I followed the sound of laughter down the hall, slow steps echoing off the concrete like I didn’t want to interrupt whatever magic was happening behind that half-closed door.
Water splashed. Koda squealed. Kat’s voice—soft, playful—rose above it all like a melody I hadn’t heard in years. Not since before the club swallowed me whole.
I stopped just short of the bathroom, leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and watched.
Kat was crouched beside the tub, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back in that messy knot she wore when she was too tired to care but too stubborn to stop. Koda sat in the water, curls plastered to his forehead, cheeks flushed with joy. He kicked, sending waves over the edge, soaking the floor and Kat’s jeans. She didn’t flinch. Just laughed harder.
I didn’t say a word.
