Promise Me Not

Payton

Before, July

This was a huge mistake. I never should have come to California, and I have no idea what possessed me to do so. I mean, I haven’t talked to my brother in who the hell knows how long, and I thought it would be a good idea to show up on his doorstep and drop bombs?

Hey, Parker, I ignored your attempts to talk to me for hella long because I was pissed you left me with that vile woman who gave birth to us, and by the way, I’m a junior in high school, pregnant, ran away from home, and oh! Who’s the baby daddy, you ask? None other than the little brother to the asshole who stole and mistreats the girl you’re in love with.

I scrub my hands down my face.

Jesus Christ, how did he not toss me out on my ass right there, or worse…call our mother to come pick me up? Even if I think it, I know he would never, and while I’m stressing over everything, he’s doing the opposite.

Well, he’s probably stressing just the same, but his big brother instincts are second to none. I’ve been a brat, and he’s been nothing but supportive and encouraging.

What’s crazy, his friends have been the same, including me in every little thing they do, and it doesn’t seem forced or leave me feeling like the shadow they can’t get rid of.

They’re all pretty chill and easygoing. Way more tight-knit and meddling in one another’s business than I’m used to, but from what I can tell, there’s nothing malicious about it. More like a little family of friends who actually give a shit.

Still, as I glance from where Parker’s huddled beside a swing with Kenra to the others splashing around in the water not too far from where I stand, it’s clear I don’t belong here.

I’m not…like them.

They’re in swimsuits with wind-dried hair, and the girls wear not a speck of makeup, the norm for a day at the beach I’d assume.

I’m standing at the water’s edge in a designer jumper that hasn’t even been released in stores yet, my face painted as flawlessly as my hair is curled.

They’re laughing and joking and playing around.

I’m sixty seconds from a nervous breakdown and might vomit on my toes.

I’m not a high school graduate on the cusp of college.

I’m not easygoing and free, and I don’t have my whole future ahead of me.

My life is over.

I close my eyes.

Girl, get a grip. You’re pregnant, not dying.

Pregnant.

Holy shit.

There’s a tiny little human growing inside my body.

What the fuck am I going to do?

My breathing picks up and my chest clenches, panic building in my gut. I can’t do this. I can’t handle it. It’s not just my life, but Deaton’s, too. He was offered a scholarship to wrestle at Penn State. He’s so excited.

My lungs shrivel, and I gasp. A baby will ruin everything. I ruined everything and I can. Not. Do. This. I⁠—

“You know, pretty clothes and prettier hair won’t keep you safe out here.”

My head snaps left, finding the source of the teasing voice.

I should have recognized whose it was instantly, as he’s the one who’s spoken to me the most since I crashed their summer with my drama. He’s grinning playfully as he sweeps a hand through his hair, a darker shade of brown now that it’s dripping wet…as is the rest of his body.

It takes me a moment to realize what he means, and he knows the second I catch on.

That grin on his lips turns wicked, and he circles me like he’s found the perfect prey.

“Mason—”

“You say my name so pretty, Pretty Little,” he chuckles, and then he’s darting forward, his arms locking around my legs and hauling me into the air before I can even think.

A gasp escapes, and I wait for the annoyance and anger to hit, but it never comes.

A strange whirl of relief and excitement flits through me, and I laugh, closing my eyes and clutching on for dear life when suddenly both our bodies are dipping into the water.

I squeal, nearly giggling at the icy absurdity of the water temperature. “Oh my god!” My arms lock tighter. “Why is it so cold?”

Mason chuckles into my ear, spinning in circles and dunking me lower until I scream. “Hold your breath. One…”

“Don’t you⁠—”

“Two.”

“Dare—”

My shoulders pop out of the water, and then we’re lowering again, and I gasp, pulling in a long breath. He submerges us both, but only for a split second before we resurface.

I shake from the cold, but an unexpected laugh bubbles up my throat, and I groan, blinking through the water in my fake lashes as he moves us back until my feet can reach the ground.

My hands unwind themselves, and I slap water his way, but I’m unable to wipe the grin off my face.

“How’s the hair now?” I mock myself.

“Still looks pretty perfect to me.” His eyes meet mine, and he quickly looks away, clearing his throat. Then he looks back with a smirk. “I gotta admit, I was only eighty percent sure you wouldn’t rage on me for tossing you in.”

“Yet you still chose to do so.”

“Hey, I can do about anything with an eighty percent chance. You should see my stats.”

“That’s right.” I nod, dipping low into the water until the waves are softly splashing against my chin. “Big bad football star, huh?”

“Damn straight.” His smile is as cocky as it is teasing. “You ever watch?”

“Not interested.”

He gapes at me, literally gapes, his head whipping around to see if his friends heard. I imagine he was looking for some backup, but they’re too far away, and now I’m laughing.

As my laughter settles, I begin to swim in place, and a long sigh leaves me.

My eyes find Mason’s, and this time, his smile is soft.

“That’s what I was waiting for,” he whispers, but a moment later, he starts to shake his head. “Don’t bring them back.”

Confusion draws my brows in, and he wades closer.

Reaching up, he runs his knuckle down the creases the frown I didn’t know I was wearing created on my forehead. “They only just disappeared.” His gaze meets mine again, and while I can’t quite read his expression, it has something in my chest tightening.

It’s almost like…like he cares. Likes he’s worried and he wants me to know everything I’m feeling is okay. That it will all be okay and my life isn’t over.

That I didn’t ruin everything by running away from home and that I’m not unjustified in hiding the pregnancy from the boy I love, if only for a little longer while I figure out what to do.

But that’s crazy talk, right?

I hardly know Mason, literally met him days ago.

Yet there it is, in the golden hue of his eyes.

A promise from him to me.

My bottom lip trembles, and he extends his arm yet again, the roughness of his knuckle sweeping along my cheekbone.

“Just a little water,” he whispers, erasing the stupid tear that slipped without permission.

We both know it’s a lie, and because of it, my smile seems to slide right back into place.

“So.” I turn away, peeking at him from the corner of my eye. “How boring is football?”

His glare is quick, but his laughter is quicker. “Well, Pretty Little.” He leads me from the water. “Let me tell you all about it…”

And he does.

For hours, he tries all sorts of ways to explain the game. He scribbles lines in the sand, Xs and Os all over the place, and when he hands me the stick, telling me to show him where the ball is going, I slide it across his entire drawing and take off laughing when he gasps in horror.

We play catch, and he shows me how to grip the laces for the perfect throw. The others join, and suddenly there are teams. The competitive nature of each and every male, and Lolli of course, shines through.

By the end of the day, Ari, her best friend Cameron, and I are panting and dropping our asses into the sand, exhausted to the max, but not the boys.

“How are they still able to run? I can hardly talk.”

The girls laugh, leaning back and pointing their faces to the sky, the sun directly above us now.

“Girl, those boys have stamina for days.” Cameron pops an eye open, grinning. “Well, them and Lolli.”

Grinning, I face the group, shaking my head when they go straight from the game to the ground, showing not a single sigh of expelled energy outside the sheen of sweat gleaming across their skin.

Lolli bends, clapping her hands, and starts playing the role of the coach as the boys pair up and start to wrestle—a result of their inability to agree on who won.

Wrestling.

Boyfriend.

Baby.

My smile falls, and I jump to my feet, spinning and heading in the opposite direction of everyone else…but I don’t make it far.

“Sneaking away, are we? You know the girls are about to walk down to the pier for lunch?”

I freeze, swallowing, and force my lips to curve up as I spin around.

Chase, Mason’s best friend, is dusting sand from his knees as he jogs for me.

“Yeah, I’m not hungry. Just going to grab a drink off the deck and sit for a while.”

He flashes me pearly whites and strides forward until he’s ahead, whirling to walk backward so he can face me as he speaks. “Perfect. I’m parched.”

A grin pulls at my mouth. “Parched?”

He chuckles, turning and taking the stairs up the deck two at a time. “Aren’t you all sophisticated and shit.”

“Oh yeah, I’m a real scholar.” I wince at my own words.

Even if I were, which I’m not, it wouldn’t matter now. You can’t exactly go to college with a baby.

Deaton is though. He has a 4.2 GPA and a full-ride offer for athletics. He’s a freaking genius, and I’m the dummy who’s destroying everything.

Chase’s features soften a moment, but he quickly replaces the expression with an easygoing grin. Digging into the ice chest, he comes back with two waters.

He settles in the space at my side, offering me one, and we sit in silence for a little while, doing nothing but watching his friends and the many other people randomly making their way down the sand.

After several minutes, Chase sits back with a sigh. “It’s not usually this busy here.”

I look his way, and he continues, his eyes staying on the passersby.

“Summer always gets a little crazy. Everyone wants to hit the beach at least once, and they drive in from all over to find a spot like this.”

“Not a fan of big crowds?” I wonder.

He shrugs, taking a long drink. “I don’t know, I guess I don’t like…change.” He trails off, like he’s not so sure that’s the right word.

I’m not so sure it makes sense in context, but I do sort of get what he’s saying. If you’re used to something being a certain way, a crowd of strangers will definitely throw that off.

“The best time to be here is, well, about when we have to leave.” He chuckles. “August, September. You should stick around. I think you’ll like it.”

When I glance his way, I find he’s already staring, and around us, the voices of the others grow louder, the boys headed this way.

“If the gang gets to be too much, let me know,” he says before standing up and catching a ball no one warned him was coming. Mason appears then, throwing his arm around his best friend.

“We’re playing heads-up, and you’re on our team. Win and get whatever your little heart desires.” Both boys smile down at me, and I can’t help but smile back.

They step away, setting up to play on the picnic table, so I take a moment to myself, realizing the heaviness that is my life has been absent nearly all day, and in its place is an easy lightheartedness I’m not sure I’ve ever known.

As the day turns to night and I look out over the never-ending blue waters ahead, I can’t help but wonder…

What if…what if coming here wasn’t a mistake?

My gaze travels over the people I’ve met this week, my eyes catching on Mason’s briefly before they continue across the horizon.

Tentatively, maybe even subconsciously, my hand falls to my belly.

What if I’m right where I’m meant to be?