“Mama?” Dakoda called my name again, like he wasn’t already wrapped around my legs. My baby always got scared during storms, especially the ones that came with loud wind and thunder.
“I’m right here, baby.” My voice came out too fast and too breathless to be calming.
“I don’t like it,” he said, faster now. “Make it stop. Mama, make it stop.”
“I—” My voice caught. This was too much. Everything was too much. The storm. The dark. KO standing there. The weight of what just happened, what he just found out, what I hadn’t said.
“Mama!” Dakoda’s voice rang out again.
“Hey, hey.” KO crossed the space between us and dropped down in front of Dae-Dae as if he’d been doing it his whole life. “Look at me.”
Dakoda did, and so did I. The flashlight coated his face just enough to reveal how unshaken he looked, like he was unbothered by the chaos around us.
“You good,” he said. “I got you. Ain’t nothing happening. It’s just loud. That’s it.”
Another crack of thunder sounded outside, and Dakoda flinched hard. KO didn’t hesitate. He reached in, one hand coming up to the back of Dakoda’s head, the other bracing at his side as he pulled him forward.
“I got you,” he said, and Dakoda went into KO’s arms like none of this was new. “That’s just Mother Nature throwing a little fit,” he murmured against his hair. “She ain’t gon’ hurt you.”
Dakoda clung to him, breathing still uneven, but not panicked anymore. Not like before. My chest tightened, something unfamiliar settling in behind it. Not jealousy. Not anger, but guilt. Because this man, who had just looked at me like I’d ruined his life, was holding my son . . . no, our son, like he’d known him his whole life. Like he hadn’t just found out about him.
Another roll of thunder moved through the building, lower this time, and Dakoda didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered. I swallowed hard, and KO rose to his full height, sweeping the flashlight around the room once, checking corners and the doorways.
“The power will probably be out for a while,” he said. Dakoda was still wrapped around him, small arms locked tight around his neck, face buried into his shoulder. KO adjusted his hold without thinking, one hand steady at his back as he glanced around the room. “We good, though,” he added. “I got y’all.”
Something in my chest twisted at that, and I watched him move with Dakoda toward the center of the room, away from the walls, away from anything that could fall or break. I followed slowly, watching them under the glow of the flashlight until KO found a clear space near the couch and lowered himself down with Dakoda still in his arms. For five years, I had made every decision alone. Every meal, every school form, every doctor visit, every fever, every nightmare, every late rent payment . . . everything alone because that was what I thought I had to do. There had been nobody besides Nia to defer to. KO was stepping in like it was nothing, like it was natural. He sat Dakoda down on the sofa, and then his eyes lifted, scanning the room again.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said.
“Do what?”
“Calm him down. Thank you.”
“Kid was scared. I wasn’t about to just let him stay that way.”
“Still, thank you.”
He nodded, and we stared at each other awkwardly for a minute. So many years had passed. There was so much to be said, and I didn’t think either of us knew where to start.
“I’m finna see what we got in here,” he muttered before walking away and shining the light across the room. He set the flashlight on the coffee table and started ravaging through the space, pulling drawers and checking behind doors.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“Backups,” he said. “Candles. Matches. Anything to get some light up in here.”
“I’ve got candles in my backpack.”
He glanced at me over his shoulder and went back to looking around the room. I grabbed my backpack from the table and kneeled on the floor, digging past wipes, snacks, and extra clothes until my fingers found the little pack of emergency candles I’d shoved in the bottom.
“Found them,” I said. KO held out his hand, and I froze. I didn’t realize that he’d made his way back over to us. I took a deep breath, my eyes focused on his hands. My body still remembered them. The shape of them. The weight of them. The way they used to settle low on my back or grip my hips or cup my face when he wanted all of me looking at him. My chest went tight, and I felt stupid for allowing my mind to wander there. The man had just found out he had a five-year-old son. He hated me, and he had every right to. This was not the time to have my mind in the gutter.
I set the candles in his palm without touching him and watched as he lit two and moved them further into the room, placing one on the low table near the couch and one on the floor near the ring. Soft light spread out around us, not enough to light the room but enough to make us feel safe. I sat on the couch next to my son, and Dakoda moved closer to me, leaning into my leg.
“I’m hungry,” he said after a minute. Of course he was. I let out a quiet breath, reaching for the backpack again, pulling it into my lap. My fingers moved on autopilot, digging through it until I found the wrapped peanut butter jelly sandwiches I’d made before we left.
“I got PB&J,” I murmured handing one to him, and his face lit up.
“KO, you . . . you eat?”