Page 120 of Promise Me Not

“I can’t believe you’re playing on Halloween.” Cameron bites into her burrito, talking around a mouthful. “That blows.”

“The fact that you can still get your mouth open that wide with all that food in it means you know how to, too,” Brady teases, laughing and dodging her backhand when she stretches her long-ass arm across the coffee table.

“Speaking of Halloween.” Ari smiles. “How cute is Deaton’s little costume!”

My brows snap together, and I look to my sister, but she’s looking at Cameron.

“I know! I told her she should add a little war paint under his eyes, but she said that’s just a football and baseball thing.” She shrugs. “Still be cute.”

“Little dude’s gonna be a buff little badass when he gets bigger.” Brady stuffs his face, eyes on the TV.

My appetite is gone in a single instant.

So they’ve all seen his costume. His first Halloween costume.

They’ve seen it, and I don’t even know what it is.

A bitterness coats my tongue, and I lift my water bottle to my lips, trying and failing to wash the taste away.

My sister nudges my ribs, and my head snaps her way, but it’s Paige who discreetly opens her phone, setting it on the carpet beside my feet.

My eyes fall to the screen, and there he is, smiling all big and bright, and goddamn if the murkiness in my mind doesn’t grow a little lighter at the sight.

He’s wearing what looks like overalls but a spandex version, his name printed across the chest in the same font as our university hoodies.

He’s wearing a singlet.

He’s a little wrestler, and when I look to the second photo, zoomed in to only show his shoulders, printed proudly across the back is Vermont.

Because that’s his last name.

He’s not mine, and as much as it pains me to think it, I don’t think she’ll ever allow him to be.

Not that I’d ever want to take big D’s place. I wouldn’t. I don’t.

But little man has four sides, right?

Why can’t I have one?

Why can’t I have her?

I push to my feet, excusing myself for a minute, and step into the hall.

The door opens a few moments later, and surprising me for a second time, it’s Paige who joins me.

She smiles softly, propping her shoulder against the wall, her body facing mine. “She didn’t send them the picture.”

I look at her from the corner of my eye, and she shrugs.

“I made the costume. Dropped it off when I went to check on the progress of my studio last weekend. She only just tried it on him today and…well.” She shakes her phone in the air.

“You made it?” I ask, surprised and trying not to read too much into her explanation.

So Payton didn’t send it to everyone but me. That’s good.

But whydidn’tshe send it to me? She must know I’d want to see. We talked about it once…when we were still talking.

“I did. I make the costumes for my dance students all the time. It’s cheaper that way, and the kids in my classes can’t afford to be there, let alone to pay for something they’ll never wear again.” She smiles. “Although this was my first time making anything wrestling related, and to be honest, I don’t know much about it…but I was a little surprised to learn wrestlers have numbers.”

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