Promise Me Not

Payton

Now, September

Pressure falls heavy on my chest, and I reach up as if rubbing the ache away was a possibility. It isn’t. I should think pain is something I would be used to by now, and maybe in some ways, I am. I am in the sense that I know when I open my eyes in the morning, pain is quick to follow whatever sensation I wake to, and when I lie down at night, pain is the last thing I remember.

Sometimes it’s a hollowness that seems never ending, one that grows, chipping away at the density of my bones, leaving me brittle. Other times it’s like an avalanche, and I go tumbling, buried under mounds and mounds of pressure.

Then there are the times when it’s but a tangled web in my mind, memories and moments spun into fear and fate. I’m caught in a loop of damned if I do, damned if I don’t, and I don’t know how to get out of it.

I don’t know what’s right and wrong, and lately, I wonder if I even care.

I should, but do I actually? Or is it some sort of societal ideal that frowns on falling for someone new so soon after losing the person you promised yourself to that has me messed up?

The truth of the matter is none of that makes a difference, because the damage is already done. There is no stopping it, no backtracking or changing what I feel for the man before me, and that means all that would be left of me if something went wrong is an entirely different dose of heartache and everlasting pain.

I couldn’t survive that. I can hardly handle this, and it’s my own doing, so I can’t even begin to imagine all the ways in which I’d crumble if I fell at his feet and then something swept him away.

My eyes trail over Mason’s features, and I reach out, running a shaky thumb along the tension lines between his dark brows. They shouldn’t be there.

Mason, if nothing else, is a worrier and stress case. Almost always, his thoughts are made up of someone else, something I’m sure has only gotten worse after Ari’s accident. He was known to pick apart his performance with a fine-tooth comb or kill himself with concerns over what his sister had going on or his parents being too far for him to get to if they needed something fast.

But these lines, now nearly ingrained in his handsome face, didn’t invade his sleep before.

Yet here he is, out cold on a bed that isn’t his in a town we don’t live in, with deep creases lining his forehead and a tight pinch to his perfect lips. I can’t pretend I’m not the reason behind the restlessness he’s experiencing. I’m causing him pain, and that makes me sick to my stomach.

What’s worse, Mason looks thinner, his hair not as trim as normal and his usually smooth face littered with a shadow of stubble. I glance to his hand, the ice pack I brought in sliding more and more off his knuckles with each uneasy twitch. There are even slightly dark circles beneath his eyes, telling me he’s not sleeping like he should.

Gingerly, I open my palm, pressing against the heat of his cheek. Mason leans into my touch instantly, and sharp prickles sting behind my eyes when a ghost of a grin appears.

“My Pretty Little,” he slurs, his lashes fluttering, but his eyes are too heavy to raise. “Why’s she doing this to me?”

I clamp my hand over my mouth to keep the cry threatening to slip at bay and cautiously push to my feet, my eyes trailing over his pale face as I take backward steps toward the door. I pull it open as slowly as a snail, stepping out before looking back inside one last time, and when I close it, I take a moment to lean my head against the frame.

It’s as if an anchor is tied around my neck, tugging me farther down by the second. My emotions battle for dominance: guilt and sadness, confusion and regret. But it’s the overpowering sense of longing that burrows me deeper into the sand, because what right do I have to miss someone new when I’m supposed to be missing someone else?

I want to rewind time and speed it up at the same time.

I want to go back and shield him and jump forward and walk away.

More than that, I want the exact opposite.

I hate what life has done to me, but I hate myself for what I’ve done even more.

A soft clink of glasses snaps me out of it, and I take a deep breath, blinking several times to clear my head before stepping from the hall into the open kitchen area of the rental.

Everyone turns the minute I appear, varying expressions of concern on each of their faces.

“He’s asleep,” I whisper, offering a small smile as I cross into the space to join them, Deaton’s baby monitor sitting right there in the center of the table.

The sight makes my heart beat a little faster, and I’m forced to blink the tears away all over again, because my god, I’ve never known such real friendships existed. I never have to ask for their help or support. They give it freely and without fail. Without expectation.

Brady pulls out a chair beside him, patting the cushion, and Ari scoots the bowl of chips closer to the center.

I lower into the seat, a heaviness on my chest as they end whatever card game they were playing and redeal to include me.

It would be a lie if I said I’m the only one who feels the tension in the air tonight. With Paige and Cameron still feeling sick, Ari worried about her brother, and likely all of them trying to work out what exactly happened at the pub tonight, the mood has turned sour.

It’s clear everyone only rallied to make sure Mason was okay, especially when we don’t make it through a full game of Uno before we’re calling it quits and Ari and Noah are jumping up to make us a late-night snack.

I trudge over to the couch to get more comfortable, and I can’t help but stare at the couple hovering over the stove.

Noah slips behind Ari, wrapping his arms around her as he holds her hand in his, a pair of tongs tight in her fist. He helps her flip a slice of Spam, then turns his head, whispering something in her ear, and her head falls to his chest in silent laughter. The spatula is set down, and slowly she spins in his arms, their lips meeting in a soft kiss. I should look away, but I can’t.

There’s just something so pure about the sight that a small flicker of hope warms my bones. They just stand there, staring into each other’s eyes with a look akin to longing, which is crazy because they’re together. But I guess that’s the thing about finding that one person who was meant to be yours.

There’s no such thing as too close.

No such thing as too much.

No such thing as letting go.

That warmth turns to ice, and I swallow to settle the sting.

A coffee cup slips into my vision, and I blink, looking up into a pair of green eyes.

Chase is wearing a tight expression, his smile forced and eyes a little…sad. “Don’t torture yourself with that view,” he whispers, peeking quickly into the kitchen. “It’s just warm tea.”

A small smile pulls at my lips, and I take a moment to smell the herbal aromas steaming from the mug. “Thank you.”

He nods, and I can’t help but glance toward the kitchen once more.

Ari’s sitting on the edge of the counter now, Noah between her legs, eyes intent on her as she tells him god knows what, but the look on his face, it’s complete and total awe.

The man is enraptured. Midsentence, he reaches up like he just can’t help himself and takes her face in his hands. He doesn’t say anything, and she just smiles in return.

Sighing, I look back to Chase.

He lifts a brow, speaking in a hushed tone. “It’s like watching a chick flick in real life, isn’t it?”

“What do you know about chick flicks?”

“Do you have any idea what Cam and Ari put us through growing up? Forcing us to sit through romance movies was their favorite form of blackmail when they’d find out we lied about going out so they wouldn’t ask to come.”

“Why not just let them tag along?”

“You mean aside from Mason being a protective asshole when it came to his sister?”

A smile breaks across my lips, and the two of us laugh. I can’t help but notice he doesn’t seem all that bothered by the happy couple, even if there is something troubling him. He could have easily gone to bed to avoid this altogether, yet here he is, sitting beside me in perfect view of the girl who, once upon a time, wanted to be his.

And when Noah looks this way with a smile, calling out, “Hey man, want to come grab a couple of these?” Chase grins and hops up, strolling right in there. He brings back two skewers stacked with cubes of pineapple and fried Spam.

I take a bite, rolling my eyes to the sky dramatically, and Chase chuckles. “Why is this so good?”

“Why is he good at everything he does?” he mumbles.

My head snaps his way, and when I find him grinning around a mouthful, I’m the one who laughs.

After the quick treat and low conversation about the drive home tomorrow and where they want to stop this time for food, everyone decides to head to bed.

Instantly, my mind jumps back to the heavy part of the evening, and I push to my feet.

I don’t know what my face shows as I say good night, but Brady is suddenly at my side. He kisses me along my temple and whispers, “It ain’t your fault, baby girl. The man’s in his head. It’s been a hell of a year for us all, you more than most, and under all that mess he’s making, he knows that.”

He smiles reassuringly, but all I can do is nod and accept the hug he offers.

I know once I close the door behind me, locking myself inside my room, I won’t be able to sleep, but I’m simultaneously afraid I will sleep just fine and what that will bring.

My eyes fall to the playpen beside the bed, zoning in on the full head of dark curls and puffy little lips parted with soft snores.

I run my hand up and down Deaton’s back, patting his butt a couple of times before tugging the blanket a little higher on his shoulders.

If I close my eyes, I can picture his dad here with me and what he’d say, but his voice is a little harder to reach for new conversations, only words he’s spoken to me able to play out in my mind.

Brimming with guilt and desperate for connection, I lower onto the bed, fold my legs beneath me, and open my laptop, hovering over the folder icon for a long moment before squeezing my eyes closed. I click on the little blue folder, counting to five before opening my eyes.

Hot tears pool instantly as hundreds of small frames pop up, nearly every single one a shot of Deaton’s face—not little Deaton but his daddy.

There’s us at thirteen playing in the pool and us at fourteen sneaking onto the carousel ride at the county fair after being told we were too old. Us at my house and at his. School dances and his family’s fundraisers. At wrestling meets and the stupid pageants my mom forced me into.

A choked laugh leaves me as I scroll past the photo I took of him from the last pageant I was ever in. Deaton found me crying in the changing room after an epic fight with my mom over a half-eaten apple she found in the trash can—because how dare I eat so many carbs before the swimsuit segment? When I refused to come out, he put my swimsuit top on over his tank top and danced around the room. It was ridiculous and so out of character for him, but I smiled and laughed, and he said that was the point. He was good at that. Taking my ugly life and painting it pretty.

He was my best friend.

I keep going, memories assaulting me with each flick across the touch screen.

Walks in the park and trips to his family’s cabin when he would steal the keys. The day I got my license and the day he failed his driver’s test for the third time. The first day of junior year and the pep rally I shot for the school newspaper’s article on the football team…

I swallow, my heart rate jumping and sending a hint of panic through me.

Football games and walks on the beach and dancing to no music at all…

My eyes squeeze closed, warmth rolling down my cheeks.

The boy who died and the man who’s still here…

I gasp, eyes flicking to the ceiling as I inhale deeply.

With shaky hands, I close out of the little blue folder, holding my breath as I locate a second, this one buried within several other files, forcing my clicks to be deliberate and never by mistake.

I open it up, and tears fall without fail.

The very first image in the gallery isn’t of me and Mason.

It’s just him, sitting on the back deck of the beach house, his head tipped back against the cushion…my son held tight in his arms with a fuzzy blanket wrapped around him. Fast asleep.

They were both asleep, and I can’t help but notice how not a single line is to be found on Mason’s expression. He’s blissfully passed out, my baby boy wrapped in his strong arms.

My eyes flick to the thin wall separating me from Mason.

He’s right there. He’s within reach. All I have to do is go to him and end this.

My feet carry me to the door before I realize it’s happening, and slowly, I tug it open.

“Hey.”

I yelp, my hand flying to my chest, eyes narrowing on the dark hall.

Chase’s grin comes into view as he comes closer. “Sorry, I thought I heard you up, and I couldn’t exactly sleep either,” he whispers.

“If only we could sleep half as good as Deaton does,” I tease, glancing back at my sleeping baby. My eyes fall to the open laptop, then bounce to the wall Mason is behind once more. “Umm…” I face forward, pressure pulling at my muscles as I force my feet still when they’re desperate to move toward the man in the room next door.

“It’s not too cold out. Want to sit outside for a bit?” Chase offers.

I hesitate, trying to fight the irritation sweeping over me while wondering if I should simply tell him no and march myself right into Mason’s room, his best friend’s eyes on my back be damned. I would be in there already had he not appeared, lowering myself onto the mattress beside Mason and…

I swallow.

And what, Payton?

Forget you have to protect yourself, shield your son from the devastation you’d be left in if…

Chase’s smile falters a bit, and I shrug off my thoughts. It’s not his fault. He’s being thoughtful, offering me an escape from my thoughts with the presence of good company.

“Yeah,” I relent, a bitter taste on my tongue as I grab the baby monitor and a blanket, allowing him to lead the way. At the end of the hall, I glance back, staring at the outside of Mason’s door for a moment.

It’s for the best.

Filling my lungs with air, I spin to follow Chase out back.

I set the monitor on the little table and watch Deaton’s chest rise and fall a few times before looking up at the sky. We’re both quiet for a long while, and I know when he finally turns my way, he has questions.

“Mason hasn’t been himself for a while now,” he says instead, green eyes holding mine.

I nod. “He’s…angry.”

Something softens on Chase’s face, and slowly, he shakes his head.

“Nah. He’s not angry. Trust me, I’ve been on the receiving end of that a couple dozen times.” His chuckle is light but as heavy as the sigh that follows. “This is different. I was hoping he just needed a break, to forget about all the pressure he puts on himself. You know it’s half the reason Ari demanded we all come this weekend, right?” He looks my way. “Noah bought her a plane ticket originally, but she wanted to get Mase off campus for a bit. Group shit and game nights usually do the trick.”

I swallow, hoping he doesn’t notice.

“I can imagine it would.” I nod, a fragile smile pulling at my lips. “You know, I never had a game night before I met you guys, and now it’s like a regular thing. I find I look forward to it.”

“No?” He frowns slightly. “What did you do with your friends on nights in?”

Bitterness coats my tongue. “I didn’t exactly have any that lasted beyond elementary school. My mother’s bullshit was too much for most, and if the girls my age didn’t care, their parents did.”

Chase nods. “Okay, so what about you and Deaton?”

I wait for the sharp pain of guilt at the mention of his name to slice through me, but it never comes. In fact, that never happens when I talk about him with Chase. It’s…nice.

I can’t help but wonder if it’s because being with Chase doesn’t overpower my thoughts the way a certain someone seems to without even trying.

I consider his questions, thinking back to the days he and I spent together, and a small frown builds when I come up blank. It shouldn’t be such a difficult question, right?

We were in a relationship. That should say it all, so why am I drawing a blank?

He’d come to me when he couldn’t stand to be at home, and I would do the same, which was often for both of us. Angry, sad, or lonely, we’d seek each other out.

Pressure builds in my chest, and I shake my head at the way that sounds. As if we were nothing but the stability and support the other craved. A product of convenience. We weren’t.

Right?

What did we do when we hung out?

Faintly, I answer, “I don’t know. Talk shit about our families, play on our phones.” A small smile tugs at my lips, and I look his way. “Make babies apparently.”

Chase laughs at that, his head falling back slightly, and he shifts to face me better. “Apparently.”

My smile holds, and I nod. “He was a good guy. Kind and gentle. Never pushed or picked fights. Yeah.” I pause. “He was good.”

“He must have been.”

I look to Chase, and he continues. “You loved him, so he must have been.”

We stare at each other a moment.

“You’re worth someone’s love, too, you know.” I take a breath, adding the second part in a low tone. “She just wasn’t the one meant to love you back.”

Surprisingly, his lips pull into a smile. “I know.”

“Are you sure?”

Chase chuckles, slowly pushes to his feet, and moves for the door. “Trust me. I’m sure,” he says, glancing my way with a look I can’t quite decipher. “I’d better head in. I’m behind the wheel tomorrow for Brady.”

I nod but don’t rise, and Chase smiles softly.

“Good night, Princess Payton.”

I meet his eyes in question, and his mouth pulls to one side.

“It’s better than Princess Puke,” he jokes, and a tired chuckle escapes.

He leaves, and it’s not until the door is closed behind him that I realize I didn’t want him to go, though even once he does, my feet don’t carry me inside.

Brady’s words from earlier come back and begin to loop in my mind.

He was right, it has been a hell of a year. Longer than that in my case.

If that much could change in twelve months plus time, who knows what the hell could happen in a single season, and fall is fast approaching.

I wonder what life will look like come winter.

Nothing could have prepared me for the answer to that question.