Chapter 7
Danny
Fourteen Years Old
“Um, D-D-Danny? Is this a b-bad time? Over.”
I’m lying in bed, staring at my ceiling, when her voice comes through on the walkie-talkie.
I can tell immediately by her tone that her dad has been drinking again.
Gracie only stutters when she’s nervous or rushed, but she never stutters while saying my name.
It takes me two seconds to fly out of bed and pull my jeans over my plaid boxers.
I grab the walkie-talkie off my nightstand and press the Talk button.
“Gracie, you okay? Over.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Not t-too b-bad, b-but d-do you mind b-bringing an ice pack with you? Uh, over.”
Rage bubbles up through my body. If she’s asking for an ice pack, that means he left a visible mark on her.
I clench my fists and then immediately unclench them.
The last thing Gracie needs is another angry guy in her life.
I check the clock on my dresser—10:00 p.m. It’s Thursday, so her dad must’ve gotten home early from the bar. Shit.
I quietly sneak down to the kitchen and grab an ice pack out of the freezer before heading back upstairs.
Carefully opening my second-floor bedroom window, I climb down the drain pipe on the side of our house.
As soon as I hit my lawn, I run across the grass to Gracie’s house.
I push through the bushes outside her first floor window and impatiently tap on the glass.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Four times makes up our code. Gracie appears at the window, and… Jesus. It’s worse than I expected. The right side of her face near her temple is swollen, a small bump forming.
“Why d-do you still knock on the window? I always leave it unlocked for you.”
“Force of habit, Gracie. Now let me see.”
She backs up near her dresser so I have more room to get through.
I take off my shoe and hand it to her before ducking my head and side-stepping into her room on one leg.
Then, I bring my other leg in through the window and hover it above the floor before giving that shoe to Gracie.
She sets both of my shoes on a plastic garbage bag she keeps on the floor near the window. It’s a dance we’ve done for years.
The first incident was four years ago. After Gracie suffered bruised ribs from being dragged down the hallway to her room in a drunken rage, her dad was extremely apologetic. He blamed his behavior on the alcohol and said it wouldn’t happen again.
It kept happening, but he stopped apologizing.
“It wasn’t really b-bad this t-time, I promise. I’m fine.” She nervously taps her foot on the shaggy pink rug beneath her window. Even in the dim light, a sheen coats her eyes, the purple-tinted iris looking especially blue.
“Don’t lie to me, Gracie. Never to me.” I put a finger under her chin and gently tilt her face toward the lamp for a better look.
Blood pools beneath her pale skin, giving it a bluish tint.
Lightly brushing my thumb just below her injury, I force myself not to dwell on the bruising. “What happened here?”
“He came home early t-today. He was upset that the b-bartender cut him off again. When he got here, I was watching t-television and eating some soup I made. He startled me b-by shouting, and I d-drop, d-dropped the soup on the carpet. So, at least I get why he was angry this t-time.”
“Right, because accidentally spilling some soup warrants a backhand to your face,” I bite out, waves of anger radiating off of my body.
“It wasn’t a b-backhand, actually,” she whispers. “He t-tried t-to pull me b-by my ponytail from the living room t-to the kitchen so I could ‘clean it up faster,’ and when he reached for me, his hand roughed up my face a b-bit.”
I stare at her, feeling helpless and sad. “Why won’t you let me protect you? I’m bigger and stronger now with all my football training."
Gracie crosses her arms across her chest in obvious frustration. “D-Don’t b-be ridiculous. I’m not going t-to let my d-drunk d-dad, who’s already passed out on the couch, ruin your future.” She huffs. “He’s not worth it.”
“Then why can’t we report him? You could live at our house. My mom and sister love you. We’re already next door. It’d be easy.”
“We b-both know that’s not how the system works. I’d go into foster care and never see you again.”
I blow a frustrated raspberry through my lips. “Then what about Grandma Mae?”
Gracie hasn’t seen her maternal grandmother since her mother died of cancer five years ago.
It’s not that Mae doesn’t want to see her; it’s just that she lives in Florida and has a hard time flying.
Gracie refuses to tell her anything negative about her home life during their weekly phone conversations, so Mae stays completely in the dark about her situation.
Her dad wasn’t always like this. He was a serious guy, sure, but soft with her mom.
When she passed away, it was like he purposely started sinking the ship.
His drinking went from twice a week to twice a day in the blink of an eye.
Gracie can say what she wants, but I know she still believes that it’s just the beer and he doesn’t know what he’s doing.
I worry she doesn’t speak up because she misses who he used to be.
It’s difficult for her to see past the good memories, especially since it’s just her and her dad now.
“I was thinking about asking Mae t-to come, but I’m worried that if she knows, she’ll move me t-to Florida.” Her voice wavers, quivering in her throat as her body trembles.
Gracie’s words give me pause. I don’t know what I would do without her. It may be selfish of me to want her close, but losing her would be like losing a part of myself.
I feel powerless as I pull her into a tight hug, rubbing her back in small circles like Mom does to me when I’m sick.
I know it’s not a cure, but she relaxes against me and her tears slow to a stop.
Leaning back slightly, I take the small ice pack I brought from my house out of my pocket.
I gently bring it to her temple and hold it there with the lightest amount of pressure.
After a few moments, Gracie pulls back. “Ah, that gets freezing fast.”
I lean in and blow some hot air over her cold skin, my lips lingering close to her hairline a little longer than necessary. Things have been different between us lately. I’ve been…noticing her more. Gracie is smart and pretty, but she’s also thoughtful and kind to everyone.
As soon as those thoughts bubble up, I shove them back down. She doesn’t need me to change the dynamic between us. She needs me as a friend. A trusted best friend.
Gracie’s wild curls are sticking to her cheeks, her salty tears acting as glue.
She gingerly pulls her hair back into a ponytail, giving me a quick view of five raw, red scratches down her neck.
I rub my eyes and drag my hand down my face.
It looks like maybe an entire curl was pulled out of her head.
Taking a deep breath to temper the anger stewing inside of me, I grab a tissue on her desk and gently wipe away some blood that hasn’t quite dried yet.
“Time for bed,” I grit out. We both get under the covers with our clothes on and turn toward each other. I can tell she’s still reeling. I wrack my mind for things I can do to make her feel even a tiny bit better.
“Fact for a feeling, Gracie girl?” I ask, initiating our favorite game.
“Oh, um, let me think.”
Watching the wheels turn in that beautiful, big brain of hers might be my favorite part of playing Facts and Feelings with Gracie.
“Okay, I got one.”
I rub my hands together. “I’m on the edge of my seat.”
She sniffles, but a small grin tugs at her lips. “Sea otters hold hands while they sleep so they d-don’t d-drift away from each other.”
Gracie waits for my reaction, probably expecting me to say something playful back.
But all I say tonight is “interesting” and move to grasp her hand under the covers. Her fingers are freezing. I lace mine through hers and gently rub her thumb back and forth.
We lie there, holding hands in silence. I try to wind us down by counting each neon green plastic star on her ceiling out loud. Several minutes pass, and she snuggles closer to me for warmth. A flurry of fizzy bubbles pop in my stomach, one after another. She yawns, and my eyes feel heavy.
“Wait. What was your feeling, Danny?”
I breathe in slowly, then release a heavy sigh. “I’m feeling like I hate your dad.”
She releases a soft gasp. “Oh.”
I turn off the lamp on the nightstand closest to me without letting go of her hand.
“Night, Gracie Girl. Love you.”
“Night, Danny Boy. Love you, too.”
And when her alarm goes off early the next morning, we’re still holding hands like otters. I take in my surroundings and yawn. In the morning light, things don’t seem so scary. And I’m somewhere I always want to be. With Gracie.