“I made soup,” I said. “You need to eat.”
She scooted over, making room. “Thank you, Ash.”
I set the tray on the nightstand, handed her the bowl, and lowered myself onto the bed beside her.
Kaia ate without argument, humming approval with every spoonful. Grandma used to make this soup whenever I needed cheering up—which, embarrassingly, had been often during the years I’d lived with her.
Even though I’d been glad to be back in Spain and away from my mother and her boyfriend, I still missed Dad and the life before he died. I missed our training sessions, his encouraging smile when I did something right, our breakfasts together.
“It was delicious,” Kaia said, pulling me out of my nostalgia. I took the empty bowl from her. “I don’t think I’ve ever had chicken soup this good.”
And in no time she’d be gone, eating God-knows-what and sleeping in a strange bed at some boarding school.
I forced myself not to go there and picked up the folder. “What’s this?”
“My new prison.” Kaia rested her head on my shoulder.
I breathed in the watermelon tang of her shampoo and opened the folder. A stone building with ivy creeping up the walls filled the glossy page. “A school for girls? Well—at least I won’t have to worry about other guys.”
Kaia made a face, and I snorted. “Sorry, peque.”
“My father should be sorry, not you,” she said, tracing the photo with a finger. “Doesn’t this look like a European prison?”
I kissed her temple. “Not really.”
She curled closer. “Thought so.”
“What do they offer?” I flipped to the activities page.
“What it says,” Kaia said. “A bunch of stuff I don’t care about.”
“They have a library. Foreign language classes.”
“But I won’t be able to dance. I hate giving up hip-hop.”
It sucked—giving up the one thing that always lit her up inside. I leaned back on the pillow and pulled her with me. For a few quiet minutes we read about Russell’s chosen school together.
“What do you think?” Kaia whispered.
“The truth?”
“Yes.”
I threaded my fingers through the ends of her hair spread on the pillow. “It’s obviously a good place. You’d get more academic support and SAT prep. There’s only a handful of students per class. You’ll be able to focus on studying your senior year.”
She nodded like I’d put her thoughts into words.
“But I hate that it’s so far away,” I continued. “I hate that if you need me, I might not get to you fast. I hate not being able to take care of you.”
She sniffled, and the ache tightened in my chest. “Peque. . .”
“I hate that he didn’t ask me first,” she said, closing the folder. “He could’ve asked. I’m not delusional—I know I’m struggling with math. I have been since Mom died. Repeating a year didn’t help. If nothing changes, I might not get into my dream college, and he knows how important that is to me. He’s using it against me.”
I cradled her to my chest and rubbed her back until she calmed. “I meant it earlier. Distance won’t change how I feel. It won’t change anything between us. Do what’s best for your future without thinking about me—I’ll always be here, peque. I wouldn’t have started this if I wasn’t all in.” I slid my thumb under her chin, tipped her face up, and kissed her—a promise to steady her. Our breaths mixed; warmth pooled low in my stomach when she kissed me back, harder, more determined.
I broke the kiss and cupped her cheek. “The distance is going to be a bitch, but I’ll be away a lot during the season. Once it ends, I’ll visit more. I won’t let him fuck up our relationship.”
“Palabra?” Kaia asked, her blue eyes burning into mine.
