Chapter 7 - Bruiser
A daughter.
She has a three-year-old daughter.
The information keeps bouncing around my skull like it can't find a place to land. I stare at Joanna and suddenly so much makes sense. The exhaustion in her eyes. The way she works harder than anyone else. The way she moves through the world, like she's constantly aware of needing to get home safe.
Not just for herself. For her kid.
For Daisy.
I can't believe I never asked. Never even thought to ask. But why would I? Kids aren't part of my world. Never have been. I don't do families or domesticity or any of the shit that normal people build their lives around.
I always believed I'd never have kids. That it wouldn't be fair to them to have a father like me.
What kind of man brings a child into the world knowing he's one bad day away from catching another assault charge?
Knowing that violence lives in his bones the way other people have eye color or height?
No kid deserves that.
But looking at Joanna, at the fierce way she talks about doing what she has to do, the way her whole body language changes when she says her daughter's name, I realize some kids get lucky anyway. Some kids get mothers who'd walk through fire for them.
"She's lucky to have you," I say, and I mean it more than she probably realizes.
Joanna's expression softens. "Thank you. I hope so. I just want her to have the kind of life I never had."
Something in the way she says it makes my chest tighten. "What kind of life didn't you have?"
She hesitates. Looks down at her hands. "The stable kind.
The safe kind. My parents..." She trails off, then seems to decide something.
"I never had a good relationship with them.
They were... difficult. Critical. Nothing I did was ever good enough.
And then they died. Car accident. Five years ago. "
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I mean, I'm sorry they're dead. I wouldn't wish that on anyone, but our relationship was complicated. Messy." She meets my eyes. "What about yours? Your parents?"
The question catches me off guard. Most people don't ask about my family. Most people don't want to know anything personal about Bruiser beyond how many fights he's won and how much damage he can do.
But Joanna's not most people.
"Same, actually," I say. "Never had a good relationship with them either.
They died when I was twenty. My sister was still a teenager.
" The memories are old, worn smooth by time.
Doesn't mean they don't still cut. "They weren't bad people.
Just... absent. Checked out. My sister and I raised ourselves more than they raised us. "
"That must have been hard. Especially losing them so young and having to take care of your sister."
"She's the only good thing that came out of all of it." My throat tightens thinking about Erin. About all the ways she's saved me without knowing it. "She's the reason I'm still here. Still trying."
Joanna nods slowly. We understand each other. Two people who learned too young that family isn't always the safety net it's supposed to be.
"Turns out we have more in common than we thought," she says. A small smile tugs at her lips. "I just haven't gone to prison... yet."
The unexpected humor catches me completely off guard. A laugh bursts out of me, rough and rusty from disuse. When's the last time I laughed? Really laughed?
"Yet," I repeat, still chuckling. "Planning on it?"
"You never know. Maybe I'll snap one day. Go on a cleaning supply rampage."
"Assault with a deadly mop."
"Exactly." She's smiling for real now. Not the guarded smile from before. Something genuine. "What about you? Planning on having kids? Besides the prison thing, you've got the 'yet' covered there too."
The question should feel intrusive. Instead, it just feels... honest. Real. Like we're two people actually talking instead of dancing around each other.
"No," I say. "I don't have a kid either. Yet." I pause. "Probably not ever, honestly. Wouldn't be fair to them."
"Why not?"
"Because of what I am. What I do. A kid deserves better than a father who fights for money and has a record and can barely keep his rage in check most days."
"That's not all you are, Danny."
"It's enough of what I am that it matters."
She looks like she wants to argue, but she doesn't. Just files it away, and I appreciate that more than I can say.
The warehouse behind us has gone quiet. Whatever cleanup or discussion is happening out there, it's not our problem right now. Right now, is just this. Just us talking about things I never talk about.
"So," I say, shifting back to practical matters before this gets any heavier. "Your car. I can either ride with you, or I can follow you in my truck. Whatever you're comfortable with."
She considers this. I can see her weighing options, calculating risk. Smart. She should probably tell me to follow her and not get into an enclosed space with a man who just hospitalized five people.
"Whatever you want," she says finally.
Not the answer I expected.
"I don't mind going with you," I tell her. The words come out before I can second-guess them. "I can get my truck later. Rampage will still be here for a while. He can give me a ride back if I need it."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah. I'm sure."
The truth is, I don't want to let her out of my sight yet. Don't want to watch her drive away and spend the whole night wondering if she made it home safe. If that asshole has friends who might still be around. If she's okay.
I just want to know she's safe. That's all.
But I’m lying, and I know it.
I also want more time with her. Want to hear more of her voice, see more of her smiles, exist in her orbit for as long as she'll let me. Want to tell her things I've never told anyone except Erin and maybe not even her.
I'm in deep. So fucking deep I can't see the surface anymore.
"Okay," Joanna says. She takes a breath, steadies herself. "Let me grab my stuff and I'll be ready to go."
She moves past me toward the corner where she'd been sitting. Picks up her backpack, checks inside it for something. Her hands are steadier now. Still a little shaky, but better than before.
She's tougher than she looks, than she probably gives herself credit for.
I watch her organize her things with that same care I've noticed before. Everything has its place. Everything gets accounted for. The habits of someone who can't afford to lose anything, even something small.
"I need to actually clock out," she says, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. "And let Rampage know I'm leaving. He tracks everyone's hours."
"I'll walk with you."
The cleaners are finishing, working around some overturned chairs and broken bottles. The Riders are posted by the doors again, talking quietly. Rampage is behind the bar, pressing ice to his split lip.
He looks up when he sees us. His eyes go from me to Joanna and back again. I can practically see him adding things up, drawing conclusions.
"Everything okay?" he asks.
"Yeah," I say. "Joanna's heading out. I'm giving her a ride."
"Following her, you mean?"
"Riding with her."
Rampage's eyebrows go up slightly, but he doesn't comment. Just nods. "Alright. Joanna, you good with that?"
She nods. "Yeah. I'm good."
"Those assholes won't be back," Rampage says. "But if you see anything weird, anything at all, you call me immediately. Understand?"
"I will. Thank you."
He waves her toward the back office. "Go clock out. Take tomorrow night off if you need it."
"I'll be fine—"
"Take it anyway. Paid." His tone leaves no room for argument. "Consider it hazard pay for dealing with drunk idiots."
Joanna looks like she wants to argue, but practical need wins out. She nods and heads to clock out.
Once she's out of earshot, Rampage turns to me. "You know what you're doing?"
"No fucking clue."
"She's got a kid, Danny."
"I know. She told me."
"And you're still—" He gestures vaguely between where I'm standing and where Joanna disappeared.
"Still what?"
"Pursuing this. Whatever this is."
I don't have an answer for that. Don't know what to call what's happening between Joanna and me. Don't know if there even is a "this" or if I'm just some ex-con she feels sorry for.
"I'm making sure she gets home safe," I say finally. "That's all."
"Right. Sure." Rampage doesn't look convinced. "Just... be careful. Both of you. She's a good person, Danny. One of the good ones. Don't fuck it up."
"I'll try not to."
Joanna emerges from the back office, backpack adjusted, keys in hand. She looks small standing there under the harsh warehouse lights. Tired.
She deserves so much better than this place. Than this life. Than me.
But I'm going to walk her to her car anyway. Going to sit in that passenger seat and listen to whatever she wants to tell me. Going to make sure she gets home safe to her daughter.
Because even if I'm not good enough for her, and I'm not, I know I'm not, I can at least do that much.
"Ready?" she asks.
"Yeah. Let's go."
We head for the exit. The night air hits us like a cold slap. Joanna hunches her shoulders, pulling her hoodie tighter. I stay close but not too close. Aware of my size, of how intimidating I must look right now with blood still on my knuckles and face.
Her car's in the same corner as before. Still the darkest spot in the lot. I make a mental note to talk to her about parking closer to the lights. Safer that way.
She unlocks the doors and we both climb in. The interior smells like strawberries and something else—baby powder, maybe. There's a car seat in the back. Pink. With a small stuffed animal buckled into it.
Daisy's seat.
She starts the engine. It coughs and sputters before catching and pulls out of the parking spot.
"So," she says as we turn onto the main road. "You going to tell me? Why you went to prison?"
I look out the window at Blackwater Falls sliding past. Dark streets. Quiet town. Nothing good happens here after midnight.
"Yeah," I say. "I'll tell you."