Chapter 14 Emma
EMMA
Three weeks in Stoneheart and I’m starting to remember why I loved this place before I learned to resent it.
Devil’s Bar at noon on a Thursday has a completely different energy than the weekend chaos.
The lunch crowd is mostly locals—construction workers, shop owners, a few club members who drift in and out throughout the day.
Kya’s behind the bar, and the kitchen smells amazing, which means Miguel is working his magic back there.
I’m tucked into a booth with my own construction worker on his break, Bones’s thigh pressing against mine under the table while he demolishes a burger. Across from us, Mercy and Cash are debating paint colors for their new house.
“I’m just saying, gray is safe,” Cash argues, stealing one of Mercy’s fries. “You can’t go wrong with gray.”
“Gray is boring,” Mercy counters, slapping his hand away. “We’re not living in a boring house just because you’re scared of color.”
“I’m not scared of color. I just don’t want to live in a house that looks like a highlighter threw up on it.”
“Forest green is not a highlighter color, you dramatic ass.”
I bite back a smile, taking a sip of my iced tea. It’s weirdly comforting, watching them bicker like an old married couple even though they’ve only been together for something like eight months. But from what I understand, they were quite close in the year before that.
“What do you think, Emma?” Mercy turns to me. “Forest green accent wall in the living room—too much?”
“I think it sounds beautiful,” I say honestly. “Bold choices make a house feel like a home.”
“See?” Mercy points triumphantly. “Emma gets it.”
“Emma’s also a dancer who wears pink tutus for a living,” Cash deadpans. “Her definition of ‘too much’ is probably different from normal people.”
“I resent that,” I say, but I’m laughing. “And for the record, I haven’t worn a tutu since Swan Lake three years ago. And it was white.”
“Still counts.”
Bones shifts a little closer to me—as if practically sitting on top of each other isn’t close enough—and when I glance at him, he’s got that soft look in his eyes, the one that says he’s happy just watching me exist. It still makes my stomach flip.
“Speaking of ballet,” Mercy says, putting her paint samples on the table. “What’s happening with that? Are you just on sabbatical for a while? Or are you planning on staying?”
“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 ballerina standards, 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.
Mercy clears her throat softly, giving us all permission to move on. “Well,” she says, “for what it’s worth, Bones, I’m forever grateful to you for saving this guy.”
Bones gives her a nod just as Kya appears at our table with a tray of drinks, immediately lightening the mood.
“Refills, courtesy of the lunch special promotion I just made up.” She sets down fresh glasses and slides into the booth next to Mercy, forcing her to scoot over.
“Also, I’m hiding from Lee. He’s trying to make me help him reorganize the storage room and I’m not emotionally prepared for that level of chaos. ”
“You own the bar,” Cash points out. “You’re supposed to deal with your storage.”
“I own the bar, which means I delegate. And I’m delegating storage to literally anyone else.” Kya steals one of my fries. “How’s the teaching gig going, Em?”
Good. We were actually just talking about how fun it was.” I lean back against Bones’s arm. “The kids at the community center are sweet. A little chaotic, but sweet.”
“Any of them have actual talent?”
“A few. There’s this one girl who’s nine and has incredible natural flexibility. If she sticks with it, she could be really good.”
“You gonna try to get her into one of those fancy academies?” Mercy asks.
The question makes my chest tighten slightly, but I push through it.
“Maybe. If that’s what she wants. But I’m also trying to teach them that dance doesn’t have to be about going professional. It can just be . . . something you love.”
The words come out before I realize what I’m saying. What I’m admitting.
I’m teaching them what no one ever taught me. That you don’t have to sacrifice everything—your body, your sanity, your relationships—to be worthy of doing what you love. That sometimes the cage you build to protect your dream becomes the thing that destroys it.
Bones’s hand brushes my shoulder lightly, a silent show of support. And I wonder if he knows. If he can see that I’m not just teaching those kids about dance.
I’m teaching myself how to let go.
“That’s actually really healthy,” Kya says, surprising me. “Most people just get obsessed with winning. Like, if you’re not the best, what’s the point?” She tips her glass at me. “But if you can make it fun for them just to show up, that’s winning in my opinion.”
“Speaking of winning,” Mercy says, leaning forward with a secret smile. “How are things with Stone? Lee was saying you two had dinner last week?”
I groan. “We did. It was . . . fine. Awkward, but fine.”
“Awkward how?” Cash asks.