Promise Me Not

Mason

Now, September

It never gets easier.

In fact, it only gets worse. Every. Single. Time.

It’s to the point where I can hardly sleep and forget to eat. I’m choking down protein shakes just to keep enough carbs in my body to keep it moving. It’s no wonder I got so trashed off the beer. I can’t remember eating anything yesterday, and who knows when I ate before that?

I close my eyes, taking deep breaths to keep from puking this vanilla shit all over the cab of my Tahoe.

It’s just after two in the afternoon, and there’s but a single car in the practice facility’s parking lot, most people not set to head back to campus until later this evening since we don’t report for official practice and classes until tomorrow.

That’s when the others will be back, tomorrow morning. The plan was to head back to the beach houses this afternoon when Noah had to catch his quick flight back to the team’s headquarters. Then tomorrow morning, we’d get up and make the drive early.

I was supposed to have one more day with my little guy.

One more day with her.

My jaw clenches, and I shove the door open, stepping out into the frigid morning air, tugging my hoodie up.

I couldn’t face her this morning. Couldn’t face any of them, and since Little D was asleep in the same room as his mama, I didn’t get to say goodbye.

The thought has my pulse pounding in my ears.

What if that’s the story of my life? A constant goodbye.

Quick visits that are over before they start, like a distant uncle or, worse, family friend.

I’m not just a fucking friend.

I’m more.

You thought you were more.

“Fuck,” I curse, quickening my pace and focusing on the echo of my own footsteps in an attempt to drown out my thoughts, but it’s to no avail.

There may as well be a megaphone pressed to my ears, screaming out all the ways I’ve fucked up, but the fucked-up part about it?

I have no idea what those things are. There has to be more than I realize, right? For her to pull away after everything. For the ache that enters her eyes when she pretends not to watch me with Deaton. There was always that sliver of inner pain there. It’s the same tangled expression that would enter my father’s eyes when he’d watch me and my sister do something he and his sister did as kids before she passed, but inner pain or not, Payton never pushed.

In fact, she did the opposite. She kept me close, called first, and hung up last.

She’d run to me and jump into my arms when I’d sneak a short visit I didn’t tell the others about. Now she hears me coming and off she goes, a sudden appointment or event or urge for a coffee she can’t make herself.

But why?

What happened?

Where did I fuck up, because I must have, right?

Or maybe she can see through me and knows I’m not as confident as I like to make people think. That I do feel fear and I do have insecurities.

It just so happens my biggest one might be the very reason things have veered so far off course I’m running circles around my damn self.

Maybe I’m not enough, or maybe I’m simply not needed.

Why would I be?

What do I truly have to offer her?

I’m not even fucking there. I’m stuck three hours away for the next two years, and that’s if I go to the draft after my junior season. And if I do get drafted, I’ll be off to who the fuck knows where after that, but the odds say it will be farther. Somewhere I can’t hop in my truck for a quick visit.

The best I’ll be able to do is see their faces over video, but who’s to say I’ll even be given that?

The girl won’t even take my damn calls anymore.

So yeah, maybe it’s not that I’m not enough or needed but not worth the trouble at all.

Pushing the heels of my palms into my eyes, I growl in frustration, shoes pounding heavily against the concrete until I’m breaking out into a full sprint, tearing down the long hall, and shoving through the metal door at the end until I’m stumbling through, out onto the open field.

I gasp, hands falling to my knees as my lungs threaten to seize.

Behind me, the door slams against the wall with a resounding ricochet, and my eyes snap to the field just as the figure in the center of it comes into view, whipping around and glaring this way.

My brows snap together, and my spine shoots straight.

Alister fucking Howl stands at the fifty-yard line, a bag of balls at his feet and half a dozen spread out on the field. He stares for a long moment, then pretends I’m not even here, spinning back around and firing a bullet toward the end zone. It’s fast, straight, and a perfect spiral, not unlike a pass I’m known to make.

I was out getting drunk and acting like the sentimental prick I am and punching my best friend in the face for buying a soda, and this guy’s here on his days off, working on his game.

Anxiety falls over me like a tsunami, preventing me from breathing and sending panic through my every pore. My eyes fall to my hand, the knuckles swollen and bruised, an ache that burns all too familiar.

You’re fine. Everything is fine.

I step farther into the afternoon sun that’s scarcely peeking out between a layer of clouds, and I keep moving until I’ve reached the sideline benches. I don’t look his way, but I can’t help but watch his every pass thrown from the corner of my eye as I stretch.

A few minutes go by before he’s stalking closer.

I wait until he’s nearly reached his bag, sitting on the ground four feet from me, before I take off around the track. At some point, Alister packs up his shit and disappears, and I keep running.

I run until my legs begin to shake and my lungs start to shrivel, and then I push beyond the burn. My speed increases, my arms pumping wildly as I round the track for what must be my ninth mile. I’ve run farther distances, but that was when I kept a steady pace, so when my body starts to rebel, I have no choice but to listen.

My legs give, my knees buckling, and I just manage to veer to the left, falling onto the grass.

My stomach muscles convulse, and I start puking, nothing but vanilla protein shake and stomach acids. Maybe a little beer.

I heave and heave, my vision spinning and calves burning as I throw myself onto my back, fighting for air my lungs refuse to give. Lying there, I stare up at the cloudy sky and out at the empty stadium seats.

It’s like an omen, the emptiness around me, a glimpse into the future I’m headed toward.

One without the girl.

Without the boy.

Without the game.

Who knows if I’ll even finish college at this rate? Nobody gets to keep a sports scholarship if they’re booted from the team for bad grades.

Closing my eyes, I replay my last game, tracking my movements as if watching from outside my body, picking apart my every step until I’m fully immersed in the game, every other part of me fading to the background.

It works.

It works until I get to the third quarter, and the ball is snapped, but instead of a rough brown leather pressing into my palm, it’s a fuzzy little football with red ink penned into the side.

My lips twitch. My little man loves that damn ball.

My eyes flick open, and I sigh.

What the fuck am I going to do?

The harsh bang on my window has me jolting, my glare swinging to the side. It’s black out, so I blink a few times, and then his face presses closer, a hard glare etched across his face.

“Fuck,” I mumble, turning on my Tahoe and unlocking the door, fighting against the throbbing of my every muscle. It feels like woodpeckers pecking at my damn temples, and I groan.

“You dumb son of a bitch,” Brady starts in the second he throws the door open, locking himself inside with a purposeful slam and sending those woodpeckers into a frenzy.

Alcohol, a long-ass drive, and a three-hour run do not fucking mix.

I drop my head back against the headrest, gripping the wheel for something to focus on, and a jolt of pain slices down my arm. I jerk, fighting back the nausea and blinking through the haze that slips over my vision.

My eyes snap to my throwing hand, and my pulse hammers harder. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, oh fuck, you fuckwad.” Brady glares. “The hell was that last night?”

“Nothing.” My lips press into a firm line, and I turn away, reaching for a bottle of water, my eyes falling to the tiny bottle of orange pills I found beside my bed before I took off this morning, the sight sending pain of a different kind through my chest.

I know it was Payton who left them for me.

Sighing, I face Brady, but I can’t make myself ask.

He scowls but swipes it away a moment later. He always has been the most perceptive of the three of us. “She’s the one who realized you were gone first.”

A flicker of something sparks in my chest, and I face him better.

“She thought Little D would help cheer you up, took him in there the minute he woke, but…”

That spark is snuffed, and acid is poured down my throat, eating away at my insides.

She brought him to me?

She fucking came to me, with him, and I wasn’t there.

I slam my fist down on the steering wheel, and a scream leaves me. “Fuck!” I yank my hand to my chest, my eyes flying wide.

“Goddamn, Mason! What the fuck!” Brady slides over, gripping my wrist and pulling it closer. His eyes widen, moving from me to my hand as he shakes his head. His jaw clenches, and he squeezes his eyes closed. “Get out,” he snaps.

I don’t argue. I get out, swapping spots with him, and notice Chase is here too, his truck parked beside mine.

I can’t quite see inside it, but when he flashes his lights, I nod, and he’s pulling out before Brady takes the driver seat, getting us onto the road.

“Chase didn’t want to stay behind?” I grumble.

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Brady snaps. “You know we came the minute we realized you’d left early.”

Brady doesn’t head to our side of campus, instead leading to a drugstore. Neither of us speaks on the short drive, and even after he kills the engine, the silence stretches, though it’s him who breaks it first.

“Look, man.” He faces me, reaching over to clasp a hand on my shoulder. “You’re my brother, all right, and I don’t know what’s going on with you and Payton, so let me start by saying I love her little ass as much as I love you. But, Mase.” He shakes his head. “This is your fucking time. The last ten years, this is what you were working toward, a starting position at a D1 school. Your face on top of the stats pile. Your file on the desk of every head coach in the NFL. You’re right there, man. Two more years at Avix, and you’ll be on your way to the draft. You’re literally on the path you’ve always dreamed of, about to get everything you want.”

My frown deepens more and more by the second, and I look to my hand. The swelling in my knuckles seems to be worse than it was earlier, but it’s not broken.

“That shit last night could have been worse, and losing it a minute ago didn’t do a damn thing to help either.” Brady releases me. “I mean, come on, man. You want Alister fucking Howl to take your seat?”

My lip curls, and Brady nods.

“Exactly.” He swallows, and I know guilt when I see it, but he pushes past his hesitation, because that’s what friends do, and adds, “Payton is strong. Stronger than me, that’s for damn sure, and not only that, but she’s surrounded by people who care about her. Anything she needs, she can ask any one of them, and they’ll be there. Shit, we all will, no questions asked, but…” He pauses. “But she has a future to figure out, and you’re already heading toward yours.”

My throat clogs, my mouth running dry. I can’t swallow past it.

What he’s saying, it’s all true. Payton does have an endless support system, and she doesn’t have a clue where life will take her from here. She’s just trying to make it one day at a time.

My time already started, my future just over the hill, waiting for me to climb to the top and grab hold.

He’s saying I should let her live her life and figure out what she wants along the way.

It would be fair.

It’s in part what I’ve been doing, albeit reluctantly.

But what Brady doesn’t know, and if he did he would never say what he just said, is that my future did start.

It started last year when I first met the blond-haired, blue-eyed girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders. I knew the minute she showed up in Oceanside that I wanted to know her. There was an instant need to protect her, and at first, I thought it was because she was Parker’s sister, therefore she was family, and family looks out for each other.

However, little by little, things shifted. I was a controlling asshole when it came to protecting my sister, but I was a feral fucker when it came to Payton.

I didn’t just want to make sure she was okay, I needed to, and just like that, the mountain I’ve been climbing widened its peak. It stretched, creating more space, so I could be standing there at the top with my hands outstretched, waiting to take hers once she reached it.

And we were on our way, moving at a steady incline, side by side.

But now?

Now she feels farther away than before. It’s as if halfway up, her path split, taking her in the opposite direction.

I would give anything to lead her back.

The reality of the situation is this.

I had a dream, but that dream has changed.

It’s not about me and what I want anymore.

Or maybe it is.

I don’t want a ticket to the top anymore.

I want three.

Payton

I hug the girls, smiling as Cameron, Ari, and Paige all take turns peppering Deaton with kisses and promises of seeming him again soon. Cameron jogs around the car, and I look to Paige when she speaks.

“Lunch when I come back to check on the studio in a few days?” she asks, closing the car door and leaning against the open window.

“Can’t wait.”

She smiles, dropping back in the seat and glancing down at her phone.

Ari steps up next, hugging me. “Love you, girlie. Remember, you can call me if you want to talk.”

I swallow, forcing a smile as she pulls away. “Let us know you made it back safe?”

She eyes me a moment, then nods, a smile breaking across her lips. “Okay. Off we go.”

I give one last wave, turning away as they say bye to Kenra. I head straight to my room, plopping on the bed and settling Deaton down beside me.

“Can we sleep for a week now, mister?” I tickle him, laughing when he drops his face into the pillow and wiggles his little body.

The light knock against the frame has me looking up to find Cameron standing there.

“Hey.” A small frown pulls at my brows.

“Hey.” Slowly, she steps into the room, but it’s when she glances over her shoulder briefly that a knot forms in my stomach. “Look, you know we love you guys, but we love Mason, too.”

Anxiety builds, my throat growing tight at the implication. “Cam…” I start to lie, but she shakes her head.

“What the hell happened, Payton? He was on top of the world when we went back for our spring semester, and then summer hit, and suddenly he was different, so…what happened? And don’t say you don’t know or it’s not about you. It is. I saw it back in November before Deaton was even born, and I see it now. Something happened between you two when he came home with his injury, didn’t it?”

Tears build in my eyes, and hers blow wide open.

“I knew it!” She frowns. “He’s in love with you, isn’t he?”

“Cameron, please,” I beg in a whisper. “You can’t tell anyone. It’s…complicated.”

Air whooshes from her lips, almost as if in relief, and she rushes forward, dropping on the bed beside me. “He loves you, and you broke his heart.”

My muscles lock, and I wait for her to yell at me, so I’m shocked when her arms wrap tight around me and she tugs me into her chest.

“I never meant to hurt him,” I admit, pulling back and running a hand over Deaton’s curly hair. “There’s just”—I swallow—“so much at stake.”

When I look up at Cameron, there’s a sympathetic smile on her lips, but it’s the words she leaves me with that are sure to haunt me.

“I would argue that there’s so much to lose.” She pushes to her feet, squeezing my hand before letting it fall. “If you go too far down this road, you will.”