“Was she hurt?” she asks in a small voice. When Luke doesn’t reply, she turns to Seth. Her hands ball into fists, her manicured nails daggers. “Did that monster hurt her, Seth?”
Seth turns away to brace himself against the question. Brace himself against the memories of the scene on the beach—Sal fainting in his arms, the bruises on her throat, the slow wade into the water, the readiness to take her own life.
His throat bobs. “If she wants to tell you, that’s her business, not mine.”
“She doesn’t remember us,” Luke says slowly. He’s treading water—not to mention sanity—with Lacey. “We have to go slow.”
“Well, of course she doesn’t remember,” Lacey sniffs. She steps forward to tug on the end of Luke’s beard. “Go shave, you heathen. She doesn’t even recognize you.”
Luke looks stunned, and Seth has to swallow a laugh.
As if he’s finally remembering how much of a grizzled mountain man he’s turned into, Luke runs a hand across his whiskered jaw. His expression contemplative, concerned.
“She’s right, you know.” Seth arches a brow, peering closely at his brother. “I ain’t so sure Sal’s ever seen you with a beard.”
A moment of stillness, of peace, descends over the kitchen.
“Truce?” Luke offers a hand to Lacey. “We’ll meet in the middle.”
Lacey’s nostrils flare. Instead of shaking Luke’s hand, she tosses her hair. “Fine. But I get to stay at the house.”
Seth groans. The thought of Lacey and all her potions and lotions taking up space already has him on edge. “No fuckin’ way.”
“Deal,” Luke says, ignoring the way Seth’s eyes bore a hole into him. “We keep Sal safe. We help her.”
They shake on it.
For Sal.