Chapter 27 Emma
EMMA
Three weeks after Carlos disappeared, I’m standing in front of twenty-three kids trying to explain the difference between a plié and a grand plié when my ankle decides to remind me it’s still healing.
“Miss Emma, are you OK?” One of the older girls is looking at me with concern.
I adjust my weight, leaning slightly on the barre.
“I’m fine. Just a reminder that even teachers need to listen to their bodies—even if they are fast healers.
” Before my surgery, I was petrified I’d have to give up everything related to ballet.
But one thing being in a boot has taught me is that I can achieve a heck of a lot on only one leg combined with a whole lot of stubbornness.
“Besides, dance is about learning to work with what you have, every single day,” I say, injecting some practiced optimism in my voice.
I wobbled through a year of ballet with a stress fracture at seventeen, finished a Nutcracker run with a torn hip flexor at nineteen.
Standing here with a brace on my ankle is minor by comparison—I don’t know why I was so worried.
“Now, everyone in first position . . .”
The kids move through the exercise and I watch, correcting form, offering encouragement. It’s been three weeks since I ditched the crutches for a walking boot. Three weeks since Bones came home smelling like gunpowder. Three weeks since a man died because he touched what wasn’t his.
I don’t ask questions. That’s what Ginger taught me—hold the light, don’t look into the dark. But sometimes I still touch the tracker in my shoulder, just to feel it there. Just to remind myself that I can always be found.
Is that comfort or paranoia? Maybe both. Maybe that’s just what loving an outlaw looks like.
Anxieties aside, my ankle is healing better than expected. I can stand for longer periods now, though my physical therapist—who doesn’t take any of my shit—says I’m pushing it. But I need this. Need to be here, teaching, being useful. Being part of something.
The community center is packed these days. We got a bunch of new enrollments after the kids’ performance at the town hall. I get asked daily by parents if Duck is planning to run for mayor, and I keep on telling them I don’t know. Although I think the idea of it is growing on him.
“Beautiful. Remember to keep your core engaged.” I demonstrate, weight on my good leg, and the students mirror the movement. “Wonderful.”
The lesson concludes with an exaggerated curtsy, and the kids’ laughter sinks into silence as the door closes behind the last picked up tiny dancer.
I limp to the edge of the studio and collapse into a chair.
My cell buzzes with a text from Kya just as I’m bending over to peel the brace off my ankle and my foot back into the moon boot.
The moment I’m done, I swipe open my phone and read Kya’s message:
Kya:
Everyone’s meeting at Devil’s before the hearing. 6pm. Don’t be late or Lee will eat your fries.
I smile and text back:
Me:
Be there. Save me a seat.
Bones still insists on picking me up after class, so while I wait, I use the time to clean up the studio, putting away props and making sure everything’s ready for tomorrow.
We’re back living in the apartment above the laundromat—our apartment now that I’ve gone decorating mad.
And by the time I hear the rumble of an engine outside, I’ve got my bag packed and I’m sitting by the door with my foot elevated on a chair.
The door opens and Bones walks in wearing work boots, jeans covered in sawdust, and a faded t-shirt with the Bennett Construction logo—a job he didn’t want to give up even though he got his Intelligence Officer position back.
His hair is messy, there’s a smudge of dirt or grease on his jaw, and he looks tired.
He also looks good enough to eat.
“Hey, swan.” He crosses the room and leans down to kiss me. “Ready?”
I nod, and he scoops up my bag then helps me up with his free hand, ever the dirty gentleman.
“Did you get the text about dinner?” I ask as we head outside.
“The one about everyone gathering at Devil’s.”
“That’s the one.”
“No,” he teases. “I didn’t get that at all.”
His truck is parked right outside, and he helps me up into the passenger seat before going around to the driver’s side.
He starts the engine and I lean back comfortably as he steers in the direction of our apartment.
“I cannot wait to get home and shower,” he says, pulling at the neck of his shirt.
“Reckon I’ve got sawdust in places a man doesn’t want sawdust.”
“Sexy.” I laugh. “In that case, you take the first shower and I’ll take a quick one in whatever time is left.”
Bones smirks. “Or we could share.” His eyes catch the pink glow of sunset through the windshield and for a moment, he looks so stupidly beautiful I half want to punch him for it.
“If we share, we’ll end up missing dinner altogether, and then Lee will eat all my fries,” I say, propped facing the window and watching Stoneheart’s battered old downtown glide past.
“That’s a real risk,” he agrees. “Fries are delicious.”
“Yes, they are. And I don’t think I need to point out how limited a ballerina’s diet can get at times. I need all the calories I can get. I’m finally starting to plump out, you know.”
“Hmm. I’ve noticed. Fucking love those extra curves, swan. But you need a shower.”
“But I also need fries. More fried equals more curves.”
“You’re driving a hard bargain.” He sighs, a long-suffering noise that means he’s already planning to wash my hair for me, then lick water off my spine until I run out of objections.
“But you will be taking a shower with me,” he commands, but his grin is fond.
We drive home, windows down, my left leg propped on the dash, the town rolling past smelling of wet pavement, cut grass, and the sharp bitterness of exhaust. I never thought I’d love these smells—never thought I’d come back to Stoneheart and be anything but restless for the city—but today, they make my heart slow down, almost to resting.
Showering together is as good as advertised, and somehow we still manage to show up at Devil’s on time.
Kya waves from a large table in the back where she’s sitting with Lee, Andi, and Hawk.
Poppy and Axel are at the bar with Tank and Ginger.
Steel is shooting pool with Mouse in the corner.
And at the head of the largest table, Stone sits with Duck and Maggie on one side and Josie on the other, the four of them deep in conversation over what looks like legal documents.
“There they are!” Lee calls out. “Told you they’d be late.”
“We’re not late,” I protest, hobbling over with Bones’s hand at my back. “We’re exactly on time.”
“You’re fifteen minutes late and your hair’s still damp.” Kya smirks. “Wonder what could’ve delayed you.”
My face heats. “Wouldn’t you like to know . . .”
“Ooh, she’s blushing. Definitely got delayed by something fun.”
Bones just grins and pulls out a chair for me. “Play nice, Kya.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
I settle into the seat and immediately Poppy appears with a basket of fries and a Coke, Rose balanced expertly on her hip. “Thought you might need these. How’s the ankle?”
“Surviving.” I steal a fry, then make a face at Rose, who giggles. “How’s this little cutie?”
“Teething. And determined to grab everything she shouldn’t.” Poppy shifts Rose to her other hip. “But she’s perfect anyway.”
The conversation flows easily—talk of work, of the kids at the community center, of the hearing tonight. There’s an undercurrent of nervous energy, but it’s tempered by the solidarity of being together.
I watch as Josie explains something to Dad, her finger tapping a document, and he leans in to read it.
Their heads are close together, his shoulder brushing hers, and I wonder, not for the first time recently, what it is that’s holding my dad back.
It’s obvious they’re into each other. It’s mutual.
But I guess even grownups have to find their way to happy endings at their own speed.
Bones and Lee start debating the merits of different axle ratios for towing, as if this is a topic with endless room for innovation. Andi laughs at something Kya says, and she throws her head back, that wild blonde hair bouncing. For a second, I just watch them—the patchwork family we’ve become.
I’ve spent the majority of my life chasing standing ovations from strangers. Turns out the applause I needed was always here, in a bar booth with mismatched chairs and people who’d burn down the world to keep each other safe.
After fries and beer and two whole cokes, the buzzing energy in the bar starts to shift. People are glancing at the clock, getting quieter. The hearing isn’t until eight, but Stone wants to get there early and scope out the crowd. So we’re making plans to leave.
Then Duck stands, tapping his glass with a fork until everyone quiets down.
“I want to say something before we head over to the hearing,” he begins, looking uncomfortable being the center of attention. “These past few weeks, people keep asking me to run for mayor. And I keep saying no, that I’m too old, that I’m just a mechanic, that someone else should do it.”
“But you’re considering it now?” someone calls out.
Duck nods slowly. “Yeah. I’m considering it. Because I’ve been thinking about what the MC stands for—about how we protect what’s ours. And Stoneheart is ours. All of ours. Not just the club, but everyone in this room, everyone at that hearing tonight, everyone who’s lived here and loved this town.”
He looks around the room, meeting eyes. “So yeah. If y’all really want an old mechanic running things, I’ll do it. I’ll run for mayor. And I’ll do my damnedest to make sure this town stays ours.”
The room erupts in cheers and applause. People are on their feet, clapping Duck on the back, telling him he’s got their vote.
Stone raises his glass. “To Duck. Stoneheart’s next mayor.”