Page 24 of Danger

Mama smiles, softer than before. “Of course you can, baby. Go get cleaned up.”

He disappears down the hall, and Mama and I are left in the kitchen.

She leans against the counter, watching me like she’s been building up to this.

“You know you’re allowed to have some fun, right?”

I snort. “Fun? What the fuck is that? ...Respectfully.”

She gives me that mama look. “It’s a Friday. Go out with your brothers tonight.”

“I don’t like to go out.”

“Yeah,” she says dryly. “I’ve noticed.”

She pats my arm, firm enough to say she means it. “You never got to be a kid. Never even got to be a young adult. Always jumpin’ in front of everybody else’s trouble.”

“I gotta work early.”

“And? Life’s not gonna stand around waitin’ for you to get off the clock.”

I open my mouth, then close it. Because arguing with her is like arguing with the weather.

She softens, reaching for my sleeve like she did when I was ten. And all of a sudden, I’m not in the kitchen anymore.

I’m barefoot in my childhood bedroom, night light buzzing, my brothers stacked behind me scared to death. The front door is still shaking from when he slammed it. His truck is already screaming down the drive like he didn’t just wreck everything he left behind.

Mama’s on the kitchen floor, crying quiet so we won’t hear it—like that ever worked.

I peek out just enough to see the blood, to see her shaking.

I don’t cry. There isn’t time for it. I herd my brothers to bed, tuck them in as calm as I can, telling them everything’s going to be fine once they wake up in the morning. They believe me because I’m the oldest—and that feels like the cruelest lie to tell.

Then I go back for her. I soak a towel in cold water, clumsy and desperate, wiping her face the way I’ve seen grown-ups do, trying to make her look like herself again. I don’t know what I’m fixing—I just know I can’t leave her like that. Then I find another towel, pack it with ice, and press it close to her. I keep whispering that it’s okay in a voice that doesn’t belong to a ten-year-old, hoping if I say it enough times, it’ll be true.

I don’t know whatokayis. I just know I have to pretend I do.

That was how I learned how to be older than I was.

Her fingers are still on my sleeve. “You hear me?” she asks gently.

I nod, because I always nod.

“Fisher loves bein’ here. He’s fine. You”—she taps my chest—“need to remember you’re allowed a little happiness too.”

I shake my head. “Ain’t lookin’ for happiness.”

“No,” she sighs, “but it’s lookin’ for you. And it’s gettin’ tired of you hidin’.”

I grunt, heading for the back door before she can get any mushier.

“Danger!” Mama calls as I pull it open.

I pause.

“Enjoy yourself, baby. And if you haven’t noticed, there’s been a cute helper on our ranch lately who seemed to have her eyes on you at dinner.”

I tilt my head, jaw tightening. “Mama… she’s Trouble’s ex. Don’t go there.”