Promise Me Not

Payton

Now, July 4

It’s late, the visitors have gone, and Deaton is fast asleep in his crib.

For the last couple of hours, the rest of us have shuffled between huddling around the firepit and squeezing in at the patio picnic table turned game table. Stacked quarters sit in front of us, a small cup full resting in the middle, as we close out our third round of left, right, center, and my right knee’s bouncing spreads to my left.

Tension tugs at my chest, anxiety building at a slow yet steady place, only this time it doesn’t break when I finally give in and tap the screen of my phone for the hundredth time. With the end of every game, the night closes in, the digital clock reading five after ten.

The day is almost over. Gone.

How are things here and then gone in the blink of an eye? In the pass of a single second? Poof. No more.

I swallow, trying not to draw attention to myself as I attempt to breath through my nose and out through my mouth, but it doesn’t help.

I’m suffocating.

Most of us stand, stretching or refilling cups, but I wait for their backs to turn, taking the opportunity to step away. Pushing onto shaky legs, I move toward my brother, take his hand, and gently set the baby monitor in his palm.

He looks at me with concern, but a quick squeeze of his fingers is all I can give.

Panicked and unable to catch a full breath, I clutch my phone in my fist, running down the deck stairs and onto the sand.

Ari and Noah are in their own little world, cuddled by the fire, but both jerk my way when I hurry past.

“Payton?” she calls, but I keep running, down the side of the house and toward the front, across the grass and onto the sidewalk.

I pause there in the shadows, gripping my head and squeezing my eyes closed as tears threaten to take me under, to drown me.

My jaw is clenched tight, and I tug on the strings of my hoodie, letting it bite into my neck as I drop my head back, welcoming the cold air against my clammy skin.

Headlights flick on, and I jolt, eyes narrowing when they flash a second time.

I sniffle, swiping my cheeks with my sleeves and run over to the old red truck sitting idling at the curb. Curling my fingers over the edge of the windowsill, eyes the color of emeralds meet mine.

“Where are you going?” I blurt out before he can ask me what’s wrong.

Chase visibly winces, looking out the windshield at the road ahead. “Is it bad if I say anywhere but here?” Slowly, he faces my way.

I know that look. It mirrors one of mine.

My shoulders fall a little, and I offer a small smile. Chase is waiting for me to question him, to ask if the reason he would rather be anywhere but here has anything to do with a certain couple sitting by the fire that he may or may not be able to handle seeing together.

Not everyone knows how important it can be to dodge a question. Sometimes it’s the only thing keeping that final string from snapping and leaving behind a welt you can’t hide. So no, I don’t ask him any of that, saying instead, “Is it bad if I want to go with you?”

Chase stares a moment, and then he reaches across the cab, pushing open the door in invitation.

I don’t hesitate, not when I know Deaton is safe and sound, asleep in his crib with my brother watching over him. I climb in the cab, buckle my seat belt, and meet his gaze.

He tips his head. “Where do you want to go?”

A grin pulls at my lips, my limbs suddenly feeling ten pounds lighter with the promise of an escape. “Anywhere but here.”

Chase chuckles, tosses me the blanket he pulls from behind his seat, and puts the truck in drive. He doesn’t tell me where we’re headed, and honestly, I’m not sure he even knows, but I don’t care.

I’m along for the ride either way.

Just as we’re pulling away, a flash of something catches my eye. I turn, glancing toward the house as we roll past, and there he is.

Mason stands at the edge of the house, a can of cream soda hanging from his fingertips…eyes on me.

My head snaps forward so fast, I know Chase notices.

Whether he sees Mason or not, he doesn’t say.

He doesn’t stop either. Instead, his foot hits the gas a little harder, leading farther down the road.

The streets are lively tonight, the usually dark sky lit by bonfires, string lights, and cell phone flashes. The people of Oceanside, both young and old, enjoying the last holiday of the summer before most go back to their normal, everyday lives. People run the roads barefoot, dragging wagons stuffed with ice chests, blankets, toddlers, and dogs. One guy is even rolling a keg around, his friends laughing and helping push it from behind but tripping over one another, liquid spilling from their plastic cups.

Chase and I both chuckle at the sight and end up sitting at the stop sign for almost three minutes, just waiting for a chance to turn among the crowd.

“Looks like the beach is clearing out,” I comment, a strange mix of numbness and relief settling over my bones. “I wonder if we’ll see a bunch of people packing up to go home tomorrow.”

Chase glances over with a grin. “Aw, she’s a real ocean girl now? Tired of sharing the beach with drunk college kids and screaming babies—” Chase clamps his mouth closed so fast I can’t help but laugh. He looks away, rubbing the back of his head, short brown strands sliding along his fingers. At the light, he finally looks back. “I’m sorry. That was…shit.”

“Don’t worry about it.” My lips turn up slightly, and I pull the blanket up to my neck, watching the small shops as we go by. “Because you’re absolutely right. The lungs on some of those babies, I’d pull my hair out.”

Chase and I share a smile, and then he reaches forward, turning up the music.

I sit back, humming along to the music that fills the cab. When we pick up a little speed and the wind hits my face a little harder, I don’t roll the window up.

I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, and I don’t open them until Chase kills the engine.

My eyes slide his way as he unbuckles and starts to climb out, so I do the same, following him around back.

He pulls the tailgate down as my eyes move across the giant field ahead, where some people are scattered across what looks to be several hundred yards or more of grass.

“This is where the fireworks show was tonight,” he tells me as he sits. “I thought maybe we’d catch the grand finale at least, but I guess it’s later than I realized.”

Apparently, fireworks are illegal in Oceanside, and from what Ari said, there’s usually a dedicated spot where the city will put on a safe showing for the townspeople. I guess this was it this year.

“Why didn’t we come tonight to watch?” I glance back, and he pats the spot beside him, so I hop up, settling on the chilled metal.

“Probably because we’re all grown now.” He shrugs, then looks to me with a smile. “Next year, though, I’d bet money we’re the first at the show if Sarah or Viv have any say.”

Warmth blossoms in my chest. Not only at the thought of the love my friend’s parents have for Deaton but the fact that he and I are so effortlessly included in plans that don’t even exist yet.

Smiling to myself, I look out over the space. “I wonder if he’ll like all the colors but hate the loud booms that come with them.”

“If he does…” Chase reaches behind him, revealing a small plastic bag I didn’t see him grab from the truck. “We go to plan B.”

A small frown builds along my brow, and I watch, curious, as he pulls a long rectangular box out with one hand, revealing a lighter in the other.

A low laugh leaves me, and I hold my hand out, tearing into the thin cardboard after he slaps it into my palm.

I pull out two, holding them past my dangling legs, and he leans forward, lighting the paper ends. Once it catches and green and red sparks start to shoot from the end, I pass one his way.

Chase spins his in circles, making shapes with the smoke, and I do the same, my muscles relaxing even more. He must notice as he looks over then.

“See?” His grin is proud. “Everyone likes a sparkler.”

“These were my favorite when I was little,” I share. “My dad would always make a big deal of the holiday. He’d buy me one of those wire garland crowns, you know, the kind with ribbons that hung almost to the floor, and when he put it on my head, he’d bow like I was some kind of princess waving around a scepter of sorts. I’d pretend to cast spells and make Parker my minion.” I smile at the memory, but a frown quickly washes it away. “That’s probably why my mom refused to buy fireworks of any kind once they separated. She’d usually just…tell us to go down the road and watch the neighbors’” A second, more spiteful smile pulls at my lips as I reach into the box in my lap. “Serves her right. Deaton lived down the street then.”

The moment the words leave my mouth, my muscles lock, and I try not to look at Chase but do it anyway. I wait for the hint of pity to draw his features in, but it never comes.

He just…smiles.

“Yeah?” he asks. “That how you two got close?”

Biting into my lower lip, I face forward. “That’s sort of how it started, yeah.” I spin the stick between my thumb and pointer finger, glancing his way. “So, you excited to get back to school soon?” I say to change the subject.

He shrugs at the same time as he nods, and when he looks over, I laugh.

“What?” he wonders.

I mimic his movement, down to the faint scowl he had on his face, and Chase bumps my shoulder playfully.

After a moment, he sighs loudly. “We’ve been in training camps with the team on and off all summer, and technically me and the guys have been back on campus for weeks now since coach talked us into summer classes.” He shrugs again. “I just don’t feel like I’ve had much of a break, you know? I can’t say I’m not happy for the distraction.” He tenses a moment, gaze flicking my way as if he said that by mistake.

When I don’t react, he keeps going.

“The end of the school year was always when I felt like I could breathe a bit. Like whatever was going on was finally over and there was a fresh start. But this summer was…different.” He looks away then, glaring at nothing ahead of us. “I knew last year would be my last real summer. We all talked about it enough, that’s for sure, but man. It hits different when you realize it’s even further from what you expected it to be. It kind of feels like the year that was supposed to fly by just won’t end, you know?” He cuts a quick glance from the corner of his eye.

I swallow, my eyes moving between his, because, man, do I feel that deep in my bones.

Last summer, I was secretly four months pregnant, ran away from home, and found a new one here. I was going to have a baby with my high school boyfriend. Now, that boyfriend is dead, and my son is nearly eight months old.

Chase looks away, and I wonder what caused the obvious ache in his eyes.

Is it just that he is in love with Ari, his best friend’s twin sister who’s now in love with someone else, or is there something more going on he hasn’t shared?

I don’t know, but what I do know is not to ask people questions they clearly don’t want to answer, so I dig into the box once more and light two fresh sparklers, holding his out with a small bow.

“For you, prince of pigskin.”

Chase grins, taking my offering. “Why, thank you, princess of⁠—”

“Puke?”

Chase looks at me horrified, but when I smile wide, tugging out the bib I forgot I had stuffed in my hoodie pocket, we both end up laughing.

We light a few more, drawing our names in the road with the ends, knowing it will fade into nothing in no time. At some point, we move farther into the bed of the truck, our legs stretched out and heads resting against the window behind us.

The quiet is nice, something I’ve missed amid the crazy but at the same time do my best to avoid because quiet brings peace, peace brings thoughts, and all my thoughts roll together in one giant, spiky lump of regret that seems to live in my gut.

My phone alarm beeps, breaking the comfortable silence we fell into, and I wince as I blindly press the button to cut off the piercing sound.

Chase says nothing, letting me decide if I want to talk about why my alarm is set for twelve a.m. on the dot.

I don’t. I haven’t said a word to anyone about where my mind has been. In fact, I’ve gone to ridiculous lengths to avoid it, so I have no idea why my next words leave my lips. Maybe it’s because he didn’t pity me earlier. I don’t know. Still, the truth tumbles out in a voice so low, I scowl.

“This was the last holiday he had. Which makes it my last first holiday without him.” As my whispers settle between us, a huffed sigh slips past my lips. “That probably sounds so dumb. It’s not like I’m an eighty-year-old woman who shared half her life with someone and then lost him.”

“Forty years or four months, it makes no difference.” Chase is frowning at the night when I turn. “It hurts either way.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, staring at his profile. “Love sucks.”

His laughter is low, and slowly, he looks over, his green gaze holding a moment before he reaches out, throwing his arm around my shoulder. “Yeah, princess. It does.”

I lay my head on his shoulder and close my eyes.

We don’t stay much longer, making it back to my house a lot faster now that the roads are clear and nothing but the crash of the waves can be heard in the distance.

I smile as I pull the handle and climb out, closing the door behind me.

“Hey, Payton?”

Glancing over my shoulder, I meet his gaze through the open window.

“Just so you know,” he begins. “It’s okay not to be okay…even if it’s not for the reason everyone thinks.”

I hold his gaze a moment and slowly nod. “You know, I think you might be the first person who has ever said that to me.”

“It’s true.”

My mouth curves slightly, and Chase nods back, his truck sitting there idling as I turn and walk away.

I put the code in the door and tiptoe down the hall. My son’s bedroom door is open, so I slip inside and gently lift him from his crib and into my arms, turning off the monitor.

He stretches a bit but doesn’t wake, instead tucking his little hands between my chest and his as I carry him across the hall and into my room. I don’t bother changing, just climb into bed, gently laying him beside me and sliding my finger between his. He squeezes slightly, his lips parted as he sleeps, and a small smile pulls at my lips as I stare at my dark curly-haired baby boy.

“Happy Fourth of July, Deaton,” I whisper into the night, unsure if I’m speaking to him or to the boy who didn’t get to live to today.

Maybe both.