The waterpark will help him relax.
Hell, it might help me too.
When we pull into the massive parking lot of Aqua Haven Indoor Water Resort, the place is already busy—minivans, SUVs, parents hauling coolers and beach bags, kids in neon swimsuits darting between cars. I park near the back, away from the main entrance lights.
Inside the lobby it smells like coconut sunscreen and spilled tropical juice. The gift shop is right there, bright and overpriced. I buy two towels, a plain black Speedo for him, board shorts for me, and a couple of cheap flip-flops. Landon disappears into the male changing room ahead of me while I take a moment to myself.
I briefly wonder whether letting him change alone is a good idea. But what choice do I have? It’s right I give him his privacy, keep this professional.
When he comes out he’s wrapped in the towel, hair slicked back after a quick shower, looking younger and more uncertain than he has all day.
He gives me a shy half-smile. “Ready?”
I nod. “Give me a second to change. Then let’s disappear for a while. And have some fun doing it…”
The waterpark is enormous: twisting slides in every color, a wave pool that roars every fifteen minutes, a lazy river that circles the whole facility, splash pads for the little ones. We start easy—lazy river first. We each claim an inner tube, push off from the edge, and let the current carry us.
For the first loop we don’t talk much. Just float. The artificial sunlight pours through the glass roof. Kids scream on the slides. Water laps against rubber. I watch Landon’s face relax inch by inch.
After the second loop he finally speaks.
“Is this the kind of thing you thought Littles like to do?” he asks quietly.
I glance over at him. He’s trailing his fingers through the water, watching the ripples.
“Yeah,” I admit. “Daddies enjoy it too. Well, this one does at least. Anyway, I thought you might like the noise. The movement. The…normal.”
He nods slowly. “I do. I really do.”
Guilt twists low in my gut.
I haven’t told him everything.
I haven’t told him that Viktor more or less gave the kill order this morning. I haven’t told him that I’m not just running from a leak—I’m running from my own people. I haven’t told him the reality of how easily his father brushed off his potential execution.
But I couldn’t bring myself to say any of it in the café. I couldn’t watch his face crumple again so soon after the penthouse.
So I told myself it was mercy.
Whatever.
We move on to the slides.
He’s nervous at first—eyes wide when he looks up at the tallest one, a six-story drop called Thunder Drop. But he doesn’t back out.
When we reach the top platform he grips the rail, stares down the chute, and suddenly his hand finds mine.
“I’m too scared to go by myself,” Landon blurts, voice small.
I lace my fingers through his without hesitation. “Then we gotogether.”
The attendant waves us forward. We sit in the double tube—my brave boy in front, me behind—his back pressed to my chest, my arms around his waist holding the handles. He’s shaking a little.
“Ready?” I ask against his ear.
He nods.
We push off.
