PROLOGUE
Salem
The skatepark in Saint Pierce always smells like hot asphalt mixed with that fake strawberry vape cloud kids pretend is cool. Concrete bowls chipped and scarred, rails tagged over so many times the colors bleed together into gray mush. Sirens wail somewhere far off, same as always. It’s like the city’s got one finger permanently on the panic button.
I’m parked on the lip of the biggest ramp, orange board balanced across my legs. It’s so loud it might as well be a traffic cone with attitude. My thumb keeps flicking through TikTok, scroll-scroll-scroll, like if I go fast enough the feed will swallow the knot in my chest.
It doesn’t.
Some kid drops in hard; wheels scream. A cheer goes up, then a wipeout, followed by that fake-ha-ha-I’m-totally-fine laugh. Yeah. Been there.
My phone buzzes.
Mom.
Missed call. No voicemail. No “hey are you alive?” Just her thumb brushing the screen and bailing halfway through the impulse. Probably a butt dial if I’m being honest. I hate her for that.
Heat crawls up my neck. My pulse thuds behind my eyes. I jam the phone deep into my hoodie pocket before I can be dumb enough to call her back and hope for once she picks up like she means it.
The board’s warm under my palms. The grip tape is rough and familiar. It’s the only thing that feels solid right now. And right now, that’s huge.
Another board rattles up, and stops inches from my knee.
“Yo. Orange board.”
I glance up.
A guy in a backwards cap with a grin too big for his face, smiles at me. His eyes slide over me—not the board,me.
“You skate?” he asks.
“Enough to know where they keep the good painkillers at the ER,” I say.
He laughs like I just told the joke of the year as he steps closer. He’s testing.
My lungs squeeze as my shoulders lock. I don’t budge an inch. I’ve been hit on by guys before. I also know an asshole when I see one.
“You here alone?” His voice drops, like we’re in on something dirty.
“Not even close.” Sweet smile. “I’m with my boyfriend.”
His dark eyes narrow. “Where’s he at?”
I tilt my head. “Probably figuring out how to yank teeth with pliers without getting blood on his shoes.”
The grin falters. He mutters something under his breath and rolls off.
My hands stay steady. However, my heart doesn’t.
Because it’s not him. It’s the thing already waiting at home.Carl.Mom’s boyfriend. The one who says “kiddo” like it’s cute while his stare lingers too long, too low. The one who thinks because Mom’s checked out, the house is his playground.
Last week he leaned in close enough I could smell his cheap body spray and whispered,If I was your age…
My stomach twists just remembering it. My skin feels too tight, like someone took a Brillo pad to the inside.
My phone buzzes again.
Unknown number.