Something shifted in my chest then, subtle but permanent. I didn’t owe them a performance. I didn’t owe him reassurance or softened edges.
“I’m doing well,” I said calmly. “My orders are up. I’m working with a professional team. I’m building something that matters to me, and I’m proud of it. What a shame, that my parents, the people who created me, can’t celebrate that.”
My dad studied me, really looked at me, and for the first time I didn’t rush to fill the silence. I didn’t explain further or ask for approval. If he was uncomfortable, that was his burden to carry. I hated so much that our relationship would never go back to what it was, pre-stroke. He and I used to be close, and now we were…this.
Miles used a blue and orange crayon to draw hearts on the placemat, his brow furrowed in concentration. I was glad that he didn’t hear this.
My mom reached for her cup, her hand steady despite everything she’d lost and regained. “We want you to be safe,” she said, her voice sincere.
“I am,” I replied. And for once, I meant it without hesitation or qualification.
We didn’t stay long after that. The conversation never fully recovered its easy rhythm, but I didn’t try to fix it. Outside, my dad hugged me longer than usual, his grip tighter, like he was trying to communicate something.
“Think about what I said,” he murmured. “You’re off our insurance next year, and you need a real job to take care of yourself. I can’t… I can’t keep being your lifeline, Em. I hope you see that.”
I didn’t respond. I gave my mom a huge hug and left them on the sidewalk, grabbing Miles’s hand.
On the walk home, Miles swung my hand back and forth, humming to himself like the world hadn’t shifted for me. “Your dad was kind of grumpy,” he observed, entirely unbothered.
I laughed softly. “That’s one word for it.”
He thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Uncle Noah says sometimes grown-ups get scared and say mean things.”
I stopped walking and crouched so we were eye to eye. “He’s very smart,” I said, meaning it. Noah always could summarize complicated things down to their bone. They could be a huge assignment or a life lesson, but Noah was the best at getting down to the point.
Miles nodded, satisfied. “Yeah, my mom always said I reminded her of him. That made me feel proud.”
“You have so many things to be proud of, kiddo. And I hope you know that people are always going to have thoughts on whatyou do, but as long as you’re proud of yourself, that’s all that matters.”
Speak for yourself.
Miles nodded and tugged my hand. “You’re super smart too, Em. I wanna be like you someday too.”
My heart clenched, and I held my head a little higher. If this kid thought of me this way, then maybe I was doing something right.
24
NOAH
Iwoke up before my alarm, staring at the ceiling of a hotel room that smelled like detergent and stale coffee. My body felt ready in the way it always did on game days—legs loose, shoulders heavy, hands already twitching like they wanted something solid to hit. My mind, on the other hand, had been awake for hours.
I rolled onto my side and checked my phone, already bracing myself for what I might see. A text from Em was sent early, a picture attached before I even opened it. Miles sat at the table in his Rampage shirt, cereal smeared across his cheek, Sassy’s head resting on his foot like she’d decided that was her spot forever.
Em: Miss you already! Kick ass today, Noah!
Noah: You watching the game?
Em: Of course. Would never miss it.
Another photo came in, and it was Em. Her eyes were closed, her glasses on. She made her lips pucker into a kiss as she pointed at her shirt. It was new. Rampage-style, bejeweled, andshit.It was my number. She wore my jersey.
Something warm and aggressive flooded my veins. Another fantasy was her in my clothes. Just my jersey.
Noah: Oh my GOD.
Em: You like?
Noah: If we win today… can I see you in just that? PLEASE.
