t come to me first. Didn’t trust me enough to ask for help before it got to this point.
“Ugh, can you get the lecture over with already? I don’t want to sit here in silence with you stewing.”
“No lectures,” I say, focusing on the road ahead. “But we’re dealing with this.”
“There’s nothing to deal with.”
“The theft ends tonight,” I say. “And from now on, you come to me. No more hiding shit until it blows up.”
Em shifts, staring out the window. “Whatever.”
“Not whatever,” I snap, then catch myself. I can’t go off on her; she’s a kid. A kid who’s hurting, and I know what that’s like.
I force my shoulders to drop and take one of Reese’s deep breaths. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight.Alright, fuck, this shit works pretty well.
“Look, I know you don’t want to hear it from me, but I know exactly how you feel, better than anyone. Wanting them to notice you. Trying anything, good or bad, just to make them pay attention. Feeling like you’re screaming but they can’t hear you. But stealing shit isn’t going to make them see you. It’s only going to make things worse. And lying to me isn’t going to help either.”
“Got a better idea?”
“Monday morning, we start over. Every day after school, you’re mine. At the gym. No bullshit, no arguments, no secrets. I’ll handle your parents.”
She crosses her arms tight. “Don’t need a savior.”
“Good. Because I’m your coach,” I say, catching her gaze in the mirror. “That’s it.”
These months with Reese have taught me something unexpected. There’s a different kind of power in watching someone else find their strength. Maybe that’s what Em needs,what I needed then. Purpose. Direction. Someone to be honest with.
“But I—”
“Listen to me, kid. This is not up for discussion,” I cut in. “I don’t care about your excuses. You’re wasting your talent, and I won’t stand for it.” She shrinks beside me, and I adjust my tone. “You’re not just decent at fencing. You could be fucking brilliant. Princeton brilliant, Olympic-level brilliant. But not if you’re stealing shit and keeping secrets.”
