Page 24 of Secret Heir

He looks at me with wary eyes, weighing the risks and debating whether he can trust me.

“Okay,” he finally whispers.

I go in first, the water warm around my waist, and hold out my arms. “Come on. I’ll catch you.”

Daniel sits on the edge, dangling his legs in the water. He’s so small, his ribs visible through his pale skin.

Goosebumps are on his thin arms. He needs to eat more, but I fight the urge to do as my mother would have done and force feed.

I just need to keep giving him nutritious options for food so he can grow into the strong boy he should be.

“I’m scared,” he admits, and the vulnerability of that statement makes my throat tight.

“I know.” I keep my voice gentle, the way my father used to speak to me when I was young and afraid of the dark. “But I’ve got you. I won’t let you go.”

Daniel takes a deep breath and slides into the water, and I catch him like I promised. His hands immediately grip my shoulders, fingers digging in with surprising strength.

“I’ve got you,” I say again. “You’re safe.”

We spend an hour in the pool. I teach him to float on his back, my hand supporting his spine. I show him how to kick, and how to hold his breath underwater.

He’s cautious about everything, testing each new skill carefully before committing.

When his lips start to turn blue despite the heated water, I wrap him in one of the fluffy towels and we sit on a lounger.

He’s shivering, pressed against my side, and I realize this is the first time he’s willingly touched me.

My chest warms and I tentatively wrap an arm around him to bring him closer. He doesn’t fight me.

“You did good,” I tell him, rubbing his shoulder through the towel. “You’re a natural swimmer.”

“Really?” He looks up at me, and there’s something hopeful in his face. He wants to believe me.

“Really.” I tousle his wet hair and smile at him. “A few more lessons and you’ll be swimming on your own.”

He nods, considering this as he kicks his feet. “Mama doesn’t know how to swim either.”

I fight a scowl. Of course she doesn’t. Another thing she couldn’t afford to learn. Another skill she couldn’t pass on to our son.

“Maybe we can teach her together,” I suggest, keeping my voice light even though I know that would never happen.

Daniel’s face lights up for a moment before the wariness returns. “She wouldn’t want to learn from you.”

Ouch, kid. It stings more than they should even though I know he’s not wrong. “Why not?”

“Because you make her cry,” he says matter-of-factly, without accusation. “She cries at night when she thinks I’m sleeping.”

Fuck.

“Your mother and I…” I search for words that will make sense to a seven-year-old. “We have some things we need to work out. But that doesn’t mean⁠—”

“Are you going to hurt us?” The question is direct, those gray eyes locked on mine, demanding truth.

“No,” I say fiercely, my whole being balking at the thought of hurting my own child. “Never. You’re my son, Daniel. I would die before I let anyone hurt you. Including myself.”

He studies me for a long moment. “Mama said you’re dangerous.”

Of course she did. “I can be.” There’s no point in lying to Daniel and I also don’t want to. The child has already been lied to about so much. I squeeze his arm. “But not to you. Never to you or your mother.”