Twice the Trouble, Half the Gold

The sunlight hit my face before I was ready for it. I blinked hard, squinting into the warm light bleeding through the curtains. For a second, I forgot where I was. Forgot how calm I felt. Forgot that Bandit was—

My eyes shot to the side.

He was still there, snuggled up against my hip, his tail lazily thumping the blanket in his sleep. My heart dropped straight into my stomach.

"Crap."

It all came flooding back. The late-night run. Dally was drunk at the door. Steve's car peeled out. The yelling. The adrenaline. The absolute robbery of a dog.

And now I had a 60-pound furball snoring in my bed like he paid rent.

I heard movement downstairs — drawers opening, cupboard doors slamming shut, laughter. The boys were up. And if I didn't move quickly, they'd be up here, storming into my room to see why I hadn't come down for breakfast, and one of them would definitely notice a whole dog in my bed.

I bolted upright, whispering sharply, "Bandit — hey, come on, up, up, let's go."

Bandit stretched like he had all the time in the world, then gave me one of those slow dogs blinks like what's the rush?

I barely got the window open before I heard footsteps creaking on the stairs.

Panic clawed up my throat.

I hooked my arms under Bandit's belly and whispered, "Sorry, bud," before hoisting him awkwardly out the window onto the side patch of grass beneath. He landed with a soft thud, shook himself out, and then looked up at me like rude.

"Shhh," I hissed, shutting the window fast and collapsing against it.

Knock-knock.

"Bell!" Pony's voice came from the other side of my door. "You alive in there or what?"

I swallowed hard and forced my voice to steady. "Yeah! Just—overslept. Be down in a sec!"

"Breakfast's gettin' cold!" he called, and his footsteps padded back down the hall.

I exhaled.

Barely made it.

Now Bandit was outside again, hidden, and no one — hopefully — would notice what I'd done. What we'd done. Robbing a dog back from a terrible old man probably wasn't the Curtis family's idea of keeping a low profile. Especially not after everything else.

Still... as I glanced out the window, watching Bandit curl up in the shade like he'd never left, I couldn't help but smile.

Totally worth it.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Look who finally rolled outta bed," Soda teased, flipping something questionable in the pan.

"Shut up," I muttered, but I was grinning. It felt good, the normalcy. No tension hanging in the air. No secrets ready to burst open. Just warmth, noise, and scrambled eggs that may or may not be edible.

I sank into my seat and let the chatter roll over me. Johnny and Two-Bit weren't around yet, probably sleeping off whatever dumb idea they chased last night. Steve had texted Soda something about working extra hours, so it was just us. Just the Curtis house being the Curtis house.

Darry tossed a towel at Soda, muttering about cleaning the mess he made on the stove. Pony argued about what to watch later on the old TV. I just sat back and soaked it in, nursing a cup of orange juice and enjoying the rare quiet in my chest.

I was halfway through my second piece of toast, legs tucked under me on the kitchen chair when Darry came downstairs again — this time dressed for work. Crisp shirt, boots tied tight, and jaw already set like he was gearing up to fight someone over plywood.