Page 4 of Iron Will

There’s something in her eyes, and her scrawny frame, that sends a sharp pierce of regret through my chest. A memory surfaces, from long ago.

A memory of my sister. How she used to look, back in the day. Before I could protect her.

My teeth clench. I wonder how much of why she’s in this hospital bed is because of the piece of trash Mal just hauled out of here.

“That guy ain’t very nice, is he?” I ask, trying hard as I can not to telegraph my anger through my voice.

The girl shakes her head, eyes wide as saucers.

I don’t really know what else to say at this point, but one thing’s for sure: I’m not about to leave her alone.

“So, what did you do to that arm?” I nod at the cast.

She swallows, and looks like she’s trying to find her words. “I fell down the stairs,” she finally says, her voice tiny and soft. “I was trying to take my clothes to the washing machine.”

Huh. At first, I don’t believe her.I fellis a pretty classic line that abused kids say. I should know. I used it myself, back in the day. But something in the way she says it makes me think she’s telling the truth. At least about that part.

“Aren’t you a little young to be doing laundry?”

“I’m seven,” she pipes up, with just a degree of feistiness. Shit. She looks pretty small for a seven year-old.

“Oh,” I say seriously. “My apologies.”

“Is my mom gonna come soon?”

“Yeah. I’m sure she is.”

I notice the girl seems to be untensing a little bit, so I move toward the foot of the bed and take a seat, far enough away from her that she’ll have plenty of personal space. “So, what’s your name?”

“Paisley,” she mumbles, looking down at her cast.

“I’m Rourke. Pleased to meet you.”

“Pleasetameetyoutoo.”

The way she says it, like she’s just remembering her manners, makes me chuckle.

“That guy’s your mom’s boyfriend, huh?” I ask her.

Paisley’s eyes immediately grow dark and sad. “Yeah. His name is Mickey.”

“You don’t like him much, huh?”

“No…”

“Me neither.”

Paisley risks a look at me. Her face looks like she’s trying to figure out whether to say something. Finally, she does: “My mom says it’s not okay to hit people.”

“Your mom’s right,” I agree. “But…” I lean closer. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Paisley nods.

“Hitting him was fun.”

Then, before my eyes, her face transforms. A tiny grin appears, which she lifts up her good hand to hide. She starts to giggle. Which makes me start to chuckle. Which makes her start full-on laughing.

It makes me happy as hell to hear her laugh, even though I can kind of tell it hurts her head to do it. Seems to me she probably hasn’t done much laughing today.

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