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Jazz punches me in the arm. “Ass.”
I rub the spot she hit. “What? I’m not saying anything that isn’t true.”
“Well, you could be a little less callous about it,” Jazz chastises.
“It’s fine, Jazz. I’m used to it.” Ainsley takes a big chug of water before setting the bottle down on a stool. “Kingston’s not trying to be a dick. It just comes naturally to him.”
Reed and Jazz both laugh at that.
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave my hand. “Are you going to impress us with your skills, or what?”
My sister beams. “You bet your ass I am. You wanna see the lyrical routine I’m working on for the next recital?”
“Duh,” Jazz sasses.
Ainsley laughs and cues up the music before walking to the center of the room. The moment she gets into position, I swear to Christ, the air in the room shifts. When Dua Lipa’s “Homesick” starts playing, my tiny sister, who weighs maybe a buck-oh-five soaking wet, becomes larger than life. She floats across the small space in a series of kicks and leaps, long, graceful lines and complicated spirals that she makes look absolutely effortless. There’s not a single doubt in my mind that this is what she was born to do.
I glance over and see Jazz and Reed watching Ains with the same rapt attention. She has that effect on you when she’s on a stage, or this case, in a studio. Ainsley doesn’t simply dance—she mesmerizes. Jazz looks like she’s about to cry, and my best friend couldn’t possibly look more in love. Fuck. I really didn’t stand a chance of keeping them apart, did I?
Reed’s one of the most stand-up guys I know. He’s my brother in almost every sense of the word, but Ainsley’s my other half. You don’t get much closer than when you share a womb with someone. If Reed ever hurt my sister, I’d have to drop him from my life, and that’s something I never want to do. I guess at this point, I just have to hope that neither one of them fucks it up.
At the end of the routine, Ainsley is lying on the floor, pure anguish written all over her face. I know she absorbs every emotion built into her choreography, and it takes her a minute to shake out of it. The three of us give her time to piece herself together again, and the moment it happens, she springs up, with a massive smile on her face, bubbly as ever.
“Well, what’d you think?”
Jazz wipes at the corner of her eye. “It’s beautiful, Ains.”
“Why, thank you.” Ainsley curtsies. “Now, get the hell out of here. You’re all distracting me.”
Reed’s chest shakes with laughter as he stands up and approaches my sister. They exchange quiet words, and whatever he says to her makes the flush on her cheeks deepen.
Jazz tugs on my sleeve. “C’mon, let’s give them a minute to say goodbye.”
I hold my hand up. “Later.”
“Later,” Ainsley and Reed reply in unison.
Jazz pauses by one of the observation windows on our way out. It looks like a new class started because now the room is filled with children who are maybe ten at most, dancing to hip hop.
“When I start getting regular paychecks, I’d love to get Belle signed up for a class like this. There used to be an after-school program like it, and she’s a natural. Sadly, the teacher who volunteered her time moved, and she hasn’t had anything like it since.” Jazz bites her bottom lip. “I’d have to figure out transportation, too, though, because I doubt I could rely on Jerome to take her.”
“What about his girlfriend? She seems pretty stable.”
“She is,” Jazz agrees. “And Belle loves her, which I’m so thankful for. But from what I understand, Monica usually doesn’t get home from work until after dinner time on weekdays, and she works every weekend. Plus, you know, I honestly think it’s only a matter of time before she dumps Jerome’s ass. I just hope I can get some type of custody arrangement in place before that happens.”
I open the car door for Jazz. “We’ll make it happen. I can call some people.”
She waits until I’m in the driver’s seat before replying. “As much as I appreciate the offer, I need to do this on my own, Kingston.”
“No. You don’t.”
Jazz levels me with a glare. “Yes. I do.”
I shift into gear and pull away from our parking spot. “Look. I understand why you want your independence. And I respect the fuck out of it, Jazz. But money makes everything easier. And when it comes to things like this, connections don’t hurt either. I have plenty of both. My mom would love knowing the money she left us went to something good like this. If it makes it easier to accept, don’t do it for my mom or me. Do it for your mom and your sister.”
She stares out the window. “I’ll think about it.”
I reach over and squeeze her denim-clad thigh. “That’s better than nothing, I guess.”
