Promise Me Not

Payton

Now, July 2

Deaton cries, arching his back and kicking his feet all around, doing his absolute best to fight against the fresh onesie I’m sliding his arms into, his third outfit change of the day. And mine.

“Okay, okay, little man.” I manage to get the two outside buttons done and decide the middle one isn’t necessary. Tickling his tiny, sock-covered feet, I grab ahold, wiggling them back and forth with a big smile to pretend we’re playing a game. It works like a charm, and he stops flailing for half a second, just long enough for me to quickly slide on his cotton shorts.

He screams then, his arms stretched out, fists opening and closing over and over, making grabby hands to let me know he wants me to pick him back up.

“One second, mister.” I turn to my own mess of a wardrobe in search of another clean top, but my drawer is empty aside from the T-shirts I wear to bed, and when I look in my closet, bare hangers stare back. That is, on the side dedicated to the clothes that actually fit. My eyes fall to the clean basket of laundry at the foot of the bed, and I sigh, reaching in and digging around for the least wrinkled one. I still need to shower, so what’s the point of worrying about ironing or, hell, matching.

Ironing. I scoff. Yeah right. The most I’ll take the time to do is throw the entire load back in the dryer and hope it works out the mess I created by tossing them carelessly into the basket in the first place.

“Well, mister man, looks like we’re officially adding laundry back to the never-ending to-do list.”

Deaton cries harder, reminding me why it’s so important to keep him to his normal routine no matter what’s going on outside of it.

“I know, I know. It’s my fault you missed your nap, and we’re all going to pay for it.” I yank the shirt over my head, my lack of finesse causing it to tug the bun I seem to be living in down with it, but I don’t bother to pull the now loose strands out from under the thin cotton, let alone fix the damn thing.

I scoop up the little boy who suddenly hates being put down for any and every reason that doesn’t include water. Foolishly, I thought he’d grow more independent with age, but it seems the opposite is true. Too bad I can only give him so many baths a day to free up my hands, and even then, it’s not to get anything done. It’s the ten-ish minutes of sitting on the tile floor with zero responsibilities that make the fight to dry him off and put on his diaper and clothes worth it.

Well, no responsibilities other than the ever-present fear I’ll mistakenly look away for the split second it would take for him to twist and slip under the water.

Yeah, baths aren’t all that relaxing, but the little smile when he splashes water all over the place is better than any restful moment could be.

I bounce around the room, walking back and forth from one corner to the next, but Deaton continues to fuss, rubbing his face in my chest and playing with the curls of his hair.

“Are you tired, sweet boy?” I kiss his head, cradling him against me, but my little man hates to miss a thing. The moment he recognizes the move for what it is—my attempt to sway him until he’s sleeping—he lifts his little head, blowing air between his lips and sending drool sliding down his chin.

“Oh, we’re blowing bubbles while we cry, huh?” I swiftly snag a bib and snap it into place, not once pausing the bouncing of my body. My eyes catch the clock and widen. “Shit.”

My lips snap closed, and I sigh. I was supposed to be ready an hour ago. Knowing what’s coming this evening, I suck it up and take a deep breath.

“It’s now or never, mister man.” Blanket flung over my shoulder and a toy in my hand, I slide into a pair of flip-flops, doing what I told myself I wouldn’t do today.

I head over to Lolli and Nate’s house next door.

Inside, I pause to listen, the bickering in the hall cluing me in on where to go, and I throw the door open to Lolli’s office.

“Someone, for the love of hot coffee, help. Please.” The words leave me before I fully take in the sight, and sadly, I don’t even have the energy to gape. Or laugh.

Lolli, the girl terrified of marriage and most anything that has to do with acknowledging feelings, though she is getting better at that, stands on a stool in the center of the room wearing a giant, white wedding gown. Her cousin and new roommate, Mia, kneels beside her with a needle and measuring tape in her hand. Mia is lucky Lolli loves her and wants her new business endeavor as a seamstress to work out, or Lolli would never be caught dead in that gown.

My shoulders fall instantly. So much for sneaking away for five minutes.

“Aw…” Lolli’s attention locks on Deaton, and she attempts to step down, but Mia is quick to hold her still.

“Ha! Lolli, get real!” She shakes her head. “Baby puke is another big fat no to be spilled on this dress,” she says, as if they’ve already had this argument.

“Again, Mia, potentially. And you’re getting on my nerves now.” She looks to me, an apology drawing lines to her forehead. “Sorry, she’s being full drill sergeant.”

“It’s fine. I just…” I hesitate, deciding one truth is enough. “Really wanted to shower before Nate’s parents get here. I hate looking like I suck at life when they come.” Again.

I look out the large back window, watching as a few people run by on their way to the ocean, and hope she doesn’t call me out for any other potential reason my stress meter is clearly overflowing today. Thankfully, she doesn’t.

“You don’t suck at life and know that Sarah and Ian would never judge.” Kalani, or Lolli as we call her, reminds me of what I already know.

If she ever decides to give in and let Nate marry her like he wants, she will officially have one of the best sets of in-laws on the planet. Though I have to say, they’re tied with another certain set of parents I know. Not mine, of course. His.

I swallow, shaking away the thought.

“Bright side is they won’t be getting into town until around five,” Mia adds with a grin.

“True!” Lolli agrees.

My brows snap together, and I decide they’re not joking. Seems I’m not the only one time got away from today. “It’s five thirty.” I break the bad news.

Lolli swings her glare to Mia, who laughs loudly, and I watch the two as I move Deaton from one arm to the other, swinging slightly as he grows more and more restless.

Fussy baby or not, I can’t help but smile as I listen to the two bicker like sisters.

Lolli lets out a little growl. “I gotta get out of this before they get back and⁠—”

“We’re back!”

Lolli cuts off at the sudden intruding voice, the shouted words coming from the front of the house, and like being dipped in liquid nitrogen, we freeze instantly.

My stomach drops to my feet, a cool sweat breaking out over my palms.

Oh god. No, no, no…

My eyes snap up, locking with the girls’. The panic whirling its way through me is reflected on both their faces, none of our reactions related to the reasons of the others’, but the reason for mine is secret. Not the best kept one, but a secret nonetheless.

A soft thunk snaps us out of our stupor, and at once, we start moving.

Mia hurries to unzip Lolli while Lolli reaches up, yanking clips from her long, dark hair.

I spin on my heels, doing everything I can to escape, my hand wrapping around the handle of the door, fully prepared to race through the back side of the house so no one sees me.

I’m not ready for this. I thought I could put on a brave face, but it turns out I’m not brave. I feel sick at the mere thought, and I just…cannot.

I need a little more⁠—

The door is shoved open from the other side, and I yelp, nearly knocking myself off balance, but then my eyes snap up to the newcomer. I swallow my tongue.

It’s as if cement is injected into my veins, every inch of me growing heavy before turning to stone. My pulse pounds, then plummets as my eyes lock on a pair of pensive brown ones so familiar, I could pick them out in a lineup of hundreds.

My fingers curl into Deaton’s blanket, and I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Those dark eyes narrow, searching, seeing.

Softening.

My stomach flips and twists, and I can’t tell if it’s unease or elation. Or downright dread.

How can they still turn so tender when trained on me?

“What’s wrong?” His words are a low demand, and I want to scream and cry at the same time.

“Nothing.” Everything. “Everything’s fine.”

“She needs help with Deaton,” Lolli says, calling me out.

“Lolli,” I hiss, my head snapping her way briefly. I try to stay focused on her, but it’s too obvious, not to mention hard, so I slowly move them back to the man before me.

And he is a man. I swear, every time I see him, there’s a little something about him that’s changed. Sometimes it’s subtle, a shorter haircut than the time before or a deeper tan than the one his olive skin keeps all year—a result of the endless hours he puts in on the football field or natural, I couldn’t say. Other times it’s more than that. His shoulders have grown wider in the year since I met him, his jaw sharper. His hands…

I swallow, unable to break away from the choke hold of his gaze.

If there is one thing that hasn’t changed, it’s his eyes. The honey-brown irises are as rich as ever, the perfect mix of dark and light, vivid yet grave. A flawless illustration of his character.

Mason Johnson is as fierce as he is tender. He’s yin and yang.

And after nearly nine weeks of sudden silence, he’s standing before me with an expression that threatens to break me down right here, right now.

He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t have to. The slight frown blanketing his features says enough—he’s worried, frustrated.

Angry.

It’s deeper than that, though. I can see it in his troubled gaze.

Did something happen? Did I do something wrong? Did you change your mind…

Those are just a few of the questions he’s asking without opening his mouth, none of which I want to answer right now. To be honest, I’m not so sure I could.

Did something change? I ask myself, swallowing the needles that seem to have appeared in my throat.

Still, angry or not, he’s as gentle as ever, shuffling closer, and I know before he so much as lifts his arms, he’s going to reach for Deaton.

I hesitate, if only for a split second, but it’s long enough for him to notice, and his lips press together more firmly than they already were. I look away as I pass him my little boy and all but run from the room. In the hall, I’m ready to go full sprint, but my feet don’t seem to get the message, instead lingering in the hall, out of sight but not earshot.

Mason’s voice reaches me instantly, and I know by the lulling in his tone, he’s swaying my son just as I was. “What’s wrong, little man, hmm?”

A sharp pain stings my chest, and I consider going in and taking him back, but not a second after he speaks, what I couldn’t seem to do is done—Deaton stops crying.

I drop my chin to my chest and speed-walk out of there, softly closing the back door behind me so no one in the front of the house is alerted to my escape. It’s bad enough I’m clearly going out of my way to avoid everyone who has just arrived, but I can’t pause. Pausing will lead to too many thoughts, none of which I’m prepared for right now. At all. In any fashion.

I walk quickly down the deck, across the twenty feet of sand, and back up the deck of the house right next door. Yes, my older brother, Parker, owns the home right next door to his best friend. When Lolli told him she had purchased the home beside this one, it felt like a blessing I didn’t deserve. It’s how he was able to offer me my own room—and his nephew a nursery once he was born—after I ran away from our mother’s place.

It’s times like this, though, I wonder if I should have taken my dad’s offer to move in with him, as out-of-left-field and awkward as the conversation was, considering we hardly know each other these days. But even as I think it, I know I made the right choice when I gave him the swift and instant answer of a hard no way in hell. My refusal had nothing to do with him on a personal level, though I’m not sure he believed me when I told him so, considering I didn’t go into much more details outside of that. If he knew me better, he would have never asked. He would understand living with him would mean going back to Alrick, where my mother lives, where the family that shares my son’s last name lives. The last thing I want is my Deaton anywhere near those vile people. They hated their son as much as much as my mother hates me.

Leaving that place was both the best and worst decision I have ever made.

On one hand, my son will never be exposed to the toxicity that is Ava Baylor. On the other, it is the very reason his daddy died.

I am the reason he’s dead.

Swallowing, I swiftly lock my bedroom door, dropping my head against it. I no sooner close my eyes than hurried footsteps sound on the hardwood floors in the hall. I hold my breath, the sound of his heavy exhales causing my hand to clench the knob I’ve yet to let go of.

I know who’s on the other side. Of course he followed.

“Where you are is where I want to be…”

I squeeze my lids closed tight.

There’s the smallest of raps, as if he lifted his knuckles to knock, to demand an answer or beg for a reason, but changed his mind at the last second. My eyes open, pointed at the floor where the shadow of his shoes sits just inches from my own, watching as it fades into nothing as he walks away a moment later.

I grit my teeth, jump into the shower, and get myself together as quickly as possible, which I’ve found is a lot faster than I ever would have thought now that every minute is one I can no longer waste.

Smoothing my hair back, I take the front pieces and twist them slightly to allow a small center part before tying it up into a high ponytail. I swiftly braid the thick, wet strands, the long blond length still reaching to midback. Using some wax, I smooth my baby hairs down to my skull, opting for a quick bronzer, blush, mascara, and, at the last minute, a touch of lip gloss.

Nearly nothing I own fits, not that my mother sent all my belongings, but the things she did box up are three sizes too small, even eight months after birth. When I was emancipated last year, I was able to drain my bank account before my mom got ahold of it, but she ignored the court’s order to allow me to take my things. In the end, I found material items didn’t mean enough anymore if it meant having to look her in the eye and ask for it. She wasn’t worth the fight, and that is all she was after. A reaction. So I stopped giving her the chance to get one.

The money I had saved from winning pageants she forced me to enter and secret photography contests she knew nothing about was enough to get the things I needed, but only because my brother refuses to accept a penny for rent. Because of that, it should hold me over for another six months or so, longer if Lolli and Parker keep going out of their way to buy things for Deaton and me before I get the chance to do it myself. Not that I want them to, but chances are they won’t.

My lack of clothing mixed with the added weight my body seems to want to keep means I’ve basically been living in stretchy bottoms, loner T-shirts, and lightweight hoodies for the better part of a year. Glancing at myself in the long mirror beside my closet, I sigh at my reflection.

It’s a far cry from the girl I was when I first showed up on my brother’s doorstep in two-hundred-dollar jeans and a purse that cost more than the down payment on his new truck. I was a certified rich girl, shiny and perfect on the outside, suffocating and starving on the inside—literally, thanks to my mother’s need for her version of a trophy daughter. She would let me eat so long as she saw me throw it up after. The only thing I was allowed to keep down was whatever she handed me with the “vitamins” she gave me each morning.

Nothing like an appetite suppressant and a handful of whole natural almonds for breakfast, right, Mom?

Shaking off the thoughts that will do nothing but sour my mood further, I look over my outfit—a sage-green skort and a loose-fitting vanilla, neckless style sweater that hangs off the left shoulder, a matching tank underneath to hide the giant straps of my nursing bra. The built-in shorts suffocate my thighs, but the hem of the skirt mostly hides it, and the waist comes up high enough to smash some of the curves into a hint of a shape.

I couldn’t fit into my old clothes if I starved myself for a year.

My hips are wider, my legs thicker, and every other part of me is right there with it. My ass, breasts, and belly. Even my feet are larger, unable to fit in several of the shoes gathering dust in my closet, or maybe they’re just swollen from carrying around not only a twenty-three-pound baby boy but the extra forty or so I was left with after delivery.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and force myself from the room before I lose my nerve and ask Parker to bring Deaton back over with the excuse of nap time. They’re catching on to that, though, if the playpen that Lolli bought for her place, knowing the gang was planning to hang out over there for most of the week, is any indication.

My lips tip up at the thought.

There’s one thing I can say about all the new people in my life—they make me feel like they want to be there, not because they’re friends of my brother’s or family to his girlfriend, and not because I’m always around but because they truly, genuinely care.

They like me, and more importantly, they love my son.

With my head held high and a practiced smile in place, I walk out the back door, waving as everyone on the deck next door shouts their excitement at seeing me.

The fake smile on my face shifts instantly, and a real one takes its place, growing more eager to join the party with each step toward it.

That is until I meet the small scowl of the man with his forearms perched over the edge of the railing as if he was waiting for me to appear.

I have no doubt he was. It’s written in the sharp set of his jaw and tight smash of his full lips. He’s upset with me, and rightfully so.

Everyone is here for the holiday, so he knows my weekend is booked, that there’s nowhere to go aside from shuffling from my house to Lolli’s, to the one he co-owns with his friends down the road, but that doesn’t mean I won’t do what I can to avoid…everything.

His eyes narrow as if reading my thoughts, and the look that takes over his face sends a chill down my spine, whispering words he doesn’t have to speak aloud. The message is as clear as day in those expressive eyes: I dare you to try.

Sorry, Mase, but I will.

The sun set a few hours ago, and with it came a whole new sense of dread.

The afternoon was bustling, no less than five conversations happening all at once, making it easy to stay busy and keep my mind off things, but over the last half hour, couple after couple, group after group, has left, and when my brother and his girlfriend, Kenra, are the next to stand, a knot forms in my throat. Before I can follow and agree to calling it a night, the pair looks my way.

“Stay awhile,” Parker suggests, as I knew he would. “We’ll take Deaton with us and put him in his bed.”

Anxiety spikes, sending a wave of nausea though me, and I look to the sleeping baby nestled beside me on the patio couch, his blankets tucked tight up to his chin, nothing but his little face to be seen and a hint of dark curls along his forehead.

“It’s okay.” I rush to stand, but my brother puts a hand on my shoulder, pressing me back into the seat.

His blue eyes, nearly the exact shade as mine, soften. “Stay, Peep. I’ll turn on the monitors and watch him like a hawk. We’re gonna finish that docuseries we started anyway, so we’ll be up for a while. Relax, visit. Come home when you feel like it.”

I want to argue what if he wakes ups and needs me, but we both know he won’t.

Deaton, while attached to me at the hip and unable to fall asleep without being rocked or patted or hummed to, sleeps through the night, and it’s exactly his bedtime. That, and he will take a bottle if it came to that.

When I hesitate, Kenra nudges my knee with hers, drawing my attention. “I could go get the monitor, and you could watch him from here?”

“No, it’s fine.” I shake my head, smiling from her to my brother. They know I trust them completely with his nephew. She’s only offering because she wants to make sure I have no excuse to refuse the little bit of freedom they’re gifting me. “Thanks.”

It’s all I can say, and I stare as Parker bends and picks up his nephew Deaton, my gaze trailing after them as he carries him to the house beside this one.

As my eyes cut back across the sand, I spot Mason, watching them as I was, and I know what’s coming next. His head turns, attention latching on to me, and whatever he was saying to Brady, one-third of his best friend triangle, dies on his lips. He excuses himself immediately, climbing the stairs leading to the deck at what I would almost consider a run.

My nerve endings tingle, apprehension and more trickling over my limbs as he advances, no one close enough to intercept, though the look on his face tells me he wouldn’t let that happen.

He’s been waiting all day for this, an uninterrupted moment between him and me, just as much as I’ve dreaded it.

Rather than sinking into the vacant seat at my side, Mason loops his ankle around the leg of the small table across from where I’m sitting, tugs it closer, and drops down directly in front of me, accepting nothing less than my full, undivided attention.

He’s quiet a moment, a frown he tries to fight but can’t seem to erase pulling at the edges of his eyes. Several seconds pass, maybe a minute or two even before he opens his mouth, his voice a warm, wounded whisper.

“Hi, Pretty Little.”

My lungs expand with a full breath hearing the nickname he gave me the day we met. It was born of innocence, a tease really from the fun and flirty man living it up on the beach, but it’s become so much more than that, and the affectionate way in which he speaks it pulls me back from the panic threatening to take over. My lips curve into a soft smile, and his follow.

“Hi, Mase.”

He stares, gaze traveling over my face before settling on my single braid. This time, when his eyes come back to mine, there’s a spark there. It’s fleeting, and if I had blinked, I’d have missed it. Something warms in my chest, and I wonder if, subconsciously, I decided on a braid for his benefit or if it really was for the time factor.

My cheeks heat at the thought, but thankfully it’s dark out.

Mason looks to the sky, dewy with the July night air, and when he looks back to me, his entire demeanor softens.

It’s too much, and I drop my gaze to my lap, picking at the little balls of lint on the blanket covering my thighs.

“Payton—”

“I think I’ll go to bed after all.” I push to my feet swiftly, my knees bumping his as I do.

When my feet won’t move and Mason doesn’t either, I chance a glance at him.

A crestfallen expression takes over his features, and slowly he stands. We’re so close, both wedged between the seat and table.

My chest is pressed to his stomach, and if I were to tip my chin the slightest bit, my forehead would rest against his pecs. His hand raises, and I jolt when the heat of his knuckle grazes my cheek. He pulls back, and when I look up at him in question, his smile is forced.

“Just a little water,” he whispers, and only then do I realize a tear slipped.

I didn’t even feel it.

The sound of the sliding glass door opening reaches us, so Mason turns, heading straight to the ice chest. He grabs two beers, popping open a third and finishing it before his feet reach the sand. Walking in the opposite direction of his friends, he disappears under the dark night sky.

Dropping back in my seat, I close my eyes, hoping the deep breath will help hide the turmoil in my mind.

He walked away, knowing I needed him to. I fight the tears threatening to come back, guilt swimming through me for liking how he always knows what I’m feeling and hating that I do. He shouldn’t be able to read me the way he does.

But he’s always been that way, hasn’t he?

The cushion beside me dips, and I drop my head back to the soft pillow behind me, glancing over at my friend.

Arianna Johnson stares in the direction her twin brother just headed before turning to me with a small smile. “Want to tell me what happened between you two?”

Tensing, I swallow the knot in my throat and look out over the moonlit water.

I force my lips to lift in the corners, accepting the can of cream soda she passes my way. “Nothing happened.”

She tips her head a bit, and after a moment, she nods.

Ari doesn’t call me out on my lie, but we both know it is one.

What happened between Mason and me?

God. Where would I even begin…