Another text from my dad.
Dad: We can’t keep this quiet forever. If you won’t listen, we’ll find someone who will.
My stomach dropped. He threatened serving me quite a bit but wasn’t acting on it yet. He would soon.
That wasn’t subtle. That wasn’t concern. That was a goddamn threat.
I locked my phone and shoved it into my pocket before I could spiral. Not now. Not today. Not when I’d finally chosen something for myself instead of reacting to everyone else.
By the time I hit the parking garage, my body was tense and sore and my mind was already home.
The engine hummed under my hands as I pulled out into traffic, Lake Shore Drive crawling slow enough to give me space to think. I didn’t reach for my phone. I’d already said enough today. Tonight wasn’t about explaining or justifying. It was about showing up.
I pictured Em at the apartment—probably cross-legged at the table, hair falling into her face, trying to focus on work while pretending she wasn’t waiting. I imagined Miles mid-sentence, Sassy underfoot, the quiet domestic chaos that somehow felt more real than anything else in my life right now.
My chest tightened, nerves and relief tangling together. I’d ordered a ridiculously large puzzle with dogs dressed up in suits, one we saw years ago, and she’d laughed hard. I also picked out our favorite Thai food we ate in college all the time. Em loved puzzles, the simplicity and calm of them. I wanted nothing more than to do one with her and talk.
The condo lights were on when I pulled into the parking garage. My chest tightened as soon as I cut the engine, nerves finally catching up now that there was nothing left to distract me. Pads off, helmet stowed, game face gone—this was the part where I didn’t have to hide behind anything.
I grabbed the takeout bags, the puzzle box tucked under myarm, and I took a second before heading upstairs. Just one breath. In through my nose, out through my mouth, the way Sloane had taught me when everything felt like it was piling up. This wasn’t a fourth-quarter drive or a blitz pickup. This was Em. This was home. That mattered more.
The door opened before I could knock.
“Uncle Noah!” Miles barreled into me at full speed, wrapping his arms around my legs with the kind of force only a kid his size could generate. I laughed despite myself, setting the food down in time to scoop him up. He smelled like soap and syrup and outside, his hair still damp at the nape of his neck.
“Hey, dragon rider,” I said, lifting him until his feet left the floor. “How was school?”
He launched into a story immediately—something about recess and a kid who definitely cheated at tag and how Ms. Em helped him remember most of his library books even though he forgot one. I listened, nodding and asking questions where it mattered, but my eyes had already found her.
Em sat at the table, laptop open but clearly abandoned, one leg tucked under the other. She wore soft black leggings and an oversized Central State sweatshirt, the old one with the faded logo she’d stolen from me years ago and had never given back. Her hair was pulled up in a messy knot, glasses sliding slightly down her nose, and when she looked up and smiled at me, my chest warmed.
There she is.
“Hi,” she said, standing slowly, her cheeks pinkening.
“Yeah,” I replied, my voice rougher than I meant it to be. “Sorry I’m late. I had something I had to pick up.” I held up the bag, and her eyes widened. “I once recall you exclaiming loudly that knowing your Thai food order was the way to your heart.”
She giggled, her body wiggling when she was excited. “Ohmy, I do briefly recall yelling about that one night. I might’ve had a few vodkas before that though.”
“Mm, I’d argue more than a few.” I winked and set the food on the counter but not before seeing her lips part. She never got to see me be charming, but I’d shock the hell out of her. I could be.
“Oh, a wink. Simmer down, Abbott.”
I glanced at her over my shoulder, my damn heart skipping a beat at the shock and joy on her face. I loved her smile, the real one. “Nah, I don’t think I will.”
Her answering grin grew, and she shook her head, chuckling at me. “I’ll help get the table set up.”
“Miles, dragon fighter, have we washed our hands yet?”
“No.”
“Well, are we gonna?” I asked, crouching and ruffling his hair. Now that I was closer to him, I got a better read on his face. And he was sad. “Buddy, what’s wrong?”
“I miss Mom.” He sniffed and stared at his hands. “We had the same hands. She told me.”
“Oh, Miles. I miss her too.” My throat tightened, the now-familiar ache growing at the back as Miles’s eyes welled with tears. “You have so much of your mom in you. You have her smile.” I ran a hand over his jaw, then over his head. “And your hair. You totally have your mom’s hair. Hers was so pretty.”
“At school, my best friend said it’s weird I don’t have a mom.”
