13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Cat

The rhythmic thuds of fists meeting punching bags and the clang of weights dropping echo around Blitz. Nora's voice rises above the cacophony, her encouragement piercing through the pulsing music that makes my teeth rattle.

“Come on, Stella! You've got this!”

I lean against the wall, my muscles still burning from the workout, sweat trickling down my back. My shirt clings to me like a second skin, and I'm pretty sure I smell like a locker room that's been marinating in the sun for a week. But none of that matters as I watch Stella execute a perfect burpee.

Her face is flushed, strands of brown hair escaping her ponytail and sticking to her forehead. But her eyes . . . God, her eyes sparkle with a determination. As she pops up from the floor, a grin spreads across her face, bright enough to light up the entire gym. It's like watching a flower bloom in fast-forward.

When Nora offered us a chance to train, I hesitated. The thought of subjecting myself to voluntary torture wasn't exactly appealing. But before I could even finish asking Stella if she wanted to come, she had launched herself at me, arms wrapping around my waist in a fierce hug.

Leo's at practice today, but I'm sure he won't mind—as long as we make it to dance class tonight. At least, that's what I keep telling myself as I watch Stella power through another set of exercises. The mantra “Leo won't kill me, Leo won't kill me” plays on repeat in my head.

Nora high-fives Stella, passing her a water bottle. “Great job, kiddo! Did you have fun?”

Stella bounces on her toes, her energy seemingly inexhaustible. If someone told me she was secretly powered by nuclear fusion, I wouldn't be surprised. “So much fun! Can we do it again tomorrow?”

I chuckle, shaking my head in amazement. After an hour of CrossFit that’s left me feeling like a wrung-out dishrag, this kid is still raring to go. Then again, Stella's always been intense—it's part of her charm. And maybe a little bit terrifying.

“Easy there, Energizer Bunny,” I say, ruffling her hair. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We've still got dance class today, remember?”

Stella's face falls for a split second before she plasters on a smile. “Right. Dance. Yay.”

I raise an eyebrow at her sudden lack of enthusiasm but decide not to push it. We've got bigger fish to fry, like getting to dance class on time without smelling like we just ran a marathon through a dumpster. I'm pretty sure the parents would have a collective aneurysm if we showed up like this.

As we head out, I can't help but compare Stella's beaming face now to the blank expression I usually see at her dance recitals. No wonder. Those leotards look about as comfortable as a full-body wedgie. I shudder at the memory of my own brief stint in ballet. Never again. I'd rather wrestle an alligator while covered in BBQ sauce.

After quickly washing up in the locker room, we make our way to my Audi and climb in. Luckily, there’s not much traffic, so I make an executive decision and pull into the drive-thru of Stella's favorite fast food joint. “This is our little secret, okay? If your dad asks, we had, I don't know, kale smoothies or something equally disgusting.”

Stella giggles, her eyes lighting up as she scans the menu like it's a treasure map. “Can I get a Powerade slushy and pickled fries?”

I hesitate for a moment. Leo’s all about his kids eating healthy. Even during the time I’ve been there he’s never ordered fast food. And the only reason I know she likes this place is because Nora took her here once. “Yeah. You earned it. Just don't tell your dad I'm corrupting you with junk food, deal?”

“Deal!”

We barely make it to dance class on time, Stella still slurping on her drink as we rush in. I settle into a hard plastic chair along the wall, offering polite smiles to the other parents but avoiding small talk. Some of them mime the dance moves from their seats, nodding approvingly when their child nails a step. It's all I can do not to roll my eyes. Seriously, who are they performing for?

On the wooden floor, Stella's movements are precise but robotic. The joy that radiated from her at CrossFit is nowhere to be seen, replaced by a mechanical efficiency that's almost painful to watch. There’s also the way her eyes keep darting to the clock on the wall as if willing it to move faster.

When she trudges over after class, slumping down beside me like a deflated balloon, I know something's wrong. The vibrant, energetic girl from this morning has been replaced by a wilted version of herself.

I pull out the remaining pickled fries from my bag, offering it to her. “You're doing great out there, kiddo. Want a snack?”

Stella takes one, but doesn’t eat it. Instead, she twirls it around in her hand, her feet dangling off the chair, swinging back and forth in a restless rhythm.

“Hey.” I nudge her gently, keeping my voice low so the other parents can't eavesdrop. They’re so damn nosy. “Everything okay?”

She shrugs, not meeting my eyes. “Yeah.”

“You sure about that? Because you look about as excited as I do when I have to do my taxes.”

That gets a tiny smile out of her, but it fades quickly. Stella's lower lip trembles slightly, and my heart clenches. “No,” she admits softly.

I scan the room, wondering if I missed some playground drama or a stern word from the teacher. Finding no clues, I turn back to Stella, who's now peeling the fried batter off the pickle.

“I know Dad loves that I dance,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I think I like CrossFit more.”

Oh, shit.

Not what I was expecting to hear, but also quite common. I’ve had quite a few conversations with my students over the years about their feelings and parental expectations. Sometimes it was easy to handle, other times I had to get guidance involved.

I place my hand on top of hers and squeeze lightly. “Hey, that's okay. You don't have to feel bad about that. Lots of people try different activities before they find what they really love.”

“I don't want to hurt his feelings. He looked so happy at the recital.” Stella's shoulders hunch, a gesture so reminiscent of Leo that it takes my breath away. It's like looking at a miniature, female version of him, all brooding and stoic. If she starts grunting monosyllabic responses, I'm calling for backup.

“Dad isn't home a lot, so I like to see him happy.” The raw honesty in her voice threatens to shatter me. Christ, when did this kid get so perceptive? And how the hell am I supposed to handle this?

It’s one thing when it’s my students. I make a phone call or have a conference. There’s distance between them and me, especially if they don’t take kindly to learning their child is unhappy about something they are doing.

But when it comes to Stella and Leo . . ..

I kneel in front of her, ignoring the disapproving glances from other parents as I tie her shoe. Screw them and their judgy looks. “Listen, Stella. Your dad loves you no matter what. Whether you're dancing, doing CrossFit, or deciding to become a competitive eater. His happiness doesn't depend on you doing any specific activity.”

Stella looks up at me, her hazel eyes wide and uncertain. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” I say, with more confidence than I feel. Fake it till you make it, right? “Tell you what. Let's get you home and get some dinner. Maybe even ice cream. How does that sound? And then we can talk to your dad together. I bet he'd love a CrossFit meet just as much as a recital.”

Stella nods, a small smile tugging at her lips as I help her into her jacket. Her tiny hand slips into mine as we head to the car, and I'm struck by how natural it feels. Sure, I’m a teacher and work with kids every day. But this . . . this feels different.

The only other kid I’ve felt like this for is Jake. And he’s like my nephew. Family.

As I adjust the rearview mirror, Stella's quiet voice fills the car. “Do you think he loves Mason more?”

The question hits me like a sucker punch, knocking the air out of my lungs. In the mirror, I see Stella's face, her brow furrowed as she fights to keep her composure. It takes everything in me not to pull over and wrap her in a hug. Instead, I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white.

“Why do you think that?” I ask, my own childhood memories threatening to surface. Memories of feeling invisible, of wondering why I wasn't enough. I push them down, focusing on Stella.

“He finds time to coach the Rockets for Mason.” The hurt in her voice is palpable, and it makes me want to shake Leo until he realizes what he's doing to his daughter.

I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. “He loves you, Stella. Just as much as he loves Mason. Sometimes parents . . . they don't always show it in the best way. But that doesn't mean the love isn't there.”

“How do you know that?” The doubt in her voice breaks my heart. No kid should have to question whether their parent loves them.

“Because I had parents very much like your dad,” I say, the words coming out raw and honest. “And just because they were busy, that didn't mean they didn't love me or miss me very much. They worked hard because they thought that's what parents had to do to show their love.”

As I speak, a weight lifts from my chest. Just because they weren't there, didn't mean they didn't love me. It's a revelation I didn't know I needed until this moment. Funny how trying to help someone else can end up helping you too.

“Yeah, well. The way he shows it is dumb then.” Leave it to a kid to cut through all the bullshit and get straight to the point.

A laugh bubbles up from my chest, unexpected but cathartic. “You're not wrong. It is dumb. But adults can be pretty dumb sometimes, especially when it comes to important stuff like this.”

“So what do we do?” There's a steel in her tone that reminds me so much of Leo, it's uncanny.

“We'll tell your dad together, okay? If you don't want to dance, then no more dance. We'll figure out something else you enjoy. Maybe more CrossFit, or something completely different. The important thing is that you're happy.”

“Promise?” The hope in her voice is unmistakable.

“I promise.”