Chapter 4 - Joanna #2
The warehouse erupts. People are jumping, screaming, money changing hands everywhere. Danny doesn't react. He just turns and walks straight to his corner. That same corner he always goes to. The same routine.
Someone, a medic maybe, is checking on Riot. He's sitting up now, looking dazed but conscious. Danny glances back once, just to confirm, then his shoulders drop slightly.
Relief.
He was worried. This terrifying, brutal man was actually worried about his opponent.
I watch as he leans against the wall in his corner, head tilted back, eyes closed. His chest is heaving. Blood's dripping from the cut above his eye and from his knuckles. But he's utterly still otherwise. Decompressing.
The crowd starts to disperse, heading to the bar area or out for smoke breaks before the next fight. Workers are already moving in.
I should join them.
But I can't stop staring at Danny in his corner. At the way he's standing there alone, untouchable, locked in whatever process helps him come down from the violence.
I want to go to him. Want to thank him for the other night. Want to ask if he's okay, if those cuts hurt, if he needs help. But I know the rules. No talking to fighters during their decompression time. Everyone knows that. Especially about Bruiser.
So, I force myself to turn away. To head toward the storage closet. To do my job. But I can feel his presence behind me like gravity. Like something I'm being pulled toward no matter how hard I try to resist.
And when I risk one last glance over my shoulder, his eyes are open.
He's looking right at me.
For a second, I freeze completely, caught in his gaze like a deer in headlights. I should look away. Should keep walking. Should follow the rules that everyone knows about leaving fighters alone during their decompression time.
But I can't move.
Danny pushes off from the wall. He's still breathing hard, chest rising and falling, blood still dripping from his knuckles. But he's walking toward me. Actually walking toward me, through the thinning crowd, his eyes never leaving mine.
Oh God.
My feet finally remember how to work and I take a step back.
Not because I'm scared. Well, maybe a little scared, but because I don't know what to do with the way my body's reacting to him moving in my direction.
He stops a few feet away. Close enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at him.
Close enough that I can see the cut above his eye is deeper than I thought, still bleeding.
Close enough that the heat radiating off his body reaches me.
"You're here," he says.
His voice is rough. Deeper than usual. Like the fight's still in his throat.
"I—I work tonight," I manage. "I'm always here when I work."
"You're early."
"I'm late, actually. The fight already started."
"You watched." It's not a question.
I nod because lying seems pointless. "I did."
Something flickers across his face. I can't read it. "You shouldn't have."
"Why not?"
"Because it's not..." He trails off, runs a hand over his head. Winces slightly when he touches near the cut. "It's not something you should see."
"I work here, Danny. I see it every night."
"That's different. You're cleaning up after. You're not watching it happen."
"Maybe I wanted to watch."
The words come out before I can stop them. His eyes widen, the most surprise I've ever seen him show.
"Why?" he asks.
Because I wanted to see you. Because I've been thinking about you for three days straight. Because you protected me and I don't know how to process that someone like you would care about someone like me.
I can't say any of that.
"I wanted to thank you," I say instead. "For the other night. For what you did."
"I told you not to mention it."
"And I'm mentioning it anyway." I hitch my backpack higher on my shoulder, trying to find courage I'm not sure I have. "That guy, he wouldn't have stopped. Not on his own. You didn't have to help me, but you did, and I... I needed you to know that it mattered. That you mattered."
Danny stares at me. The warehouse noise continues around us. People talking, laughing, the clank of bottles, someone calling for bets on the next fight, but it all feels distant. Like we're in a bubble where it's just us.
"You shouldn't be thanking me," he says finally. His voice is low, almost pained. "You should be staying as far away from me as possible."
"Why?"
"Because look at me, Joanna." He holds up his hands, those massive hands with split knuckles still dripping blood. "Look at what I do. What I am. I just beat a man unconscious for money. That's who I am."
"That's not all you are."
"Yeah? What else am I?"
"You're someone who makes sure women get to their cars safely. Someone who gives people space when they're scared. Someone who checked on Riot after you knocked him out."
His jaw tightens. "You saw that."
"I saw everything." I take a half-step closer, even though my brain's screaming that this is a terrible idea. "You were worried about him. After you won, you looked back to make sure he was okay."
"That doesn't make me a good person."
"Maybe not. But it makes you more than what you think you are."
He's silent for a long moment. People are starting to notice us. I can feel eyes watching, whispers starting. A cleaner talking to Bruiser right after his fight. This isn't normal. This breaks every unspoken rule of the Pit.
I should care about that.
I don't.
"Your eye's still bleeding," I say softly.
Danny touches it absently, looks at the blood on his fingers like he'd forgotten about it. "It's fine."
"It's not fine. You need—"
"Joanna." He steps closer. So close now I can smell the sweat and copper tang of blood on him. So close I can see his chest still heaving slightly. "Why are you really here tonight?"
My mouth goes dry. "I told you. To thank you."
"You could've done that next time you saw me. Could've waited until I wasn't—" He gestures vaguely at himself. At the blood and sweat and violence still clinging to him. "Like this."
He's right. I could have waited. Should have waited. But I'd traded shifts specifically to be here tonight. Had rushed through getting Daisy settled. Had driven too fast and parked too quickly and walked into this warehouse knowing his fight might already be happening.
Because some part of me needed to see him. Needed to watch him do the thing he does, the thing that should terrify me but instead makes me feel... something.
"I wanted to see you fight," I admit. The truth feels dangerous but I say it anyway. "I wanted to understand."
"Understand what?"
"You. This. Why someone like you would—" I stop, swallow hard. "I just wanted to see."
"And now you have." His voice has gone quiet. Intense. "What do you think?"
I should lie. I should say it was horrifying, that it confirmed every reason I have to stay away from him. But I'm tired of lying. Tired of pretending I don't notice him. Tired of fighting this pull I feel every time he's near.
"I think you're the most controlled person I've ever seen," I say. "I think what you do in that ring is terrifying and brutal and somehow... beautiful. In a way I don't understand. In a way I probably shouldn't think is beautiful."
He sucks in a breath. "Joanna—"
"I should let you decompress," I interrupt, suddenly embarrassed by my own honesty. "I'm sorry. I broke the rules. I shouldn't have—"
"Don't apologize." His hand lifts like he's going to touch my face, then stops halfway. Drops back to his side. "Don't ever apologize to me."
"Your hands," I try again. "Please let me help with your hands. There's a first aid kit in the back. Just let me—"
"Okay."
I blink. "Okay?"
"Yeah." He smirks. "Okay. You can help."
"Follow me."
This is probably a mistake. Probably the start of something I'm not equipped to handle. But as I push open the door to the storage room and Danny follows me inside, all I can think is that some mistakes are worth making.