I carry Daisy to the car, buckle her into her car seat, and drive the three blocks home. She doesn't wake up during the transfer to her bed, our bed, really, since the apartment only has one bedroom. I tuck her in, kiss her forehead, and finally let myself breathe.
We're safe. We're home. Everything's okay.
I crawl into bed next to her, still wearing my clothes because I'm too exhausted to change. Daisy shifts, finds my hand in the darkness, holds on tight.
And despite everything, the job, the fear, the exhaustion, I fall asleep smiling.
Three days later
I'm running late.
"Mama, where's Mr. Flopsy?" Daisy's standing in the middle of our tiny kitchen, lower lip trembling. Mr. Flopsy is the rabbit. We can't leave without him.
"Check under your pillow, baby," I say, shoving my feet into my sneakers.
She runs to the bed and emerges victorious, rabbit held high. "Found him!"
"Good girl. Come on, we gotta go."
I grab my backpack, scoop Daisy onto my hip, and lock the apartment behind us. Mrs. Morrison's expecting us in ten minutes, and I'm supposed to be at the Pit in thirty. It's going to be tight.
But tonight's Danny's fight.
I'd checked the schedule three times to make sure. BRUISER VS. RIOT. Eight o'clock. I'd traded shifts with Marcus so I could work tonight instead of tomorrow. Told him I needed the extra money, which isn't even a lie. I always need extra money.
But that's not why I'm going.
I need to thank Danny. Properly. Not just a rushed whisper in a parking lot while I'm half-terrified and completelyoverwhelmed. I need him to know that what he did mattered. That I'm grateful.
Even if the rules say I can't talk to fighters before their matches.
Daisy chatters the whole drive to Mrs. Morrison's, telling me about a cartoon she watched and a picture she drew and how she wants pancakes for breakfast tomorrow. I make appropriate sounds, ask questions, try to be present even though my mind keeps drifting to the warehouse.
To Danny.
I've been working every night since that first incident. Cleaning up after Reckless, after Rampage, after a dozen other fighters whose names I barely remember. But none of them are Danny. None of them look at me the way he did. None of them make my stomach clench or my hands shake for entirely different reasons.
"Mama?" Daisy tugs on my sleeve. "We're here."
Right. I pull up outside Mrs. Morrison's house and help Daisy out of her car seat. She runs to the porch, already calling for "Miss Patricia," and I follow with her overnight bag.
"You're in a hurry tonight," Mrs. Morrison observes as Daisy disappears inside.
"Big crowd expected," I lie. Sort of. "More to clean."
She gives me a knowing look that makes me wonder exactly how transparent I am, but she just smiles. "Drive safe, dear."
I make it to the warehouse ten minutes late. The parking lot's already packed. Cars everywhere, motorcycles lined up near the entrance, the rumble of voices and engines mixing in the cold night air.
I can hear the crowd from here, that particular roar that means a fight's already in progress.
Danny's fight.
I park quickly, grab my cleaning supplies from the trunk, and hurry toward the entrance. The Riders at the door nod at me as I slip inside.
The warehouse is packed, bodies pressed together, everyone on their feet, screaming. I can barely see the Pit through the crowd but I can hear the announcer's voice crackling over the speakers.
"—ROUND TWO, AND RIOT'S LOOKING TO MAKE A COMEBACK—"
