Dad didn’t look away from Trey, and though Nick wanted to jump to his defense, he kept his silence. He wasn’t sure if this was his fight, and he didn’t want to make things worse. “I hear you, Trey,” Dad said. “I swear I do.”
Trey laughed, though it held no humor. “You say that, man—and oh, do I want to believe you. But then I remember I’m talking to the cop who assaulted someone in custody, and I don’t know how to reconcile the man before me with the badge he wears.”
“That wasn’t his fault,” Nick snapped. “The guy was talking crap about my mother—”
“Nick,” Dad said, the warning in his voice clear. Nick deflated, picking at a small hole in the knee of his jeans. “Trey’s right. It was my fault. It never should’ve happened. I messed up. That’s on me and no one else. No matter what anyone says to me, I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.” He looked back at Trey. “I am that man. I did hit someone in my custody, and I’ve regretted it every moment since. I can tell you it won’t happen again, but I can’t expect you to take me at my word. I have to prove that to you.”
“Damn right you do,” Trey told him, crossing his arms. “But that doesn’t mean shit, given you’re just one person. How many other cops have done the same thing you did and gotten away with it? Yeah, you were demoted, but that didn’t last long, did it? Look where you are now. How much did the NCPD pay to settle the civil lawsuit against you?”
“A lot,” Dad admitted. “It … a lot.”
“And who paid for that?” Aysha asked. “It didn’t come out of the police pension fund like it should’ve. It came from the taxpayers.”
Nick turned his head slowly to look at his Dad. “People pay for police misconduct?”
“Oh, come on, Nick,” Gibby said. “Where else would it come from?”
“I—I didn’t know that.” And wasn’t that on him? He knew what his dad had done, knew that he’d been stripped of his detective rank, but why hadn’t he asked more questions about the fallout? Why hadn’t he pushed his father for more?
“And even with all of that,” Aysha continued, “you still accepted that promotion.”
“I thought it’d be better,” Dad said, voice even. “I thought it’d help me be able to keep an eye on things, to make sure nothing happened to—”
“You should’ve told us,” Trey snapped. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as Aysha took his hand in hers. “Look, I know you were trying to protect Seth. I get that; I really do. And I know down to my bones you’d do everything you can to keep the kids safe. But we’re Black. Looking like me, looking like my wife, looking like my daughter, has gotten people killed for a whole lot less than you were promoted for.”
“You’re right,” Dad said. “Everything you’re saying is true. I won’t try to tell you otherwise.”
“Good,” Aysha said, squeezing her husband’s hand. She looked at Seth, then Nick, then Jazz. Her gaze lingered on Gibby for a long moment before she turned back to Dad. “We’re not saying we’re worried about Seth hurting anyone. But what about other people? Nick, you got hurt, remember? We came to see you in the hospital. We saw what happened with Pyro Storm and Shadow Star, along with everyone else. Who’s to say that won’t happen again? You know who he is, what he can do. And don’t mistake what I’m saying—what Seth can do is magical. But what if someone comes after you because of what you know? Where’s Owen now?” She looked wary. “I mean, my god. He killed people.”
“Owen’s not going to hurt anyone again,” Dad said, and the steel in his voice sent a chill down Nick’s spine. “He’s locked away in a psychiatric hospital. And he’s the only other Extraordinary that we know of. It’s only Seth in Nova City now.”
“But Simon Burke could,” Miles pointed out. “If he’s done half the things Seth said, then why hasn’t he been arrested yet? At the very least, what he did to his own child should be enough to put him away.”
“No proof,” Dad said. “The secret floor in Burke Tower was vacant by the time we got inside. And Owen, as far as I know, isn’t talking. I don’t know if that’s his choice or his father’s, but that’s the way it is.”
“Either that, or Burke’s got cops in his back pocket,” Trey said. He held up his hand before anyone could protest. “Don’t act like that’s not a possibility. An extremely rich white man gets away with almost everything. Hell, he doesn’t even need to be extremely rich for that to happen.” He glanced at Dad. “How many of your colleagues are on his payroll? Moonlighting as security or some other bullshit?”
“I don’t know,” Dad said quietly. “More than a few, I’d expect.”
Trey nodded. “You want to know why we talk about defunding the police? Because of this exact thing. They pick and choose who they protect, whether it’s because they’re racist dicks or because of who’s lining their pockets—or both. If we have any hope for reform, you first gotta break everything down and start from scratch. And you can bitch and moan until you’re blue in the face that we’re talking about getting rid of police completely. It’s not just about that. It’s about holding cops accountable for everything they do.” He scowled. “I’m not saying any of this to tell you how to fix your job, because that’s not my job. It shouldn’t have to be. And it shouldn’t fall on Aysha, either, or Gibby. This isn’t a game. Burke is powerful. If he’s capable of making that evidence disappear in a matter of days, what could he do to our kids?”
Dad said, “This isn’t something I’ve taken lightly. I’ve had the same thoughts about Nicky. And you’re right; it was wrong to keep this from you. Don’t be mad at them.”
“Oh, I’m mad at you,” Trey said. “And I know you feel guilty, but I can’t help but think that it’s guilt about getting caught more than anything else. If we hadn’t come over here today, when would you have told us about any of this?”
“I don’t know,” Dad whispered. “I—”
“We’re not stupid,” Jazz muttered. “We’ve lasted this long, haven’t we?”
“Of course you’re not stupid,” Miles said gently. “But you’re only sixteen years old. All of you are, except for Gibby, and she’s only a year older. I’m not going to speak for Trey and Aysha because I don’t have the right to, but you, Jasmine? You’re damn right I’m going to speak for you, because you’re my daughter. Have you really thought this through? Any of you?”
“We have,” Gibby said firmly. “And we’ll do what we have to in order to protect our friend.” She glanced at them before looking back at her parents. “We’re Team Pyro Storm. We’re Lighthouse. Seth needs us as much as we need him. You can try and break us apart, and maybe you’ll succeed, but we’re not playing around. We know this isn’t a game. We take this as seriously as anything we have before. We need a new form of justice, and I want to be part of that change. I am part of that change, because it’s what you taught me.”