He’s blunt and honest, and I don’t expect Beckett to hold back—but he does this time. He just keeps shaking his head. I’m not an idiot. I clutch the table and careen forward to be closer to him. “You think I have no room to talk because I’ve never strived for anything like you? Because I have no talents and no ambition like you?” His reddened eyes lift to mine. “I give everything to ballet. My time, my body, my life. What have you ever given to something you’ve loved?” “I’ve given all of myself to my family,” I retort, tears burning my eyes. I’m the older sister. I carry the torch that lights
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