Chapter Five #2
“I know.” I kept my grip gentle, but I had to squeeze to keep from shaking myself. “But it’s proof you’re still here. And I need you here.”
Jojo reappeared with a blue ceramic bowl filled with something that smelled like a hippie commune after rain. He started dabbing Danny’s face with the herbal sludge, hands feather-light. “This’ll help the swelling,” he said. “Promise.”
Danny tried to smile, but his whole face twitched instead.
Rawley was already on the phone, voice low and professional.
He spoke in code—just enough to get his point across without triggering alarms. “Yup. Broken ribs, eye’s a mess, probable concussion.
No internal bleeding that I can see. We’ll keep him awake for a few hours, then put him down with the meds.
Thanks, Doc.” He hung up and met my eyes.
“We’re good for now. Just watch for shock or if he starts puking blood. ”
“Copy,” I said, and returned all my focus to the guy on the table.
Danny’s head lolled to the side, cheek mashed against my arm. His eyes fluttered, but he stayed awake.
“You want anything?” I asked, softer. “Water? Food?”
He thought, then shook his head. “Just… stay?”
“Not going anywhere,” I said. “Ever.”
A long silence, broken only by the creak of old house and the quiet slurp of Jojo spooning more goop onto Danny’s cuts.
The smell was oddly comforting. It reminded me of every time I’d gotten hurt as a kid—how my mom would use whatever she had on hand, oatmeal or honey or even whiskey, to fix what needed fixing.
It was the first time in years I remembered that, and the memory punched me in the throat.
Hooper kept watch at the window, arms crossed, jaw set. Rawley drifted in and out, checking vitals, then retreating to his office to “handle logistics.” But really, nobody left. We orbited Danny, like planets around a busted sun.
He faded in and out, sometimes alert, sometimes muttering half-coherent apologies. At one point, he tried to sit up, but I held him down. “Easy,” I said. “You’ve done enough for one night.”
He grimaced. “Did I ruin your morning?”
I let out a noise. “Ruined is an understatement, bud. Next time you want to drop by, try not to bleed all over my kitchen table.”
That got the ghost of a smile. Then his eyes closed, and I panicked, but Jojo caught me before I could freak out.
“He’s just sleeping,” he said, laying a hand on Danny’s arm. “It’s the best thing for him. We’ll wake him every hour to check, like Doc said.”
I nodded, even though my brain was already spiraling a thousand miles ahead. What if Dennis came looking? What if this wasn’t the end? What if Danny woke up and realized he didn’t want to be here, with us, with me?
I didn’t say any of it out loud. I just sat there, holding his hand, watching the rise and fall of his battered chest.
Rawley circled back in, voice softer than usual. “You did good, Burke,” he said. “He’ll make it.”
I stared at the bruises, the way Danny’s whole body seemed to fold in on itself. I wanted to say something—anything—but my voice didn’t cooperate.
Rawley squeezed my shoulder, then left, calling over his back, “We’ll keep a watch tonight. You take first shift.”
I grinned, despite myself. “Wouldn’t trust anyone else.”
The hours blurred together. At some point, Jojo convinced me to drink a glass of water.
Hooper brought me a clean shirt, which I didn’t bother to put on.
My only job was to keep Danny awake and alive.
Every so often, I’d lean in and whisper his name.
Sometimes he’d answer, sometimes he’d just squeeze my hand in response.
The sun rose, and the kitchen filled with cold blue light. Danny was still there, still breathing, still holding on.
I traced the line of his jaw, careful not to touch the bruises. “You’re safe,” I said, even though I knew he couldn’t hear me. “I promise.”
And I meant it, even if I had to burn the whole town to keep it true.
We moved him to the guest room just before noon, when the sun had finally warmed the old house enough that it didn’t sting your skin to sit still.
Jojo insisted on fresh sheets and a space heater, like maybe those things could erase the bruises.
Danny was out cold, drooling a little on the pillow, bandages crisscrossing his chest and arms.
The room itself was nothing—just a bed, a battered dresser, and a view of the back pasture that would’ve been beautiful if you were in any shape to enjoy it. But the air was quiet, the sheets soft, and the door had a lock.
All upgrades, as far as I was concerned.
I sat beside the bed, elbows on my knees, trying to run the math on what happened next.
Would Dennis show up, chest out and ready to start a war?
Would Danny ever be able to look in a mirror again without seeing the ghosts of last night?
My brain wanted to spiral, but I didn’t let it.
There was a job to do, and the job was keeping the kid in one piece.
Danny woke up around one, blinking groggily at the ceiling. I could tell the painkillers were doing their job by how long it took him to realize where he was.
“Hey,” I said, soft as I could manage.
His eyes found me, unfocused but alive. “Is this… your place?”
I nodded. “You’re safe. You made it. You want water?”
He looked confused, then shook his head and immediately regretted it.
Jojo appeared in the doorway, a mug of tea in hand. “I brought chamomile. It’s good for—” He stopped himself, then just smiled and set it on the nightstand. “If you need anything, holler.”
“Thanks,” Danny said, but his voice cracked halfway through.
Hooper showed up next, clutching a beat-up backpack like it was radioactive. He didn’t come all the way in; just tossed the thing onto the bed and stood back.
“Found this out by the equipment shed,” he said. “Figured you’d want it.”
Danny stared at the backpack, then picked it up with both hands. I watched his face change, the way hope and dread played tug-of-war across his features. He unzipped it, slow, like he was defusing a bomb.
A couple of shirts. A phone charger with the cord chewed half through. A spiral notebook, stained with dirt, but mostly intact. He dug around for a minute, then slumped back.
“He destroyed my laptop,” he said, voice flat. “And my books. All of it. He—” His hands shook, knuckles white on the straps. “I’ve got nothing left.”
For a moment, the room went still. Even Hooper, who usually found a way to joke about anything, just looked at the floor.
Danny wiped at his face, tried to hide it, but the tears kept coming anyway. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know I’m being… I just…”
He didn’t finish. Didn’t need to. I reached out, thumb brushing the tears away. He flinched, but he didn’t pull back.
“Listen to me,” I said, holding his gaze. “You did the hardest thing in the world. You survived him. That’s not nothing. That’s everything.” He tried to argue, but I shushed him. “You’re here. And you’re not alone anymore.”
His breathing slowed. The tears didn’t stop, but they came quieter. After a minute, he just closed his eyes and let the world catch up to him.
Hooper cleared his throat. “If you want, I can fix the charger,” he said. “Maybe even the laptop, if you got the pieces.”
Danny almost smiled. “You’d do that?”
Hooper shrugged, face unreadable. “Yeah. I like a challenge.”
Jojo came back in with a bowl of soup and a fresh set of gauze pads. “We’re not letting you go hungry,” he said, in that gentle way only Jojo could. “And we’re not letting you heal wrong, either. That’s a Rawley rule.”
From the hallway, Rawley’s voice carried in: “Damn right.”
Danny drifted in and out all afternoon. Sometimes he’d ask where he was, or what day it was, and I’d answer, every time.
Sometimes he’d say nothing at all, just grip my hand and stare at the ceiling.
I could see it in his face—the war inside him, between relief and shame, pain and the tiniest glimmer of hope.
I sat with him the whole time. Every hour, on the hour, I checked his pupils and made him recite the alphabet backwards. He hated that, but it kept him awake.
Every so often, I’d brush the hair out of his face or adjust the blankets. My hands wanted to do more—fix him, heal him, erase the bruises with a touch. But all I could do was stay, and make sure nobody took another swing at him, ever again.
At sunset, he looked at me and said, “Why are you being so nice?”
I thought about it for a second. “You ever rescue a stray dog?” I asked.
He squinted, confused. “What?”
“A dog that’s been beat up so bad it flinches at every shadow. You don’t yell at it. You don’t drag it around on a leash. You just… show up, every day, until it figures out you’re not like the others.”
He was quiet for a long time. Then he said, “My brother always told me I was born broken.”
I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt. “Your brother’s an asshole. You’re the strongest person I know.”
He let that settle. It didn’t fix anything, not right away, but I could see the seed of it rooting somewhere deep.
Hooper checked in just before nightfall, toolbox in hand. “If he comes back,” he said, “I’ll bury him behind the silo. Just say the word.”
I grinned. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
But inside, I wasn’t so sure.
When it got dark, I stayed on the floor beside the bed, one hand resting on the blanket where Danny could reach it. The house was quiet, except for the creak of old wood and the distant laughter from the kitchen.
I didn’t sleep. Couldn’t.
I just watched him, watched the way he breathed, and waited.
If Dennis Jenkins ever came near him again, he’d have to go through me first.
And I was more than ready for that fight.