The boy.
August.
My chest locks.
“Don’t scare him,” Hot Mama adds.
Shortie snorts. “I’m adorable.”
A woman in the distance calls, “That is a lie!”
Hot Mama looks back at me. “You won’t discuss Vale in front of him unless his mama says.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I glare. “I know.”
“Good. Because children hear blood even when grown-ups spell around them.”
Damn.
I look away first.
The campground noises return by inches. A hammer in the garage. Kids shouting somewhere. A dog barking once. A woman laughing near the kitchen. The ordinary sounds of a place built to keep the unordinary from swallowing people whole.
Then I hear my name.
Not Amelia.
August.
“Derby!”
I turn.
He comes running across the campground with Blue Rex in one hand and a green dinosaur in the other. His hair is wild. His knees are dirty. There is chili or chocolate or God knows what on his shirt. He looks alive and small and happy in a way that hits me harder than I’m ready for.
He slams into my legs.
I catch him automatically, one hand going to the back of his head.
For one second, I close my eyes.
He is here.
Safe.
Warm.
Breathing.
“Hey, kid.”
“You came.”
“Yeah.”