by Emilia Finn
He lets out a gentle snort and picks up his chocolate. “Doesn’t make any of it a lie. The fort is real. The story was real. And together, those broke kids – brother and sister, just like you and Will – fought their way out of poverty. Now they have families, they have love. My mom made some fantastic fuckin’ kids.”
“Humble.”
He snorts. “The road is always messy, and often littered with broken hearts and bones. But most folks get where they wanna go if they keep their eye on the prize.”
“Easy for you to say, rich boy. Your road is gold-plated. And your lack of college education is from choice, not circumstance.”
“And your habit of picking and choosing what details I give you is your choice. You hear that my family has money, but you don’t hear that they came from hunger. Both sides of my family – my mom, and my dad – come from near homelessness. They built what we have, and they built it in a small window of time.”
His eyes meet mine. “We’re not swimming in old family money, Cam. What we have is because of my mom and dad’s generation. Grandma and Grandpa were flat broke, but they made kids that would stop at nothing to be more comfortable.” He knocks my knee with his. “So either you can be a victim of your own circumstances, you can sit in the cold, and wallow about how unfair the world is. Or you can do something about it. You can get up and fight. You can demand more, you can go after it, make it happen.” Shrugging, he pushes to his feet with a grunt and stands over me. “Or you can sit here and become a popsicle.”
“You’re the worst at pep talks, you know that?” I reach a hand out, and smile when he takes it and yanks me to my feet.
He makes no noise as he lifts me up, no exertion under my weight. But then he pulls me in so hard that our chests slam together, and his hand comes to my hip. Standing under the eaves of the Ellie Solomon Dance Academy, he hugs me close and steps so that his legs twine with mine.
“Jamie…”
“Dance with me?” His eyes twinkle with playfulness. Kindness. Perhaps… love. He pulls me in close, wraps his arms around my shoulders, and buries his face in my hair. Then he takes a step and begins our swaying. “From this moment on, you can say you danced here,” he murmurs. “Maybe Soph is at the gym, and maybe there’s no music. But nobody can take this away from you. For the rest of your life, this dream came true. It cost you nothing, and it can never be undone.”
I hate that, instead of pulling away, I lean into him. I press my face to his chest, and wrap my arms around his hips. And because he’s strong, and sure, and convincing enough that even a bitter bitch like me enjoys the way her heart swells, I sway with him, I turn my face to the side, and I watch the snow sparkle on the ground as the sun fights to break through the clouds.
“Bom, bom, bom,” he rumbles softly in my ear. “Bom, bommmm, bom.”
“Shitty singer,” I giggle. “You’re so bad at it, I don’t even know what you’re trying to sing.”
“I’m making up a song for us,” he whispers. “Just for us. No one else can take it, no one else can dance to it. Because it’s the sound of our hearts.”
He pushes me out, slowly, gently, and spins me so that I lift to my toes and avoid the takeout by our feet. When he pulls me back in, I drop to flat feet and snuggle against him.
“You’re so beautiful,” he sighs.
“You did that on purpose.”
“Got you on your toes?” he asks. “Yup. I wanted to see firsthand.”
“Impressed?”
“Always.”
He holds me close, envelopes me in the warmth of his chest and hoodie, breathes warm air against my neck, and continues to hum.
“I think it’s nice that you’re this free with your love,” I whisper. He makes no noise, no response, but I know he’s listening. “I think it’s sweet that you’re not bitter or exhausted to the world. Not everyone gets to be that free.”
“My mom was pregnant with me when she and my aunt were trapped in a car, sitting on the train tracks, while a freight train was barreling straight toward them.”
“What?” I try to pull away to catch his eye, but he only holds me tighter.
“The train clipped the car, sent it flipping a few times, but everyone was okay. My cousin Evie was in the car. My sister. My aunt and mom. And I was just a tiny grain of rice inside her belly.”
“That must have been terrifying.”
He shrugs and grows a little bolder with his dance steps. We’re still only swaying, but the steps are a little bigger. “When I was a toddler, my uncle and his girlfriend were in a car accident.”
“There seems to be a trend here.”
“She died.”
I pull back with a gasp. But again, he pulls me in.
“When I was a little older, my uncle – the cop – was shot and almost killed. Soon after that, Mac fell off a gantry crane and smashed his head open. We lose fights, we lose friends. We lose money and status, and there was the time Aunt Tink ate my Easter eggs, even though I was saving them. I told her I was saving them, but she didn’t care.”
I choke out a watery laugh and step in closer so Jamie and I touch from thighs to head. “That must’ve been so traumatizing for you.”
“Bad shit happens to everyone, Cam. Rich or poor, single parents, two parents, no parents. Fancy school, or no school at all. The kids who get brand new shoes every year, and the kids who steal shoes from the bags left outside Goodwill. Sometimes,” he breathes, “shit just happens, but then you’re faced with a decision. Focus on the bad, and get bitter. Or focus on the good, and go in search of more of that.”
“But not every situation has good, Jamie. Not every situation has a silver lining.”
“Sure it does,” he murmurs. “It’s there every single time, if you look hard enough. My mom and aunt were in that accident, and that sucked, but afterward, my uncle got to beat the shit out of my aunt’s ex, and soon after that, they got married and were free. Uncle Jack’s girlfriend died on the freeway just outside town, and that was horrible, but now he’s married to my Aunt Britt. She saved him. She was his silver lining.”
“Where was the girlfriend’s silver lining?” I pull back and meet his eyes. “You’re looking at this from your family’s point of view. But what of the girlfriend?”
“She had a good life. She was with a good man for years. She was laid to rest while she was young, beautiful, and in love. That sounds tragic, and all. And it was. I’m not trying to minimize her life or say she was disposable. But, if she had to go, at least it was fast, and right up until that last moment, she was loved and in love.”
“I don’t understand your point,” I croak out. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you’re bitter. You’re hungry for more; more money, more greatness, more food. And I get it. I get that yearning for more can become all-consuming. Obsessive. But if you focus on what you don’t have, you forget what you do.”
“What do I have?” I demand. “Fast hands and an angelic smile, so no one suspects it was me that lifted their wallet?”
“You have a home. You have the internet so you can get your hit of dance class, even if it’s not how most others take classes. You now have friends at a fight circuit, friends who would help you out if only you’d ask.”
“I don’t want—”
“And you have Will. I don’t care how shitty a situation is, how rough it feels, how hungry you are. I don’t care how grumpy you are, or how unfairly done-by you feel. With all due respect, Cam, you have no right to feel bitter about any damn thing, because you have Will, and he would die to make you happy.”
“Yeah,” I rasp out. “He would.” I step back in and press my cheek to Jamie’s chest so we don’t have to meet eye to eye. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
Jamie
Well, That’s Ironic
Cam and I finish our sort-of date, we dance in the cold, we hug to stay warm, and then we walk back across town with two new coffees and our hands twined tight beca
use we’re not ready to let go yet.
I’m not a stupid man. I’m not naïve, despite the upbringing Cam thinks I had. I know a guy can’t pick a girl out of a crowd and declare lifelong love that lasts without the work that goes into the foundations first.
And just because I like her, just because I think she’s beautiful and special and destined to be mine, doesn’t mean I’m going to skip the first steps. The getting-to-know-you. The ‘my wallet is missing, and now I need to get it back from the cute thief.’ So we make our way across town, and when I ask her about her life, she finally answers with something, well, not bitter-free, but with a little less venom.
“Our parents really are junkies,” she explains. “That wasn’t a lie. I actually have no clue how they’re still alive.” She stops for a moment, laughs, and shakes her head. “Literally. Will and I keep an eye on them. They’re always thin and sickly, and they were in and out of clinics for my first few years, which attracted attention from CPS. That meant Will was always running around, making sure everything was clean and safe. Eventually, he and I got out—”
“You ran?”
She shrugs. “Something like that. I doubt the Rodneys even think about us anymore, and as far as we know, no one came looking for us. The next few years of our lives were a little rough. We were soooo broke,” she snorts. “Will got a job, then a second, a third, just to make ends meet. When I was ten, he took me to the ballet, when I was twelve, I changed schools for the hundredth time. When I was fifteen,” her voice cracks on that number, “um, I started working at the grocery store I’m at now. Will didn’t want me to work, but desperate times, ya know?”
“He’s a good brother.”
Warmth actually fills her cheeks and makes her step in to cuddle my arm. “He’s the best. He’s my silver lining. And I guess it took until you pointed it out for me to notice.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
She shrugs. “Can’t promise I’m gonna answer it.”
I hold her closer when a nasty breeze picks up and whips our hair back. “Does your brother take steroids? Because he’s huge, and he has those rage issues whenever a dude looks at you.”
I was joking, but she still answers on a laugh.
“Do we look like a couple kids who can afford steroids? Are you crazy?”
“So his rage is organic?”
“He’s protective,” she snickers. “Because he doesn’t have the luxury of letting go. In our world, there are junkies, or there are the folks that got out. There are the good girls who do something with their lives, or there are the teen moms. There’s no middle ground for us. And our situation is a little more unique. Will is doing his damned best to make sure I get out.”
“My mom was a teen mom.” I smile when her eyes flick up to me. “She was nineteen when she fell pregnant with Bean. Twenty when Bean arrived, but still. She was young. She still managed to do something good with her life afterward. It’s not the end of the road, ya know?”
“Are you seriously telling me I should go out and have fun, because even if I get pregnant, everything will work out in the end?”
White fog bursts out ahead of me as I laugh. “No. Please don’t do that. I just meant…” I kick a rock ahead of us as we walk. “I’m just saying, roadblocks happen, and circumstances change, but it doesn’t have to be all or none. Junkies can get clean, and teen moms can juggle a lot of things to make something good happen for themselves. I’ve seen firsthand what hard work can achieve. What desperate parents will do to make their children safe. And, well, you’re not Will’s child, but he’s your parent.”
I release her hand, but throw my arm around her hip as we walk, and because I know she’s playing with me, I pluck my wallet from her pocket and slide it back into mine. “You need to stop stealing. You’re gonna get caught someday, and Will won’t have the money for bail.”
“Like hell,” she scoffs. “Stealing helps us make rent. And I don’t get caught, because I’m too fast.”
“I’ve caught you three times today,” I laugh. “You’re not as sneaky as you think.”
“Oh please. I took a watch straight from the cop’s wrist. You try that, then tell me how it works out for you.”
“Do they allow conjugal when you’re locked up in a regular jail cell? Prior to sentencing and all that. Because I know I’m gonna miss you after only an hour.”
“I have no clue,” she smarts. “Because I’ve never been caught.”
She slides out from beneath my arm as we approach the gym. My side turns arctic as soon as she’s gone. My ribs, lonely without her shoulder digging into them. But then she twines our fingers together and stands close enough that our hands are hidden between us.
“To you, stealing is bad. It’s like, a really big sin,” she explains. “But there are some folks on this planet who literally have no choice. Either I take something that doesn’t belong to me and sell it, or I go hungry or without heat. Will already does so much for us. Me swiping a wallet here and there is the least I can do. And I only steal from rich folks.”
“Stealing from the rich makes it better?”
She glances up as we step onto the sidewalk surrounding the gym. “Rich people can afford to take a minute to cancel cards and order new ID. To steal from a poor person is to steal their last meal. But to a rich person, it’s merely an inconvenience. I’m not sorry to inconvenience those people. They’ll get over it.”
“Be careful who you pick for your next mark. Not all rich folks are spoiled and clueless. Those who I know were street kids too. And if you pluck a wallet from their back pocket…”
We slow our steps at the ruckus coming from inside the gym. It’s always noisy, always busy, even more so since it’s weigh-in day. But the buzzing coming from inside is next level.
From relaxed and in love, to worried and on guard within a beat, I tighten my hand around Cam’s and drag her through the crowded doorway, only to stop in reception to find my dad and uncle grappling on the floor.
“What the fuck?”
“Jamie?”
“Hold on,” I tell Cam. “Just wait a…” I spot Will across the room. He’s pissed, incensed, but when our eyes meet and his flicker to Cam, he relaxes just a little.
I slingshot her through the crowd, toss her to her brother for safekeeping, then I turn to my family and stare in stunned silence as Uncle Jon straddles Dad’s hips, and draws his arm back to slam it over his jaw.
“You don’t get to speak to her that way!” Jon roars. “You don’t get to do that!”
“Jon!” Aunt Tink shouts. “You need to stop!”
“I need to find my daughter.” Mom spares barely a glance for her husband and her brother, waves them off, since brawling in the yard is a common occurrence in our family, then she passes me by.
I’m torn between breaking up a fight between two heavy fighters who’ve done this a million times over the years, and following my mom. But when Cam races back across the room with Will close behind, I make my choice and follow them outside.
“Bean? Baby?” Mom walks laps in the parking lot and presses her phone to her ear. She wears yoga pants and a hoodie the same as mine, but she huddles in on herself to combat the cold. “Baby? You need to call me back. He didn’t mean it.”
“Mom?” I race across the parking lot and intercept her when she tries to continue her laps.
She hangs up, redials, and continues.
“Mom? What the fuck is going on?”
“It’s Bean.” She brings a shaking hand up to brush her hair back. “Bean, sweetheart?” she talks into the phone. “We love you. I know that was bad, it was brutal, and I’m so sorry. But you need to call me back.”
“Mom! What happened?”
“Kyle Baker happened,” she snarls. “He’s like a fucking cockroach.” She stabs her thumb to her phone, hangs up, and redials. “I swear, I want to crush that prick like a bug.”
“What did he do, Mrs. Kincaid?” Will steps forward, pulling Cam along to ke
ep her close. “Mrs. Kincaid? Please tell me what he did.”
She looks up. Studies Cam, then Will. Then her eyes flick to me with confusion. “What?”
“Mom? What did Baker do to Bean?”
“He said she’s a dancer…” she trails off. “He said… he had photos.”
“Photos of what?” I ask impatiently. “Harden the fuck up, Mom, and speak in full sentences.”
Like my harsh words snap her from her shock, Mom tugs the phone from her ear and finally meets my eyes. Hers are full of unshed tears. Wet lashes. Watery brown eyes. “Your sister was dancing at Rhinos club,” she chokes out. “Like, on stage dancing.”
“No…”
She swallows and nods. “There are pictures, Jamie. Your sister was on a damn pole at Rhinos. Fuckface inside has pictures to prove it, and now your father broke Bean’s heart.”
“Oh god.” My stomach drops with a heady whoosh. “Daddy—”
“He broke her heart!” Mom’s voice cracks. “Kyle showed everyone the pictures, your dad lost his mind, then Bean ran away. Oh, and Daddy hit Mac and nearly knocked him out.”
“What!” I spin back to study the gym. The parking lot. “Where are they now? The car ain’t here.”
Mom shrugs and redials. “I don’t know. Bean ran. Like, she…” She waves her hand toward the street. “She literally went for a run with the dog. A minute later, Mac took off. Then Ben and Evie left.”
“Why did Daddy hit Mac?”
“Because he knew she was dancing.” Mom brings her phone back up to dial. “He said he kept watch to make sure she was safe.”
“He watched her dance on a stage?” I growl. My eyes snap to Will’s. Brother to brother, protector to protector. “He fucking watched her?”
“He said he was keeping her safe,” Mom says. “She said she didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Girls are allowed to dance, Mrs. Kincaid.” Cam takes a stumbling step forward and faces my mother. “Stripping or not, dancing on laps, or dancing on a stage, girls are allowed to do whatever they want.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Mom shouts. “You think I think my daughter is stupid?”