Page 168 of Promise Me Not

A scratchy chuckle escapes Mason, and he bends, lifting Deaton into his arms, and when Mason comes to his full height, both my boys look at me.

With a deep breath, I step closer, smiling at my son. “Hey, little man. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Mason’s eyes are soft as they peer down at me. “You don’t have to do so much in one day, you know. We can come back another time.”

“I know,” I whisper. “But I want to.”

The pride that stares back at me is enough to drive me forward. Together, the three of us pile around the small space dedicated to Deaton Vermont, the boy who left us too soon but blessed our lives before his was taken. We sit in silence, words not needed.

A little while later, Deaton pushes to his feet, and I watch as he walks over to the headstone, having no clue what it is. Still, when his little palm reaches out to touch it, something has him stretching out his other one until his fingers are pressed to Mason’s shoulder.

With one hand on the headstone, the other on Mason, my little boy brings his eyes to mine. He smiles, that big, toothy grin I live for, and suddenly, the pressure that’s lived in my chest, the guilt that held me down for the better part of a year…it disappears.

Vanishes.

All that’s left is clarity.

It’s like suddenly the world makes sense, like I’ve evolved in the span of a blink.

I know now life won’t always be easy, and obstacles will always place themselves in our way, but we can work through them.

We can overcome anything if we can get past this, so long as we do it together.

When I look up, I find Mason staring, and he pulls his phone from his pocket with an uneasy expression. “Can I show you something?” he whispers.

I nod, and he pulls up an old social media profile picture of Deaton.

A frown builds along my brow, but I wait, watching as he tugs Deaton into his lap and places the phone in front of his face.

“Hey, big guy,” he whispers. “Who is that?”

Deaton just slaps the screen a few times, and Mason looks up with a sheepish smile, then back down, bouncing him on his knee as he points at the screen again. “Who is that, Little D?”

Deaton smiles, and then he says, “Da, da, da, da.”

My mouth falls open, a choppy laugh escaping. “Wha…” I trail off.

Deaton looks up, starting right at Mason, one finger stuck inside his mouth as he grins around it. “Da, da, da.”

Mason’s head snaps up in panic. “He’s not calling me that. I just taught him the word and?—”

“He is.” I cut him off, and Mason swallows, eyes moving between mine. “He knows, Mase. He knows who you are to him.”

“Baby.” His jaw clenches tight.

“Deaton is his father.” My eyes cloud with tears. “But you’re the only dad he’s ever known.”

Mason reaches out, tethering our hands together. “We’ll make sure he knows him, too.”

I nod, because I know we will.

We’ll figure out everything.

As a family.

Me, Mase, and our son.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

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