Page 65 of Major Penalty

The silence stretches, easy and comfortable. Until I break it with the question I’ve wanted to ask for a while.

“Why the youth center?”

She shifts, but not away from me. If anything, she settles deeper in. Her body molds into mine in a way that makes me feel like she’s a part of me now.

A second passes. Then another.

And finally, she speaks.

“My dad.”

I glance down, but she’s not looking at me. She’s watching the lights of the city, lost in thought.

“When I was younger, he told me a story about a boy who got lost along the way.” Her voice is gentle, but there’s a weight to it. “He said the kid bounced from foster home to foster home but never stayed long. No one wanted him. He got passed around so much that he stopped trusting anyone and started pulling away. Started doing stupid things. Dangerous things. Got wrapped up with the wrong crowd. His life turned into crime, blood, and violence. It was his way of survival.”

My heart fucking stalls. Everything in me stills.

Not just because I’ve heard this story.

Because I’velivedit.

She continues, and I hang on to every word, the echo of them getting louder in my mind.

“And then one day, my dad saw him again. Older now. Harder and meaner. But he said he could still see the boy underneath it all. Still worth something. Still worth saving.” She takes a deep, shaky breath, as if retelling the story alone is making her emotional. “He pulled him out. Gave him a second chance. Gave him a path. And that stuck with me. I don’t know where that boy is now, but I just hope he’s okay.” Her words slice through me like a fucking razor. I know where that boy is. He’s in Florida, sitting on a balcony with a girl in his lap—a bright, brilliant, beautiful girl who just let him take her virginity and teach her how to smoke.

I look down at her, and she’s still staring off into the skyline.

She has no idea she’s talking about me. No idea that the boy her dad pulled out of the fucking darkness was the man who’s holding her right now. She’s talking about me like I’m someone she wants to save. Like I’m someone worth saving.

I’m not.

Not really.

But she thinks I am.

Her voice trembles when she continues, shattering something inside me.

“My dad still talks to him sometimes,” she adds with a small smile. “Says he checks in. That he’s so proud of him.”

I can feel her heartbeat against mine, and it’s like the ground beneath me moves. Because I remember where I’ve seen her before. The memory came rushing back as soon as she started her story.

Coach Brown. The first time he brought me to his house. I was just seventeen, lost and angry. He made me lunch while his daughter was at school and his wife was at work. We ate soup and breadsticks, and Brown told me stories about when he was younger. I could only focus on the framed picture on the wall behind him. Coach Brown and his family. All of them were laughing and full of life. So damn happy.

I remember looking at the picture of them, his whole family, so full of love, and I couldn’t stop staring at her. The little kid in the photo. She had this smile that made me wonder what it’d be like to be someone like that. To have a family who would love me the way her parents loved her. To have people who cared enough to take pictures with me, to want to make memories with me. I didn’t have anyone.

Back then, I was just a kid, thinking about things I didn’t think I’d ever get, things I didn’t think I’d ever deserve. I still don’t. But I dreamed about it. I looked at that photo and dreamed of having someone to love, someone who’d love me in return. I remember the thoughts running through my head. Why didn’t any of the moms and dads I’d ever had love me? Why did they all send me back? Why was I never worth that kind of love the girl in the picture had?

And now that girl is here—in my lap.

My chest tightens, and everything feels like it’s crashing down. I thought I’d never get a shot at something real, something worth fighting for.

But now I’m fucking knee-deep in it. Balls deep in it, to be more accurate.

“My dad didn’t just push me to become a doctor or follow a straight path,” Irene keeps going, completely oblivious to the thoughts running through my head and the pounding of my heart. “He showed me what it means to help people, to give yourself in any way you can. He taught me how important it is to be there for people when they need it, how to give without expecting anything in return. I’ve seen him sacrifice so much for people who need him, and it’s made me realize how much I have. How lucky I am, and I want to give back. So, when I came home, I knew I had to do something more. That’s why I started going to the center. These kids…they need someone to believe in them. Kids need someone who’ll show up for them, no questions asked. And the more I’m there, the more I realize this is exactly what I need to be doing, you know?” She finally looks up at me, eyes glazed with unshed tears.

It’s so fucking overwhelming, so real that it damn near brings me to my knees. I don’t say anything, I can’t find the words. All I can do is nod, feeling the lump in my throat grow tighter, threatening to choke me. It’s like I’m seeing her for the first time.

She’s never been abandoned, never been left behind, but she talks like she feels their pain—our pain. It doesn’t scare her, it doesn’t burden her. It makes her want to help.

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