Chapter 7

I didn’t just wake up with it like some neat plan, no it sat there all night in my head like static i couldn’t switch off. turned over, stared at the stupid ceiling till it was shapes and shadows and more shapes, and every time i thought drop it i could hear dom’s voice telling me the same thing and that just made me want to push harder. so fine. if he says leave it, i’ll shove it.

by morning i’d decided what to wear like i was putting on armor, stupid armor, but it felt right. the skirt, shorter than i’d normally risk, soft grey that grabs my hips when i walk, blouse knotted up like i meant it as a dare. hair down, not too brushed, almost messy but not really. i looked in the mirror and almost didn’t recognize myself, like i was playing some role i didn’t even know the script for.

I could’ve gone to dad’s site, predictable, too obvious. so i didn’t. instead i drove across town, midtown project, dom’s favorite, his baby or whatever, i don’t care, i just knew he’d be there. heat like an oven around the steel frame when i pulled in, my car stinking of sweat already.

and yeah people looked. heads turned right away. catcalls floated down from the scaffolding—didn’t even bother flinching, let it roll off me because they weren’t the point. i was after one look.

and there he was. hard hat under his arm, talking like the supervisor was telling him the secrets of the universe. until he saw me. then his mouth just kind of… lost track. the guy kept blabbing, didn’t notice dom’s eyes dropping down me, lingering a second too long on the skirt before snapping back up like he hadn’t.

“what are you doing here?” he cuts in, sharp, like he can control the situation just by asking.

 “thought i’d see how the other half lives,” i say like it’s funny. “steel beams, sweat, you know.”

 he doesn’t smile. “this isn’t your father’s site.”

 “exactly. that’s why i came.”

his eyes narrow like he’s trying to puzzle me out and failing. then flat voice: “we’ll talk in the office.”

 i arch a brow because why not. “why? worried i’m a distraction?”

 his mouth twitches—anger maybe, maybe something else—then his hand is on my back, firm, almost too firm, steering me like i’m not even in control of my own legs. i hate it but also it sends a jolt through me i can’t stop.

inside the office the door closes and the air changes, too close, too hot. he drops his hand, rounds on me. “what the hell are you pulling?”

 “pull?” i say it lazy, lean on the desk like i’m calm, crossing arms so he knows i’m not sorry. “i can’t visit a site now?”

 “dressed like that?” his voice low, leashed, like he’s one second from snapping. “you want attention. you think i don’t see it?”

 “and what am i doing, exactly?” tilt my head, let the corner of my mouth turn up just enough to push him.

he moves closer, the air goes electric. “you’re testing me. seeing how far till i break.”

 my heart’s a drum but i smile wider. “maybe i’m just bored.”

 he laughs once, dry, dead. “you’re playing with fire. keep going and you’ll burn.”

 “you keep saying that,” i murmur. “never tell me what the fire is.”

his jaw tightens so bad i hear it. “your father’s deal is messy. people watching. and you showing up here dressed like this—spotlight we don’t need.”

 i can’t help it: “people like the guy with the camera?”

 and boom. his eyes go cold. like ice water dumped down my spine. “drop it.”

“no,” i say, shaking my head too fast. “stop treating me like i’m breakable. i’m not.”

 “you don’t get it,” he snaps, sharper now. “this chews people up. it doesn’t matter you’re his daughter. it doesn’t matter that—” he stops, teeth grinding.

 “that what?” i push. i’m shaking but i don’t stop.

 and then it rips out of him like it hurts. “that i give a damn.”

silence after that. heavy. i don’t breathe right. his hand flexes at his side, like he wants to reach for me but doesn’t. i shift on the desk and the skirt pulls higher and his eyes—yeah, they go there. just for a second. but enough.

“this is why i told you to stay away,” he mutters, almost to himself.

 “from the site?” i shoot back. “or from you?”

he swears, too soft to catch, and yanks himself back like distance is oxygen. “go home, izzy.”

 i slide off the desk, fingers tracing the edge as i pass. stop at the door, hand on the handle. i throw it back at him, quieter this time: “one of these days you’re gonna have to stop warning me and just tell me the truth.”

he doesn’t look. grips the desk like if he lets go the whole room falls apart.

outside, the sunlight slaps me, metal clanging, saws screaming, everything too loud after the silence in there. i walk toward my car, feel the stares following but it’s not them. it’s never them. halfway across the lot i see it—glint by the fence. not sun. glass. lens.

my stomach caves in. but i don’t stop. don’t give him the satisfaction. get into the car, engine roaring, only glance in the mirror once.

he’s there. same jacket. same stillness. camera steady like he’s got all the time in the world.

i drive off, hands tight on the wheel, dom’s words ricocheting in my head: you’re gonna get burned.

 maybe i will. maybe i already am. but i’m not quitting till i know what the fire is, who lit it, and why it’s aimed at me.