She throws her arms around him and for a moment he just stands there, frozen. And then I realize why: She called him Dad, not Dax. It’s an easy slip, especially in a state of duress. He hugs her back, his face tight and ashen.

“You’re finally here. What took you so long, Daxton?” His aunt Linda steps out from behind one of the police officers. While I haven’t seen her since the last school-related incident, I still receive weekly emails inquiring about the safety of the trust and whether the funds are being allocated properly. We’re still waiting on a date for the custody hearing, hoping Linda’s going to drop it, although it seems unlikely at this point.

“I came as soon as I was called, which was only twenty minutes ago.”

“You live minutes from the school,” she points out.

He motions to his dress pants and tie. “I was out for dinner, not that it’s any of your business. Why are you here?”

Linda presses her hand to her chest. “I volunteered to supervise the dance, and when they couldn’t reach you at home, they asked me to step in.”

“Let’s go into my office where we can discuss the issue in private.” Mr. Proctor motions to his open door.

There’s a murmur of agreement and we file into the office. It feels claustrophobic with the solemn police officers and so many people stuffed into the room.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Mr. Hughes.” Mr. Proctor offers.

“I’m good standing, thanks.”

I put a hand on his arm, a silent warning to keep his cool before I take a seat next to Emme. Dax stands behind her, a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“I’d like an explanation for what’s happened here,” Dax says.

According to the principal, Linda was on door duty and noticed the girls going back and forth to the bathroom a number of times. Emme’s locker is near the girls’ bathroom and there’s no locker access during the dance, which makes sense, but Emme went to hers twice, so they performed a locker search. “And this is what we found.”

The principal withdraws a half-empty bottle of Grey Goose—expensive for thirteen-year-olds—from the backpack on his desk.

“I didn’t steal that, Dax, and Ainsley and Marnie and Sasha said they don’t know anything about it, either,” Emme says.

Linda sighs from her seat next to the principal. “How did it get in your locker, then? Are you passing out your combination to your friends? You know we’ve talked about that.”

“I didn’t give my combination to anyone! I swear, Dax. I don’t know how it got in my locker! I just went in there to get . . . girl stuff,” Emme mumbles, cheeks turning red.

“Girl stuff?” Dax seems confused.

“Sasha got her period and didn’t have anything with her. I wasn’t trying to make trouble, I swear.”

“It still doesn’t explain how the alcohol got in your locker, Emme,” Linda says.

“Does this bottle look familiar to you?” The principal gestures to the Grey Goose, looking tired and frustrated.

“I don’t know. Maybe?” Dax runs a hand through his hair, faltering as he looks between Linda, Emme, and the bottle.

I silently will him to stop being Dax the brother/father and be Dax the lawyer, who would never incriminate himself this way.

“Do you keep alcohol in the house?” Linda asks.

“What kind of question is that? I’m an adult. I can drink responsibly.”

“What about Emme? Do you let her drink at home?”

“What?”

She arches a knowing brow. “She might have mentioned that you let her try your beer, and that sometimes she’s allowed to have wine at dinner.”

Betrayal flashes across Dax’s face and he looks to Emme. “A sip, not a glass, which has nothing to do with this.”

“Maybe it does. It’s possible your permissive parenting has led to this situation, Daxton.”

“Permissive parenting?” His voice rises, and the officers observing from the corner straighten and frown. “Who the hell are you to talk? You have two kids who live on the other side of the country because they couldn’t get away from you fast enough. And didn’t Samantha get pregnant before she was even done with high school? Before you start dissecting my parenting skills, you might want to take a look at your own.”

“Mr. Hughes, please lower your voice.”

Dax turns his angry glare on the principal. “My sister is being accused of bringing alcohol to a dance and she said it wasn’t hers, so I’d like to know how the hell it got there.”

“Emme, could you please take a seat in the waiting room?” Mr. Proctor’s smile is tight.

“Yes, sir,” she mumbles. Her wide, scared eyes find mine before she leaves the office.

I put a hand on Dax’s arm and nod to the seat next to me. He gives me an unreadable look, but drops down beside me, knee bouncing with agitation.

“Mr. Hughes, I know things have been difficult for Emme, and I’m sure they’ve been equally difficult for you, but this isn’t the first time we’ve had problems with Emme since she lost her parents. I realize she may be acting out, but the facts remain that the bottle was found in her backpack in her locker. It’s difficult to argue with hard evidence.”

“You may want to consider the impression drinking in front of Emme has on her, and how offering her alcohol may normalize it for her,” Linda offers.

“What exactly are you trying to say, Linda?”

“I’m sure this new responsibility is stressful for you. You might want to look at exactly how much you’re drinking.” She cocks her head to the side. “Have you been drinking tonight? Is it even safe for Emme to ride home with you?”

Dax grips the arms of the chair as if he’s about to push out of it. “Are you kidding me?”

I slip my fingers between his, hoping to help keep him in check. I’ve never seen Dax go off, but I have a feeling that if he’s pushed much further, he will. “Dax had a single glass of wine with dinner. He’s perfectly capable of driving. As for the bottle of vodka, he’ll clearly talk to Emme about the origins. I think needling Dax is unnecessary, and it would be more helpful to discuss the consequences of Emme’s actions. We have officers present, and I’m curious as to their role here.”

“We’re here to mediate, ma’am.”

“Mediate?”

“Ms. Thrasher indicated there might be some hostility over her presence.”

And of course Dax walked right into that trap.

His fingers clench around mine and I squeeze back, a silent message to keep his temper on lockdown.

“Well, based on the accusations here, I think there might be some legitimacy to that hostility.” I motion to the people in the room. “Can we discuss the consequences for possession of alcohol?”

“She’s facing a three-day suspension minimum.”

“And there’s an appeal process?” I ask.

“Yes, of course, but—”

I cut the principal off midsentence. “As the conservator, I speak for Emme, so I’d like to request that you forward that information to me and Daxton. In the meantime we’ll take Emme home and see if we can’t get to the bottom of this on our own.”

“Is Daxton fit to drive? Are you?” Linda spits out.

“As I said, Daxton had one glass of wine with dinner.” I am concerned about how agitated he is, though.

“Maybe a Breathalyzer test would be advisable, considering the circumstances.” Linda looks to the officers with wide, imploring eyes. “I only want to keep Emme safe.”

Daxton barks out a humorless laugh. “Of course you do.” He looks to the officers. “Since Emme’s safety is always my top priority, I’ll gladly take a Breathalyzer test.”

I’m relieved he doesn’t put up a fight, and we follow the officers, with Emme in tow, to the police car. Dax passes the test. While they’re at it, they test Emme as well, twice. It appears she hasn’t consumed any alcohol, but it still doesn’t explain where the vodka came from. Dax is fuming as we cross the parking lot, the situation having pushed him to the edge.

“Are you calm enough to drive?” I ask when we reach the car.

“I’m fine,” he says through gritted teeth.

I open the door and slide the seat forward—Dax drove the Audi tonight, the non-family-friendly vehicle. Emme gives me an imploring, tearful look as she gets in.

“I’ll sit in the back with Emme.”

Dax wears an impassive expression as I awkwardly fold myself into the back seat, then closes the door.

“I really didn’t steal the vodka. I don’t even like the way it smells, Kailyn,” Emme murmurs through her tears.

“We’ll get it figured out.” I squeeze her hand in reassurance, wanting to provide whatever comfort I can.

Dax climbs into the front seat, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror as he buckles himself in and starts the car. I note the nearly imperceptible shake in his hands as he grips the wheel.

We start out heading toward Dax’s place, but when he makes a right a few blocks earlier than he should, Emme perks up anxiously. “Where are we going?”