Page 49 of Promise Me Not

Everyone opens their doors but me, and when I look up in the mirror this time, Payton’s eyes lift, latching on to mine. For a split second, her mask crumbles, her pretty face contorting with pain. Her blue eyes are begging for something, but I don’t thinkeither one of us knows what it is she’s asking for, and then she blinks.

Just like that, the mask is back, and she’s climbing from the Tahoe. Payton avoids everyone’s gaze, and we all hurry after, Parker tugging me back to allow a few feet of space as if not to spook her. I shrug him off but stay at his side, looking his way when his arm comes down on my shoulder.

We follow behind, her feet picking up speed until she’s separated herself from us completely, the door to the room she’s been staying in shutting with a soft click.

A split second later, a shrill scream fills the air, reverberating across every wall and slamming into my eardrums like knifes, cutting me, making me bleed. At least that’s how it feels. Like a physical pain without a wound.

I do the only thing I can think of.

I send a message in our group thread.

Me: Mama. You need to come. Payton’s breaking and I don’t know how to fix it.

I stare at my screen, and not five seconds later, Dad’s response comes through.

Dad: on our way, son.

The smallest of weights lift from my shoulders, and for the next hour, we sit around, the others in the kitchen, Parker and I taking turns pacing the space in front of Payton’s door. He walks off a few times, but I can’t bring myself to move. It’s not until my sister comes back for the third time to offer me something to drink that I climb from my spot on the floor and follow her toward the others.

I’m not in there for five seconds when another angry cry rips from down the hall.

We wince in unison, unsure of what the right thing to do would be but needing to dosomething.

“This isn’t good for her.” Chase shakes his head, his face taut with unease.

I drag my hands down my face to keep from matching her screams, the helplessness eating me up too damn much. My sister shuffles closer, and I look her way, finding the same broken expression written across her face.

I know what she’s going to say before she says it. It’s not a twin thing either, it’s awe were blessed with a family who is there for us alwaysthing. I try to offer a reassuring smile. “They’re already on their way.”

My smile does nothing for either of us, and when her eyes begin to mist over, I wrap my arms around her with a sigh.

“Is she going to be okay?” Ari asks.

“Yeah,” I assure her, even when I have no clue if it’s the truth. How could she possibly be okay after all this? Anger cuts through me, and my jaw clenches.

“What mother would hide something like this?” she whispers.

“She’s not a mother.” I glare at the ocean outside the large bay window. Mrs. Vermont is as bad as Payton’s mom. “She’s a heartlessbitch. Payton is carrying a piece of that woman’s son.” I shake my head in disbelief, knowing how my parents would treat her if it was their grandchild she was carrying. Shit, how they will treat her now when she’s but a friend. “She should be worshiping the girl, begging for forgiveness for treating her like shit their entire relationship.” I swallow. “She’s not a mother.”

With that, I go back to my spot on the floor beside Payton’s door. I’m not sure if I fall asleep or if my mind is running so fastthat the time has lapsed, but the next thing I know, my mama’s face is in front of me, her soft hand on my arm.

“I’ve got her, baby. You can take a break.”

My head falls back to the wall, and I stare at the best woman I know. The most selfless and kindhearted soul, the woman who made my sister the angel she is. Heat pricks at my eyes, and my mom’s face falls. She cups my cheek, staring at me as if she sees something I can’t. Knows something I don’t.

“Oh, honey,” she finally whispers, holds on a second longer, then kisses my temple.

Slowly, she stands and slips inside Payton’s room.

I roll to the side, pressing my ear to the door to listen, my heart pounding in my chest.

Will she be angry?

Kick my mom out?

Scream and yell and want to leave because not one of us knows how to mind our own business in this house? Because we don’t. We’re meddling motherfuckers and probably always will be.

Soft whispers reach me, followed by soft cries, but these are different. They’re tears you shed when there’s someone there to hold you through the pain.

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