“I’m not sure yet,” I hedge. “I’ve got some time off. Thought I’d spend a few weeks here.”
“A few weeks?” His eyebrows rise. “That’s more than you usually give us.”
“Yeah, well.” I shrug. “Figured it was time.”
“What about the company? Your classes?”
“I’m on sabbatical. And I got someone to cover my classes.” All true. Mostly.
I’m leaving out the part where I’ve been struggling with an ankle injury that’s been getting progressively worse, and myphysical therapist strongly suggested taking a break before I permanently damage something. And the part where I’ve been so disconnected from performing that my director pulled me aside last month and asked if I was ‘still passionate about dance.’
I couldn’t give him an answer.
“Emma.” Dad’s voice is gentle. “What’s really going on?”
“Nothing. I just—” I look around the patio, at the bar, anywhere but at him. “I needed a break. New York is . . . it’s a lot sometimes.”
“Uh-huh.”
I can feel him watching me, reading me the way he’s been able to since I was a kid. It’s unnerving and comforting in equal measure.
“You looking for someone?” he asks after a moment.
“What? No.” The lie is automatic and unconvincing.
Dad’s quiet. Then he lets out a sigh. “He left about twenty minutes ago.”
My eyes flick up to his. “What?”
“Bones. You’re looking for Bones.” It’s not a question. “He left. Said he had an early morning—he’s been working construction with the Bennett crew, so he’s up at five most days.”
“Oh.” I try to keep my voice neutral. “Why is he working construction?”
“Because he needed a job.”
“OK.” I let the sound drag out. “But . . . isn’t he . . .” I know I shouldn’t be asking. This is club business, and I’ve been told to stay out of it dozens of times. But if Bones needed a job, that means he isn’t working for the club anymore. And if he isn’t working for the club anymore, that means . . . “Dad. Did you strip his rank?”
Dad’s expression hardens. “That’s club business.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer you’re getting.” He takes a drink, his jaw tight. “You don’t get to come back here after six months and start asking questions about club decisions.”
“I’m not asking about club decisions. I’m asking about Bones.”
“Same thing.” His eyes are steel now. “He’s a member of this club. What happens between him and me is between him and me.”
“You punished him.” The realization sits heavy in my gut. “Because of me. Because of what happened.”
Dad sets his beer down hard enough that it sloshes. “I punished him because he violated your trust, violated my trust when he refused to bring you back. He put you in danger with his obsessive bullshit.”
“That’s not fair?—”
“Isn’t it?” Dad leans forward. “Emma, he had a GPS chip in your body without your knowledge. Tricked you into wearing a tracking necklace for years. You want me to just overlook that because he saved you? Because you two—” He stops, jaw clenching. “Because the whole club got to hear what you two did?”
My face burns. “That’s what this is about? You’re embarrassed?”
“I’m furious!” His voice rises slightly, then he checks himself, glancing around to make sure we’re still relatively alone. “You’re my daughter. He was supposed to protect you, not—” He stops again, runs a hand over his face. “Not that.”
