Promise Me Not

Mason

Now, November

Turns out Payton’s new project is bigger than the last one. Not only was she personally requested for another collab between Embers Elite and Avix, but she’s been asked to take headshots of the entire Sharks roster.

Which is why all fuck ton of us, even the guys who have yet to touch a toe to the turf come game days, stood half-fucking-naked in a line half a mile long, waiting for our turn to step in front of the lens. Her lens.

I was in the first flow, Brady and Chase right along with me, being that we’re starters, but that also meant we were in and out the quickest, the sheer number of athletes overwhelming to look at, even for the rest of the camera and lights crew.

We were brought in, twisted and turned, and shuffled out in an all-business fashion that sent pride through my veins. Because damn, she looks good in her element. Moving and directing and demanding. It’s a side of her I haven’t quite seen, a new, more polished version of the little photographer I met on the beach a year and a half ago. That internship is helping her find her way, and man, if there isn’t a brighter blue shining in her eyes because of it.

Of course, after I was done, I had to stick around. Just in case.

So for the last two hours, I’ve been leaning against the wall not ten feet from the makeshift photo booth, just…watching. Maybe waiting.

Swear to god, if I hear one more son of a bitch comment on her hair, I’m going to shave theirs in the locker room.

My eyes cut to the black curtain ten feet away, a glimpse of her strawberry-golden hair shining through the crack, and my lungs inflate. Her hair is gorgeous, though. It looks like she might have cut it a little, something I noticed the minute I walked in this morning but didn’t catch yesterday, since her hair was pulled back in a bun. Not much, maybe just the length of my pinkie, but I won’t know for sure until I have it in my hands, testing the length I’ve become accustomed to.

As soon as the thought hits, it bursts into a cloud of dust, leaving me coughing.

I won’t get to run my fingers through the length of her curls this time. No, this time, her trip will play out a lot differently. She won’t be coming back with me or inviting me back with her.

“Hey.” A soft voice interrupts my thoughts, and I look over to find Allana.

“Hey.” I offer a polite smile. “How are you?”

“Fine. Um, listen.” She wrings her hands together, eyes bouncing to where the team is lined up and back. “Can I talk to you a minute? Outside?”

A small frown builds, and I look toward Payton. “Can you maybe talk here?” I ask, unsure what we could have to talk about that would require privacy and unwilling to give it. I can’t leave Payton in here with all these assholes.

“Listen, I just want you to know that⁠—”

“I don’t know. She’s a little thick for my taste.”

Whatever she says falls flat on my ears at the very loud and purposeful comment. My head snaps forward, narrowing in on the back of Alister Howl’s dumbass head, his Ken doll hair sticking out under a hat like he just stepped off the baseball field, not a hundred-yard stretch of green. And yeah, I realize that sounds fucking dumb, but I don’t care. He looks like a fool, and I can’t stand him or his all-American act.

He’s always on me, and I know he’s only speaking because he knows I can hear him.

He’s seen me with her.

The motherfucker knows.

And he proves this when he glances this way, glaring from Allana to me as he adds, “But hey, if she’s good enough for one quarterback, she’s good enough for another, right?”

I dart forward, shove by a few, and yank on the bill of his stupid-ass Dodgers hat and tug until he’s tripping over his own feet, landing on his ass.

He looks up from the floor, the others around laughing and talking shit, but he knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t even glare. He grins, lifting his hands in mock innocence.

“My bad, Johnson.” That grin grows, but there’s something underneath it. A twisted sort of hate he’s carried since he stepped foot on this field this summer. “Forgot you got a thing for blonds, don’t you?” The last words leave him on a snarl.

“Watch your tongue, asshole. Don’t test me. Not here.” Not with her.

Now he does glare, his lips curling as he hops up and presses his chest to mine. “I should ruin this for you. I could, right here, right now.”

I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about, and I don’t care. I push forward. “You could try.”

He opens his mouth, but Coach appears with a clipboard, and what do you know, his name is called to the curtain.

He shoves me with his shoulder on his way by, and Coach raises a brow, but I only shake my head.

The dude is a punk with a stick up his ass, so who the fuck knows what his issue is.

He steps into the space with Payton, turns, and looks me straight in the eye, and then he closes the curtain completely, erasing the sliver of sight I had.

My fingers curl into fists, and I move forward, but I only make it to the line of red tape on the floor before Brady appears.

He shakes his head, dipping down and speaking so only I can hear. “Don’t. I know you want to, but this is her show. Fuck it up, and it’s only gonna make shit worse.”

Worse.

Worse?

How could this possibly get any.

Fucking.

Worse!

As if the universe is testing me, the answer comes with a swift kick to the nuts not four hours later, in the form of a mandatory meeting with Coach Rogan.

“Alister is starting in Friday’s game.”

My pen freezes over the paper midsignature.

“Son.” He shakes his head, my expression clearly shouting the what the actual fuck for question racing through my mind. “You started this time last year over Riley. You know how I do things. Twice a season, every season, the second string is first out.” He narrows his eyes, and I know he has more to say, so I sit back, cross my arms, and wait for it. “I want you to work with him tomorrow. No less than two hours. Give him pointers and tips, take him under your wing like Riley did you.”

“I’m not Noah, and Alister is far from me.”

“He’s a football player, a damn good one, same as you.”

“He’s a dick who wants all the glory.”

Coach laughs. Loudly. He pushes to his feet, coming around the desk and tugging open his office door. “We all do, son. Every one of us. Some just hide it a little better.” He yanks his head, and I stand. “Watch his film. It’ll be in your inbox in the next ten minutes. Now go. And if I call you in here again, you know why that will be.”

I swallow, give a curt nod, and walk out, my shoulders tight and head high, but the minute I’m out of sight, they both crumble, because damn it—it’s happened.

I knew this was coming, but I guess my mind’s been too preoccupied to really process how screwed I’m on my way to becoming. Academic probation.

Academic probation with a sports waiver that affords me two points.

If I fail my next exams, even one, I’m out.

Fucking done.

Benched for the remainder of the season and personally placing Alister on the path to the playoffs, an opportunity he didn’t earn but would no doubt capitalize on. Any man would.

No one gives a shit who got the team there so long as they come home with the win in the end. If he leads the team to victory, where does that leave me?

Where does that leave my future?

I don’t know how I let things get this far. Football has been my life for as long as I can remember, and then Payton came along, and suddenly I had more than the sport I’d dedicated my all to. She became the most important part of my world, and in the mix of what I’d call my heartbreak or fear that she was on her way to breaking my heart by refusing to give me hers, I forgot how important it was to stay strong and steady. Motivated both off and on the field.

Because making it to the next level isn’t just about me and my dreams anymore. It’s about them. Us.

My new dream is to have my girl and our little boy and a family suite in an NFL stadium with my last name on it. To have the means to offer her a happy, fulfilling future where she can travel the world if she wants, taking pictures of all the pretty things she’s ever imagined, me and Little D watching from the sidelines with smiles on our faces.

How could I drop the ball so hard? I should have been doing the opposite. Fighting with all I had for what I could control rather than letting it all fall apart by obsessing over the things I can’t. The thought of losing a life with her would have still been at the forefront of my mind, so how did I allow myself to fumble so far?

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I shout, shoving the door open and stepping out into the cold November air.

“Take it you heard the good news.”

You’ve got to be kidding me. Slowly, I turn my head, and sure enough, there he is, posted up against the side of the building.

I scoff. “Did you seriously wait out here just for this moment?”

His face is blank as he kicks off the wall and steps forward. “Yup.”

Spinning, I face him fully, lifting my arms out. “You got something to say to me, Howl, say it.”

“I’m just wondering what’s so special about you.” He pauses. “I’ve been watching you, asking around about you, and I’ve found nothing worth repeating.”

“That’s some creepy shit. Little odd to admit you’re obsessed with your captain.”

Slowly, he shakes his head. “Not obsessed.” He takes a step back, grabbing his bag off the ground. “Disappointed. Maybe even disgusted.” His eyes harden, and he gets in my space. “I see what others don’t, and you’re nothing but a weak prick, failing his classes and fucking up on the field because he can’t handle his life off it. I’m glad you’re in the position you are. You don’t deserve to be—” He yanks his head away then, glaring at nothing in the distance. “Just go fuck yourself, Johnson. Fail and get off campus before you screw up someone else’s life.”

My frown follows his retreating form, his words a jumbled mess of who the hell knows what.

I’ve met athletes who thought they were better than the next, who believed they deserved the starting position over the others, and some of them were right, they did, but the proof is always in the game film. It reveals itself.

That’s not happening here.

So if Alister is talking about him and me and our position on the roster, he’s going to be severely let down, because I am better than him. He won’t be able to take my position until I’m ready to pass it down on my exit.

Or bomb your exams.

Shit.

No. That won’t happen. I will not fail.

Not in school. Not on the field.

And never with the girl.

If only she’d allow me to show her as much.

Payton

Three days turned into four, and they’ve just asked me to stay for another week, all expenses paid. I can’t stop smiling, a sense of accomplishment I haven’t felt in, well, maybe ever washing over me.

“It’s crazy, you know?” I look to Chase and Paige, who were waiting for me outside the building, in awkward silence, I might add. “This feels like the first thing I’ve done on my own, and I’m not…”

“Not what?” Paige tips her head, books folded across her chest.

I scrunch my nose and face forward. “Messing it up.”

“Hey.” Chase steps in front of me, his green eyes on mine. “You’ve messed up nothing since I’ve known you. Stop telling yourself otherwise. You got your GED, had a baby, and landed your dream job all in the same year.”

“Internship.”

“Internship that’s turned into this.” He holds his hands out, and I allow myself to glance across the college campus.

It wasn’t too long ago that I wondered if I’d ever even get the chance to go to one if I wanted to, even before I got pregnant. It was never about what I wanted before. It was what Ava Baylor wanted, and Mother wanted a social princess, not an artsy little brat with unrealistic ideals. She was so sweet.

Not.

Chase tips his head, and I look back up at him with a smile.

“You know, you’re pretty good at this pep talk stuff. Isn’t he, Paige?” I look over, finding a curious expression on her face as she looks from me to him.

When she realizes I’m watching, she clears her throat, smiling that stage-like smile of hers. “Sure, if you say so,” she teases.

He whips his head her way. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs. “That you seem to enjoy pumping others up well enough, but when it comes to yourself, you’re set to deflate.” He glares, and she laughs, lifting her shoulders again. She looks at me. “Sorry again for cancelling today’s plans so last minute, but I’ll still see you in the morning?”

I nod, watching her walk away, and then the two of us continue toward the day care center.

“Why’d she cancel?” Chase asks the minute she’s out of earshot.

“Something about a meeting of some sort. I didn’t really ask for the details.” I look his way, noting the tug between his brows. “What?”

“Nothing,” Chase mumbles, watching her go. “She just gets on my nerves.”

A laugh leaves me, and I face forward “Yeah, her never-ending sweetness is a real brain irker.”

He says nothing, just continues to glare in the direction she disappeared, so we walk in silence.

Ari texted me this morning, asking what time I would be off so we could all get together for an early dinner, something the others do every week. Now, I get to be a part of it, and that’s pretty damn cool.

We get about four feet from the child development center when Chase grabs my arm, halting my movement. I follow his glare to the blond man hanging outside the building, his phone to his ear.

I smile instantly, pushing forward.

“Payton, wait,” Chase begins, right as I say, “Alister, hey.”

Chase glares harder. This time, though, it’s pointed at me. I widen my eyes as if to say what the heck and glance back to Alister.

“Thanks for meeting me.” I dig into my bag, pull out the form I need signed, and hand over a pen.

Alister smiles wide, maybe a little too wide as he glances from Chase to me. “No problem at all. In fact, I was already headed this way. You know, you should let me take you to dinner sometime so we can talk. I’ve got some secrets you’ll want to hear.”

I don’t have time to respond before a looming figure is pressing close to my back.

“I warned you.” Mason’s voice is clipped and full of anger.

Alister visibly stiffens, yet somehow, his smirk grows. “Chill, Johnson. Just helping the girl out so she can finish up and get back home.”

What does that mean?

Also…what the hell?

I look up over my shoulder, that familiar ache forming in my chest, but this time, a swift hit of annoyance follows. “Warned him about what?”

Mason doesn’t look down, his expression hard and locked on the man before me.

But it’s Chase who yanks the paper from the guy and shoves him in the shoulder. “There. You signed. Now bye.”

I glance at him, too, tearing the paper from his hands and smiling apologetically at Alister. “I’ll text you later.”

“What the fuck?” and “Oh shit” are spoken at the same time, and then I’m crowded by both Chase and Mason, but Alister seems to want the escape. Between their shoulders, I watch as his head lifts and he starts running somewhere to the left.

Both boys open their mouths, but I lift my hands. “I was asked to do a full profile on four players, one from each year. Alister is my freshman.”

“He is trying to fuck with me.” Mason frowns, taking a step forward. “Please, just⁠—”

“Mase.” I cut him off, begging him with my eyes not to make a scene. When I cut a quick glance at Chase, he rubs the back of his head and takes off.

Refocusing on Mason, I find his brown eyes are downcast, a wrecked expression carved across his face, and the last two minutes wash away. Instinctively, I step forward, my palm pressing to his chest.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper, forgetting what I was originally going to say.

He swallows, bending slightly so his forehead meets mine, but only long enough to whisper, “Everything. Everything is wrong, Pretty Little.”

And then he tears himself away, yanking on the tips of his hair as he goes to stand on the steps up ahead. Swallowing, I follow, leading us into the child development center.

Cameron is coming around the corner with Deaton in her arms before I’m even done signing him out. “Perfect timing.” She smiles, tucking loose hair behind her ears.

A fake grin pulls at Mason’s mouth, and he raises a brow. “Long day?”

“Kiss my ass.” She blinks sweetly. “I know I look like shit ran over. Thanks for pointing it out.”

“Cameron.” A curly-haired woman in her late fifties, June I think her name is, closes her eyes, giving a light shake of her head.

“Oh, Junie. You love me.”

“If these little ones go home and start cursing, the only one loving you is gonna be that hunky boy toy you’ve wrapped around your finger…if he can even find you once you’re fired.”

Cameron waggles her brows, and the woman huffs, turning back to stacking diapers into trays.

“Boy toy?” I tease, watching as she grabs Deaton’s stroller and bag from the storage area. After out little…heart-to-heart? Yeah, we’ll call it that. After that, she and I have gotten closer. To be honest, it’s nice to know someone is rooting for me and Mason, even if she doesn’t know more than the fact that he and I have a connection deeper than friendship.

Cameron smirks my way but doesn’t divulge any info on this new guy of hers. She steps up, and I stick my hands out for my little man, a wide goofy smile on my face.

But Deaton reaches out for the man beside me.

My chest warms, and that heat burns hotter when I look over to find a matching smile on Mason’s face.

He chuckles, and a knot forms in my throat at the sound. “Come here, my man. Did you miss me?” He kisses his cheek and pretends to bite at his neck.

Deaton laughs, shoving him away with his little hands, all to pull him closer in the next second.

Finally, he looks my way and leans over but doesn’t let go of Mason’s hoodie strings.

“Well, hi, mister man.” I laugh, puckering my lips and laughing when he opens his mouth and presses it over mine in a slobbery kiss.

Mason laughs with me. “We gotta work on that, my boy.”

His boy.

I whip away, taking a deep breath as I do my best not to panic, but those words, they just seem to hit harder today. I realize he’s being playful in this moment, but I’m not naive to the fact that what Mason feels for my son is deeper than, say, what Brady feels for him.

What does that mean for my son? For the dad he never met?

Forcing a smile, I turn back to Cameron, desperate for a distraction as the three of us make our way from the building. “So, busy day?”

“Yeah.” She sighs, pressing on her chest dramatically. “We have a new baby. He’s, like, five months I think, and he is so damn cute. He’s been here a couple of weeks now, but I swear I’m his favorite. His mom is kind of strange, but she must notice he likes me, because she asked if I could be here on the days he is, and honestly the schedule worked out well enough. It doesn’t hurt that his dad is obsessed with me. He is single by the way. I made sure.” She laughs, and Mason sighs playfully. “Oh! There’re the others! Ari, wait the fuck up!” she screams, and I look ahead to where Brady, Chase, and Ari are waiting.

The minute she breaks away, Mason stops, turning to face me. I know I owe him a conversation, but having it means I have to break open a part of myself I’ve worked so hard to hide. That’s the problem, though, isn’t it? Hiding. It feels like that’s all I do, and for what?

It’s hard to explain when it’s a me problem, and to get to the other side, I have to find a way to live with my own actions and decisions…and I’m just not there yet. I need to be. For Deaton, for Mason, and for myself. I’m trying, desperately, but every time I think I have it figured out, it all comes crashing down again.

I feel like a ball of mistakes, a snowball sent down the hill that’s growing even bigger with each roll.

A million questions flash across Mason’s face, the hurt there so heavy I’m sure he’s about to ask how we got here, but I’m wrong. The pain on his face isn’t related to me at all. It’s related to my son, a fact that becomes clear when he says, “You didn’t tell me he started walking.”

I open my mouth to apologize, prepared to instantly go on the defense, but then his words register, and my face falls. “I… What?” I whisper. My eyes move from Mason to Deaton and back. “He…he doesn’t. Hasn’t.” I swallow, eyes watery and on my little boy. “Mase?” I whisper.

When I look up into his brown eyes, the sight is so tender, the tears fall, and my hand comes up to cover my mouth.

“Oh my god, he walked?”

Mason’s smile is as loving as any parent’s could ever be as he glances down at the baby boy, not so little anymore, in his arms.

“He did,” he murmurs, then digs his phone from his pocket and holds it up. “Want to see?”

I nod fervently, leaning in beside him as he pulls up the video and presses play.

Mason’s legs come across the screen, and then there Deaton is, all smiles and big boy steps, straight into Mason’s waiting arms.

A choked laugh leaves me, and I look up at Mason with a watery smile, subconsciously pressing myself closer to him. I replay it over and over, taking the phone from Mason’s hands the tenth time through and turning up the volume so I can hear the laughter I see on Deaton’s face.

“Baby boy, you’re walking.” Mason’s voice is as soft as velvet, even through the phone speaker.

“Wait, Payton, don’t—” Mason rushes when he hears himself, reaching over swiftly, but Deaton bends, forcing his hand back.

My attention is locked on the screen, and then I hear it: Mason’s whispered words as he embraces my baby boy. “Daddy’s so proud of you.”

Every muscle in my body locks tight, my eyes glued to the still image at the end of the video and what a moment it captures. Mason’s eyes closed, Deaton smiling, his little fists latched just as tight to the man before him as the large hands pressing into his back.

Daddy.

Mason is…

“Oh my god,” I breathe. My vision blurs, and I gaze up at the man beside me.

Shadows cast over the space around us, and I’m struck with breathtaking clarity, as clear as it is cloudy. Echoes of regret reverberate around us, dragging me under and lifting me up.

I feel heavy and light at the same time.

All this time, I’ve stressed and lost sleep over Mason and what he meant to me and what that meant for me, but I didn’t pause to consider him and Deaton. I mean, I did, but not like this.

I knew he cared. That when he wasn’t around, Mason missed him and wished he could be there. I knew he loved him, would do anything for him, but I didn’t see.

My eyes weren’t open, so focused on the facts of what I knew had happened rather than what was happening.

Deaton didn’t have a dad, and that was my fault. I was the reason for that. I led him to California, and he died on his way home.

My son’s father died, leaving him without one. He had me and only me. Those were the facts. That is what I knew for certain.

But…that’s not true, is it?

It was never just him and me.

Panic rises in me, and I take a step back. And then another.

And then I spin, leaving my son in safe hands.

I leave him with his…daddy.