Page 100 of Danger

“Dad?” Fisher calls from his room, voice thin.

“Shit.”

Danger is already moving.

“I got you, bud,” he says, steady and sure.

I follow without thinking.

Fisher’s sitting up in bed when we get there, hair sticking up, eyes shiny with sleep and fear.

“Storm woke me up,” he says.

“I know,” Danger murmurs. “It’s just noise. You’re safe.”

Fisher’s gaze flicks to me. Then—quiet, hopeful—“She stayed the night?”

I crouch beside him. “I got sleepy after we made cookies. I hope that’s okay.”

Fisher’s face lights up. “Of course. Me too. Must’ve been something we put in them.”

“I’ll tuck you in,” Danger laughs.

Fisher shakes his head immediately. “Can Winnie do it?”

The room goes still. Danger looks at his son. Then at me. Something in his eyes gives.

Not permission. Trust.

“Sure,” he says quietly. “If that’s what you want.”

I sit on the edge of the bed and pull the blanket up, smoothing it the way I’ve seen my mother do a thousand times. It’s instinctive even though I’ve never done this before.

“Story?” Fisher asks.

I grab a book on the nightstand, and I read. About bedtime. About love. About the baby you’ll be and the grown-up you’ll become.

Fisher’s fingers curl into the blanket.

Halfway through, he whispers, “Do you think everyone needs a mama?”

My throat closes.

I glance at Danger. He’s frozen, arms crossed leaning against the doorway.

I turn back to Fisher. “I think mamas are everywhere. Sometimes they’re the ones who show up when you need them. Sometimes they’re people who love you, even if you don’t call them mama. I don’t know if everyone needs a mama, but what I do know is that you have a daddy and a nana and uncles who love you, and that makes you the luckiest kid there is.”

He thinks about that. Then, very quietly: “I wish you were my mama.”

Something inside me breaks open. I blink hard but smile anyway.

“I’ll always be here for you,” I say. “As long as your daddy says it’s okay.”

I look up.

Danger’s jaw is tight. His eyes shine like he’s holding back a flood. He nods once.

Fisher yawns, already fading. “Night, Winnie.”