Standing in the center of Room 212, the silence left behind by Caleb’s departure felt heavier than the noise in the rest of the house.
I sat on the edge of the narrow mattress, running a hand over my face. Through the thin drywall, I could hear Caleb moving around his room—restless, heavy footsteps pacing a tight path across the floorboards.
Old ghosts always seemed to find me in small rooms.
My mind drifted back to being eight years old, standing in a cold hallway while my father—a former minor-league enforcer with hands like scarred oak—looked down at me with equal parts pride and fear when I begged to join the boys' league.
“They hit hard, Dani. You sure?”
I was sure. I took my first legal body check at nine and got up smiling, blood on my tongue and fire in my chest. By twelve, I
