“So I can show you the part where you lose.”
She snorts, then lunges forward like she’s going to splash me again.
I catch her wrists gently—easily—before she can.
Her breath hitches.
The water laps at our bodies. The cold doesn’t matter for a second.
Her eyes lift to mine. And something in the air shifts. She’s close enough that I can see the faint freckles across her nose, the way her lashes clump slightly from water spray. I can feel her pulse in her wrists under my fingers. She swallows, and I let her go. Slowly. Deliberately. Because this isn’t the time to push. Not when she’s finally laughing. Not when she’s finally breathing.
Salem steps back, blinking like she just remembered what her body can do when it’s near someone dangerous. Then she splashes me again—harder. I bark a laugh and retaliate, sending a sheet of water toward her. She squeals, and then tries to dodge, slipping a little on the stones.
My instincts snap. I’m on her in a second, hand braced at her waist, steadying her. “You okay?” I ask, too sharp.
Salem freezes like she’s startled by how fast I moved. Then she nods, breathless. “Yeah.”
My palm is still on her hip. My fingers can feel the warmth of her skin through wet fabric. I should move. I do move. But not before her gaze drops to my hand, then slides back up to my face. Heat flashes between us, brief and dangerous.
“Don’t go all protective dad on me,” she mutters.
I snort. “Protective dad?”
She gestures vaguely at me. “You know. ‘Be careful, you’ll slip.’”
I tilt my head. “Salem, I’m just worried about you. About what happened to you.”
Her expression changes instantly, the playful edge falling away.
I regret the words the second they’re out. I don’t want to drag her back into it.
But Salem doesn’t flinch. She just exhales slowly, like she’s letting truth sit beside her. “Yeah,” she whispers.
We stand in the creek for a minute longer, letting the water and silence do something neither of us can do alone. Then Salem wades toward a rock and sits, water around her hips, arms draped over her knees. I sit on a nearby stone, keeping my body angled toward her, not crowding.
She looks out at the water, eyes distant.
“You want to talk?” I ask quietly.
Salem’s mouth curves without humor. “About my tragic backstory?”
“About anything,” I say. “You don’t have to. I’m just… here.”
She stares at the surface of the creek like it might answer for her. Then she says, voice low, “My mom never cared.” It’s blunt. No pause. No buildup. Just a fact she’s carried so long it’s turned into stone.
My chest tightens.
Salem shrugs like it’s nothing. “She cared about men. About attention. About whatever made her feel… important. I was an inconvenience.”
I hold my expression neutral even though rage is building behind my ribs like a storm.
“And her boyfriend,” Salem continues, a slight curl of disgust twisting her mouth. “Carl.”
My jaw flexes.
“Carl’s… a scumbag,” she says. “Always has been. Creeps me out. He’d look at me like—” She swallows. “Like I was… something he could take.”
My hands clench around the edge of the rock. I keep my voice calm. “Is he still around?”