“Oof. Mercy with the hard questions,” Cash says, wiping his hands on a napkin and scrunching it in a ball.
“What?” Mercy says. “We’re all thinking it. She’s a star. And she can’t be a star in Stoneheart.”
I go quiet, twirling my straw in my glass. I’ve been waiting for this question, bracing myself for it every day since I got back. Three weeks of ‘how long are you here?’ and ‘so when do you go back?’ and ‘the city must miss you,’ from every neighbor, every club brother, even the checkout clerk at the grocery store. But this is the first time someone’s actually asked outright.
I look over at Bones. He’s finished his burger but is now methodically picking the remaining lettuce off his plate, pretending not to listen but not even hiding the fact that he’s waiting to see how I’ll explain this.
Because saying it out loud—admitting I’m walking away from everything I worked for—feels different from just deciding it.
“I’m staying,” I say, and the words come out steadier than I expected. “I promised Bones I’m staying. That part I’m sure about.”
Bones’s hand finds my thigh under the table, squeezes once.
“But the rest of it?” I trace the condensation on my glass with my fingertip. “I don’t have a plan for what that looks like. No five-year roadmap, no career milestones, no goals mapped out like choreography. And that’s . . . new for me.”
The thought should terrify me. It does terrify me. But underneath the fear is something that feels a lot like relief.
“I know everyone probably thinks I’m crazy for walking away,” I continue. “But twenty-eight is pretty old by prima ballerinastandards, and I’m not sure I want to limp through another three seasons trading cortisone injections for performance bonuses. My ankle is happier here. And I like teaching at the community center. Kya talked me into teaching a kids’ ballet class last week, and honestly? That was the happiest I’ve been in months.”
I shrug, trying to look casual, even though my heart is pounding. “So yeah. I’m staying. I just don’t know what I’m doing yet. Besides him.”
Mercy and Cash both bust out a laugh as I glance at Bones, who’s watching me with that soft smirk that makes my stomach flip.
“Every chance you get,” he says quietly. And heat pools in my lower belly at the thought.
“So you’re really doing this?” Mercy asks, but there’s no judgment in her voice. Just curiosity.
I shift my attention back to her and smile. “As long as Dad and the club don’t get sick of me.”
“Never,” Bones says, almost before I finish talking.
Cash snorts. “Man’s got a savior complex the size of Texas. Once he decides you’re his, that’s it. You’re stuck with him.”
“Fuck off,” Bones mutters, but there’s no heat in it.
“I’m just saying.” Cash steals another one of Mercy’s fries, dodging her slap. “He pulled my ass off the streets when I had nothing. Didn’t even know me. Just saw some strung-out kid, half-dead behind a dumpster and decided I was worth saving.”
There’s something in the way he says it—gratitude mixed with old pain—that makes me look at Bones. He’s gone very still beside me, jaw tight.
“You never told me why, you know,” Cash continues, softer now. “You said I reminded you of someone. Never said who.”
The silence stretches for a beat too long.
“My brother,” Bones finally says, voice rough. “You reminded me of my brother.”
I feel him tense under my hand. This is something he doesn’t talk about. Something he’s kept locked away.
“Didn’t know you had a brother,” Cash says carefully, and I realize I didn’t know either. I don’t think any of us knew.
“Don’t. Not anymore.” Bones’s hand tightens on my thigh. “He was just trying to survive—same as me. But he got mixed up with the wrong people. Paid the ultimate price.” He takes a breath. “They pulled his body out of the river on my twelfth birthday. He’d been missing three weeks by then, but I knew he was gone the first night he didn’t come home.” Bones lifts his eyes, fixes them on Cash. “You reminded me of him because you were stubborn. And mean as hell when you were cornered. But mostly because you didn’t ask for help even when you needed it more than your next breath.”
I see the scars on Bones’s knuckles, the way he keeps his fingers balled tight in his lap, and I understand all at once why he always showed up for me, even when I did everything I could to make him hate me.
Cash’s expression shifts—understanding, grief, gratitude all at once. “Shit, man. I didn’t know.”
“Not something I talk about.” Bones shrugs, but I can feel the tension radiating off him. “But you’re here. You made it. That’s what matters.”
The table goes quiet for a moment, everyone processing what Bones just shared. I squeeze his hand under the table, and he squeezes back—a silent acknowledgment that I see him, that I understand.
