Page 17 of Fighter
Her head tilted slightly. “Do you have bullies too?”
“I do.”
“But you're an adult.”
“I know.” My nose scrunched. “There are adult bullies too. Isn't that the worst? It's hard enough being a kid, isn't it?”
Soberly, she nodded. Her shoulders lifted with a big breath, then fell. I glanced up at the counter, then back to her.
“Hey, you know what helps bad days?”
She reached out, fiddling with the edge of my slate jacket. Despite the warm spring night outside, I still couldn't get warm.
“What?” she asked.
“Brownies.”
Her eyes instantly widened. “I love brownies.”
“Me too. Let's have some, what do you think? I brought you some dinner, too. I think you'll like it, but I didn't make it this time.”
“Are you Serafina?”
“I am. Are you Ava?”
She nodded, then reared back a little, suspicion thick in her gaze. “It's not a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, is it?”
I laughed. “No. You'll see.”
She stood up. Gently, I followed. If I held my breath and braced my side, it wasn't too bad, but several moments still passed before I could breathe normally again. If she noticed, she gave no sign.
“Come on.” I motioned her onto a nearby bench, then patted the counter next to me. Phones and paperwork cluttered the other side, but this space was empty. “Climb on that, then sit here.”
“Dad doesn't let me sit up there.”
I winked. “Dad isn't here, is he? I'll keep you safe.”
Probably a false promise. With a broken rib, I wasn't even sure I'd be able to carry a tray anymore. Still, I couldn't deny her the pleasure of a minuscule rebellion on a hard day. Beaming, she obeyed. Five minutes later, I'd sliced her a few pieces of rotisserie chicken with a plastic knife I'd nabbed at the deli counter, broke off a wing, and stuck a spoon in packages of warm mashed potatoes and corn. I bought all of it at the deli inside the grocery store, but she didn't seem to notice the containers with price tags on them.
“Brownies?” she asked hopefully.
“After dinner.”
She stared at the spoons. “Where's a plate?”
“Didn't bring one. You can eat it just like that.”
She blinked. “Really?”
“Really. It won't spread germs. Just you and your dad eating it.”
Once she took a tentative taste of the mashed potatoes, her eyes lit up, and she dug in for more with a happy little squeal.
“So,” I leaned against the counter on my good side. My hands still trembled a little, but comforting Ava had an oddly soothing effect on me. “Want to tell me more about your day? Who had you in tears?”
She shook her head, her mouth full of corn.
“You don't want to talk about it?”
