Page 133 of Dirty Game
Dante rolls over, tucks his chin to his chest.
“She was my best friend,” Rosalynn continues. “We used to make promises to each other. Sometimes we kept them, sometimes we didn’t. But the promise that mattered was the one where we swore to always come back for each other. Even if it was scary.”
Dante is quiet for a long time. Then he says, “Is she gone?”
Rosalynn’s voice is steady, but her hands twist the blanket. “Yes.”
He nods, like he expected it.
He looks at her, eyes dark and sharp. “Will you leave too?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
He studies her face. “Promise?”
She smiles, tousling his hair. “Promise.”
He holds out his pinky, the way kids do. She links hers with his.
Then, without warning, she takes Dante’s hand and holds it. “We aren’t going anywhere, sweetheart.”
Dante’s eyes are huge. He looks at their joined hands, like the promise is physically there.
He lets go, but not all the way.
The promise she just made him, it’s true. It’s something she won’t ever break, and maybe that’s what he needed to hear right now.
The hours pass and Dante sleeps in his own bed. Rosalynn curls up in a chair beside him, dozing off and on, always one ear open for his dreams.
In the morning, I find them both asleep, her hand resting on his back, the two of them at peace in the wreckage.
I want to join them, but I don’t know how.
Instead, I sit in the hallway, knees to my chest, and watch the door.
I watch for as long as it takes.
Maybe forever.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Rosalynn
The screaming wakes me at two in the morning.
Not the neighbors. Not the city. Dante.
I'm out of bed before I'm fully conscious, used to it from weeks of this routine.
My bare feet hit the cold floor, and I'm running down the hall to his room, Varrick's shirt billowing behind me like wings.
He's tangled in his Spider-Man sheets, thrashing, crying out words that aren't quite words.
His small face is contorted in terror, sweat making his dark hair stick to his forehead.
"Dante, baby, wake up." I keep my voice soft but firm, sitting on the edge of his bed without touching him yet. I've learned not to grab him when he's like this—it makes the panic worse. "It's just a dream. You're safe."
His eyes snap open, wild and unfocused.
