Page 70 of Joker

I blink.

Joker blinks too, though only once.

Lexi has somehow managed to half-zip her hoodie wrong and trapped the fabric in itself. She turns around without waiting for an answer and lifts her arms slightly like this is now his problem.

And Joker just handles it.

No awkwardness. No fumbling. No hesitation.

He crouches again, carefully works the zipper free without yanking her around, and zips it up smooth. “There,” he says.

Lexi twists to look at the zipper, nods approvingly, then pats his shoulder like she’s rewarding a competent employee. “Good job.”

I laugh before I can stop myself. Full, startled, completely unplanned laughter that slips out and catches me off guard almost as much as it catches him.

Joker looks up at me from where he’s still crouched in front of her, one dark brow lifting slightly. And there it is again.

That dangerous, ridiculous thing that keeps happening between us when I least expect it. That tiny, electric pause. That awareness. That impossible sense that somehow, in the middle of this loud, chaotic clubhouse full of people, he and I keep finding these small suspended moments where the rest of the world blurs around the edges.

It only lasts a second.

Then Lexi says, “I’m tired.”

Joker deadpans, “What have you done today?”

Lexi plants both hands on her hips. “I colored.”

“Hell of a day.”

“I need carry.”

I open my mouth to tell her she can absolutely walk on her own two perfectly functioning legs.

Joker beats me to it. He stands in one smooth movement, hooks a hand under her arm, and lifts her onto his hip like he’s done it a thousand times instead of, as far as I know, never.

Lexi immediately settles in like she belongs there.

Just…melts.

One arm around his shoulder. Bunny dangling from one hand. Truck still clutched in the other.

No uncertainty. No tension. No little-body stiffness that would tell me she’s not fully comfortable.

Nothing.

She just settles. And my breath catches so hard I have to look away for a second.

Because that does something to me I absolutely do not have time for. Not even a little.

I tell myself it’s because I’m relieved.

Because my daughter feels safe. Because after everything she’s been through, after all the fear and confusion and change, seeing her trust someone this easily should be emotional.

And it is.

It absolutely is. But it’s not just that.

That would be easier.