Page 7 of Raggedy Dan
Riley had practiced on bartered oranges until the juice ran red, then on herself in small, secret pieces easily hidden under waistbands and sleeves.When she got out a year later, she’d turned it into a living.Transformed the pain into art.Converted the scars into stories she controlled.
She dried her hands and looked at the doorway again.
Dan’s scars weren’t hidden under clothes.They were right there, screaming across his face and arms and probably everywhere else she hadn’t seen yet.And he wore that damn bandana like it was bulletproof armor.
She wondered what would work to get him to take it all the way off.
Wondered if she wanted to be the one to ask.
You know you do.
***
Riley was wiping andcleaning up after the most recent client when the bell jingled at 7:28.She didn’t need to look up to know it was him.
Dan stepped inside, bandana already halfway tugged down around his throat tonight, scars fully exposed under the shop lights.He didn’t hide.Didn’t even try.The man just stood there bravely, letting her see.
“You’re early,” she said.“I’ve got another client in fifteen minutes.”
“Why wasn’t the door locked, Riley?”He sounded furious.
“I had a client who just left.He was probably still in the lot when you pulled in.I wasn’t slacking, Dan.”
He offered her a quick up nod.“I figured you might want to close up sooner than usual, with how your day was going earlier.”His eyes tracked over her and around the shop, taking a quick inventory, checking for threats.“Everything quiet?”
“So far.”She tossed the rag into the sink.“You really planning on playing bodyguard all night?”
“Prez’s orders.”A pause.“And my honor.”
Riley studied him.The scars pulled tight when he spoke, making the left side of his mouth lift in a permanent half-snarl.But his eyes...they were steady.Tired, maybe.Definitely wary.But steady.
She walked closer, stopping barely inside his personal space.“Can I ask you something?”
He nodded once.
“The bandana.Why’d you start wearing it?”
Dan’s jaw flexed.For a second she thought he wouldn’t answer.Then he exhaled, slow and rough.
“First few months after the blast...I couldn’t look in a mirror without wanting to put my fist through it.Kids would stare.Women would flinch.Grown men would cross the street.”He lifted one shoulder.“Easier to cover it up.Let people see what they expect instead of what’s real.I don’t inflict myself on them and also didn’t have to eat their reactions with a side of wounded pride.”
Riley tilted her head.“And now?”
“Now it’s habit.”His gaze dropped to her mouth, then back up.“It’s armor that allows me to keep a forced distance between me and any curious lookie-loo.”
She reached out slowly, giving him plenty of time to avoid her touch, and brushed the edge of the bandana where it rested against his throat.When her fingertips grazed the ridge of a scar, he went very still.
“You don’t have to wear it around me,” she said softly.
His Adam’s apple bobbed.“Never let a woman touch the scars before.”
The admission hung there, raw and unguarded.
Riley didn’t pull her hand away.“First time for everything, Just Dan.”
His eyes searched hers, searching for pity, maybe.She knew he’d find none.
He exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his breath for years.
