42. Dante
Chapter 42
Dante
My phone buzzes in my suit pocket. Across the room, Reese is laughing with a woman at a table by the window. I’ve been stuck here with these executives for an hour now, listening to them brag about their golf scores while trying to get an in with the USFA committee. The head of Red Bull is warming up to me, and his influence could help expedite my suspension review. But all I want is to walk over to my girl, wrap my arms around her waist, and—
My phone won’t stop vibrating, the screen lighting up with an unknown number. Oakland area code. I reluctantly excuse myself.
Strange .
“Hello?” The word comes out like gravel.
“This call is coming from the Oakland Police Department Central Station on behalf of detainee Holly Hollywood. If you’d like to accept the charges, please press one.”
Holly Hollywood . Who the fuck is that?
My stomach drops, acid rising in my throat as I realize. I slam the one button.
“Dante?” Em’s familiar voice wavers, small and breakable.
“Em?” I retreat from the party’s glow into the shadows, phone pressed against my ear like a lifeline.
“I’m in jail.” Her fear mirrors my own at fourteen, when the cops arrested me for joyriding in my father’s Rolls-Royce.
“Why the fuck are you calling me from there? You’re not even eighteen!” The words crack like a whip. Christ, I sound like him.
“Wouldn’t give the cops my info. No ID.”
I dig my thumb and forefinger into my eye sockets, my jaw working. Of course she called me instead of her parents. Fucking hell. “Jesus Christ, Em.” I exhale. “I’m coming. Oakland Central, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Thirty minutes.”
“Okay,” she mumbles, fear bleeding through her tough-girl act.
“It’ll be fine.” I soften my tone, the same way I do when I’m walking her through a complex parry. The line clicks dead, and I pocket the phone, already mapping the quickest route.
“Didn’t realize you were into pearls and gold,” I say, my grip tightening on the wheel. “Not your style.”
“Fuck off,” Em snarls, shoulders hunched.
The engine’s low growl fills the space between us as we cut through Oakland’s empty streets. I catch my reflection in the rearview—fuck, I see myself at her age, same cornered-animal look after my own brush with handcuffs.
The chief’s words echo in my head. Caught shoplifting, jewelry stuffed in pockets.
Getting her out was easy enough once I dropped my father’s name—same playbook as back then. Money talks, strings get pulled. But watching her shrink under the harsh station lights had stirred something visceral in my chest. What stings more is that she didn’t come to me first. Didn’t trust me enough to ask for help before it got to this point.
“Ugh, can you get the lecture over with already? I don’t want to sit here in silence with you stewing.”
“No lectures,” I say, focusing on the road ahead. “But we’re dealing with this.”
“There’s nothing to deal with.”
“The theft ends tonight,” I say. “And from now on, you come to me. No more hiding shit until it blows up.”
Em shifts, staring out the window. “Whatever.”
“Not whatever,” I snap, then catch myself. I can’t go off on her; she’s a kid. A kid who’s hurting, and I know what that’s like.
I force my shoulders to drop and take one of Reese’s deep breaths. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Alright, fuck, this shit works pretty well.
“Look, I know you don’t want to hear it from me, but I know exactly how you feel, better than anyone. Wanting them to notice you. Trying anything, good or bad, just to make them pay attention. Feeling like you’re screaming but they can’t hear you. But stealing shit isn’t going to make them see you. It’s only going to make things worse. And lying to me isn’t going to help either.”
“Got a better idea?”
“Monday morning, we start over. Every day after school, you’re mine. At the gym. No bullshit, no arguments, no secrets. I’ll handle your parents.”
She crosses her arms tight. “Don’t need a savior.”
“Good. Because I’m your coach,” I say, catching her gaze in the mirror. “That’s it.”
These months with Reese have taught me something unexpected. There’s a different kind of power in watching someone else find their strength. Maybe that’s what Em needs, what I needed then. Purpose. Direction. Someone to be honest with.
“But I—”
“Listen to me, kid. This is not up for discussion,” I cut in. “I don’t care about your excuses. You’re wasting your talent, and I won’t stand for it.” She shrinks beside me, and I adjust my tone. “You’re not just decent at fencing. You could be fucking brilliant. Princeton brilliant, Olympic-level brilliant. But not if you’re stealing shit and keeping secrets.”
The words land between us with the weight of a blade striking true.
I’d kept these thoughts locked away, even from myself, in those dark hours when I pictured life beyond competing, beyond the metallic taste of victory.
But fuck it—the truth burns hot in my chest.
Em’s got the talent, and I’m not about to let her fire die. Not when I could be the one to forge it into something lethal.
“Olympics?” Her laugh is brittle. “You’re insane.”
“Every competition that comes up, you’re entering. Win, and there’s something in it for you.”
She rolls her eyes. “Like what?”
“Whatever the fuck you want, kid. You want jewelry? We’ll get fucking jewelry. Want Princeton letters? I’ll get my friends to write some for you too. Want new sneakers? Want to come to movie premieres? You got it. But you’re going to be fencing.”
She shifts. “Don’t you have more important shit to do? Your stupid movie? Getting unsuspended? Hollywood?”
“Yeah, I do.” I think of Reese’s smile across the gala, my chance to get the Red Bull exec to put in a good word for me with the USFA committee. “But this matters more right now. I’ll deal with your parents, and you’re going to join Lev’s academy full time, not as some fucking temporary youth program.”
“I can’t afford that.”
“I can. But from now on, Em, you have to be honest with me.”
The silence stretches taut between us, broken only by a muffled sniffle. Em’s shoulders shake, but she keeps her face turned toward the window. Without a word, I reach into my breast pocket and pull out my silk pocket square, holding it out to her without looking. She takes it, the fabric rustling softly.
“My parents…” she cries. “They fucked off to Reno for the weekend. Left me here on my own, and I don’t know. I couldn’t stand being on my own for another weekend in that stupid empty house, ordering pizza with the cash they left me.”
Something raw and familiar twists in my gut. “What about your sister?”
“They took her with them, of course.”
“And they’re coming back? Are you sure?”
“Yeah, they always do. They just never bring me with them. I wanted—I thought if I took something big, that if they got a call, they’d come back. It was dumb. But then they didn’t pick up, and, well, then I called you.”
My heart aches so badly because I did have parents to pick me up. I had parents that were so panicked about me.
Em doesn’t have that. But she will now.
“Then I’ll find somewhere safe and comfortable for you to stay. All my siblings are in town—we’re going to the family house for a few days. You can stay with us.”
“I don’t need your char—”
“Just say thank you, Em,” I say.
She swallows. “Thank you.”
My grip on the wheel loosens. I’m far from perfect, but I understand what it takes to claw your way out of the dark. I can’t rescue Em from herself, but I can be what I never had—someone who sees the fire in her and refuses to let it die. Maybe that’s why I had to walk through my own personal hell—to recognize that look in her eyes and know exactly how to break through those walls.
And watching Em be brave enough to trust me, to let me in despite everything—it rocks me.
Because I need to do the same with Reese.
I need to be honest with her, completely and totally honest.
Because in four months, Reese has become my everything. She’s the person I want to be there for in every possible way, whatever that means.