He scanned my classmates as they rushed past, laughing and chatting, paying him no mind. It was an unseasonably warm fall afternoon, so most of the girls were taking advantage of it, their skirts rolled up to indecent levels, shirts tied in knots, showing their midriff. But there I stood, the picture perfect Catholic schoolgirl: knee-high socks, gray plaid skirt, white shirt and gray blazer.

All I was missing were a pair of Mary Janes.

A bewildered look covered my father's face as he turned my way. He scanned me quickly, probably to ensure I didn't look like the rest of the girls around there. I descended the steps toward him, knowing I couldn't hide now.

"What happened to the dress code?"

"They don't get paid enough to enforce it."

"They're nuns, for Christ's sake," he grumbled. "They're supposed to do it because the good book tells them to."

I didn't argue, but seeing as he probably knocked out every last commandment from his to-do list, he was the last person who ought to lodge a complaint about someone's holiness. He shook his head, meeting my eyes, but he said nothing else. He didn't look angry, at least. Maybe just exasperated.

"Is there, uh . . . is there a reason you're here?"

"Just wanted to see how your first day back was."

My brow furrowed. "You couldn't ask me that at home?"

"I had some free time so I thought I'd make up for what I missed. You know . . . thought we could go see your mother today."

I just stared at him as those words sunk in. It had been over a month since the anniversary, over a month since he forgot. I figured he just chalked it up to a loss, that it was time to move on, but this? This was even worse.

He was just now making time for me.

Just now making time for her.

I didn't argue, although I was scarcely in the mood to go. My father called for a car to drive us to Queens, right to the cemetery. My mother was buried in a family plot, a massive headstone adorning it that would someday also have my father's name on it.

It was nothing like it usually was.

Usually there were flowers, and tears, sometimes laughter and stories.

We were both quiet today.

Very little was spoken before we left again, heading to a small restaurant around the corner, the same place we ate at every year on the anniversary. It was my mother's favorite. I couldn't remember that, but my father told me.

We both ordered meatloaf, also my mother's favorite.

Another thing I didn't remember.

He ate while I picked at my food, wanting to just go home and end this sham of an outing. Sometimes 'better late than never' was complete and utter bullshit.

"You know I love you, right, Grace?"

The question surprised me, not because he had to ask, but because he said that word: love. He said it less than Cody acknowledged Cormac as his father, which was practically never. Not to say I doubted my father's love. He loved me in his own way. I just always doubted his ability to express it normally. "Yes."

"You're everything I got that means something. I know you hate all these rules, but you're only sixteen . . ."

"And three quarters."

"And three quarters," he agreed, "but it's still not seventeen, and certainly not eighteen. It's my job to keep you safe, so that's what I do."

I heard it all before. My lack of friends, my not being allowed to go anywhere that isn't pre-approved . . . it was for the best, he claimed. You don't need all that anyway. But that was easy for him to say. Let him shove his feet in those ugly Mary Janes and walk a mile in the shoes of the girl he wanted me to be, and then let him come tell me she didn't need anything else.

"I want you to listen to me, and listen to me good," he said, a stern edge to his voice when I didn't respond to his declaration. "I'll do anything I have to . . . anything . . . to keep you out of trouble. And you aren't always going to like it, but it's not my job to cater to you. I gave you life. My only job is to make sure you stay living."

"Living," I muttered. "I think we define that differently."

"You're still breathing, aren't you? Still got enough breath in those lungs to complain, don't you? Then I'd say you're doing a lot more living than some others I know. These kids running the streets after dark, raising hell, smoking pot and hanging out on the corner, fighting and fucking off . . . they're not living, Grace. Those kids are just slowly dying. It's only a matter of time."

He was talking about Cody. He didn't have to use his name to get his point across. I continue to pick at my food, wishing he would finish, but no . . . Connor Callaghan was just getting started.

"That boy's a troublemaker," he said. "That's all he is."

My response was immediate. "So are you."

My father may not have been as notorious as Cormac, but he made quite a name for himself. He may have shielded me from most of what he did, but he couldn't hide the whole truth from me-not and still keep me safe.

"I do what I do for you, Grace. I'm not saying I'm perfect, but I look out for you. Boys like him . . . they'll only bring you trouble. Even his father will tell you that. He's no good."

But he was, I thought.

He was good.

My father just couldn't see it.

He looked at Cody and saw a younger version of Cormac.

He looked at him and saw himself.

But Cody wasn't like his father, nor was he anything like mine, and nobody would ever convince me otherwise.

Throughout the rest of dinner, after paying the check, and on the entire drive home, my father went through it again, trying to pound it into my head that he knew what was best for me, and what was best for me wasn't anything I wanted. He had us dropped off down the block from the apartment building, and I grabbed my school bag, keeping my head down as we headed for home.

We were two buildings away when I heard the familiar voice. I looked up, catching sight of Cody across the street, hanging out with the same boys he usually hung with. He was talking to them but his eyes followed me. He saw me looking and brought his hand to his mouth, subtly kissing two of his fingertips before motioning my way.

My cheeks flushed at the acknowledgement.

Cody's eyes turned to my father then. He stared at him for a moment before turning away.

When we reached the apartment building, my father opened the door, but he didn't follow me inside. "Go upstairs. I'll be there in a minute."

He waited for me to listen before he walked away. I scaled the stairs faster than I'd ever taken them before, fumbling with the locks and rushing into the apartment, dropping my bag right inside the door. I ran over to the window, my heart racing when I looked out.

My father was already across the street, standing right in front of Cody.

His friends scattered. I wondered if my father scared them away. But Cody . . . Cody didn't look intimidated in the least. He stood there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders relaxed, staring up at my father as he towered over him. It wasn't that Connor Callaghan was a big man, per se. It was just the way he carried himself, like he was invincible.

My father was talking. I didn't know what he was saying, but his lips were moving, and that alone was bad enough. Cody hadn't uttered a single word that I saw, merely staring at the man as he went on and on.

After a moment, Cody shook his head.

That was it.

Just a shake of the head to set my father off.

Anger clouded his expression as he took a step forward, going toe-to-toe, pointing his finger right in Cody's face as he screamed so loudly I could faintly hear his voice up on the fifth floor with the window closed. Cody tolerated the berating for a moment before taking a step back, and another, and another, before he paused to finally speak.

It was just a few words before he turned around and strolled away, leaving my father standing there on the sidewalk alone, fuming.

I stepped away from the window when my father started toward the building again. Grabbing my school bag, I plopped down on the couch to do my homework, but I was too wound tight to focus.

I looked up when my father came in, slamming doors and throwing things. He wouldn't meet my eyes. "Go to your bedroom, Grace."

I obliged right away.

The man barely made a sound after that. Curiosity ate at me as time passed, one hour turning into the next, before there was a soft tapping on my bedroom door. It opened before I could acknowledge the knocking, and my father appeared. He changed his clothes. Of course. The sun had set, darkness cloaking the city, which meant he was off to work. "I'm heading out."

"Okay."

"Keep the door locked."

"I will."

"Don't let anyone in here unless-"

"Unless they have a warrant. Got it."

He shook his head at my curt tone. "I'm just trying to do my job here, Grace."

I sat there for a few minutes after he was gone until my curiosity got the best of me again. I headed straight for the living room, for the window, wondering if any of the boys filtered back into the neighborhood. I shoved it open, jumping and yelping when I saw Cody was standing there. "Shit!"

He was leaning back against railing, his arms crossed over his chest, staring off into the distance. His eyes shifted my direction when I cursed, his gaze scanning me in the darkness, slowly taking me in from head to toe. "Have I ever told you how bangin' you look in that uniform?"

Rolling my eyes, I climbed out onto the fire escape to join him, not bothering to respond to that. "What happened?"

"With what?"

"You know what," I said. "What did my father say to you?"

"Oh. That." He laughed under his breath. "He just said some shit about respect and superiority and doing my family and neighborhood proud and whatever whatever . . . same bullshit Cormac gets off on railing into me about."

My brow furrowed. "He didn't say anything about me?"

"Not directly, but the message was there. He said I needed to learn boundaries . . ." He threw up the finger quotes with a roll of his eyes. "And to keep my hands off of what doesn't belong to me. Asked me if I understood was he was getting at."

"And you shook your head."

"So you were watching."

"Of course," I said. "What did he say after that?"

"That me being Cormac's kid will only help me so much . . . that if I'm not careful, I might regret not heeding his warnings."

"He threatened you?"

He shrugged. "They're just words, Gracie. They don't mean shit."

"But he means them."

"And I told him his threats didn't scare me," he replied. "Because they don't."

"But-"

Cody reached over, grabbing ahold of me before I could really argue. I gasped into his palm when his hand covered my mouth, making sure I couldn't speak, as he pulled me to him, my back against his chest. He held me tightly, one arm around my stomach, as he leaned down to whisper in my ear. "Do you see it?"

"See what?" I mumbled into his palm, the words barely intelligible.

Cody dropped his hand, wrapping his other arm around me. "Look straight up."

I looked straight up like he told me to, but I saw nothing for a moment . . . nothing except for the darkness . . . but after squinting, I realized what he meant. It was faint, barely visible in the low level fog, almost drowned out by the vibrant city lights, but it was there.

A star.

The first star I'd seen in years.

"Make a wish," Cody said. "Fuck knows when we'll see one those again."

I stared at it for a moment.

I wish I didn't have to deal with all of this. I wish I were far away from everything . . . from my father, from this life, from this neighborhood. I wish we were free from Hell's Kitchen finally.

That was what I wanted to say, but I couldn't.

I couldn't, because I was afraid of jinxing it.

So instead I said the first thing that came to my mind. "I wish it would snow."

"Snow," he whispered. "That's the same thing I wished for."

Relaxing back against him, I grasped onto his forearms and stared up at the sky until the star disappeared, vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"Soon," Cody said, and I knew he knew what it was I really wanted-a means of escape. "It'll happen soon, Gracie. I promise."

I take a bath, not because I give a crap how I look, but because I need a moment to myself. It's probably the only place in the house I'll get some privacy today. I fill up the tub with icy cold water and climb in, relaxing back, staring at the white tile wall surrounding me. I can hear Holden moving around the house and listen as he installs the air conditioner in the living room.