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 rightnow. 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."
