"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."
I take a breath. Let it out slow. The streetlights flash across Joanna's face as she drives, illuminating her profile in intervals. She's focused on the road, but I can tell she's listening.
"My sister," I start. "Erin. She was nineteen when it happened. I was twenty-six. She'd been dating this guy for about a year. Mark." Even saying his name leaves a bitter taste. "Seemed normal enough. Had a job, wasn't a complete asshole when I met him. I didn't love the guy, but Erin seemed happy."
Joanna makes a soft sound. Encouraging but not interrupting.
"Then she started making excuses not to see me. Always busy. Always tired. When I did see her, she'd wear long sleeves even in summer. Wouldn't look me in the eye." My hands curl into fists on my thighs. "I knew something was wrong but she kept saying everything was fine. That I was being overprotective."
The car slows for a red light. Joanna's hands are tight on the wheel.
"One night she called me. Three in the morning. Crying so hard I could barely understand her. Said she'd locked herself in the bathroom and Mark was trying to break down the door." The memory makes my chest tight. "I drove to her apartment. Broke every traffic law getting there. When I arrived, she was sitting on the front steps. Face swollen. Blood on her shirt. Ribs so bruised she could barely breathe."
"Oh my God," Joanna whispers.
"He'd been hitting her for months. Started small. Pushing, grabbing too hard. Then escalated. That night he'd beaten her worse than ever before because she'd mentioned wanting to visitme for my birthday." My voice comes out flat. Dead. The only way I can tell this without losing it. "She was terrified. Begging me not to call the cops because she didn't want to deal with pressing charges, with court, with all of it. She just wanted to be safe."
