Page 121 of Promise Me Not

I chuckle despite myself, shaking my head. “You’re right, you don’t know much. Wrestlers don’t have numbers because while they are part of a team or club, it’s a solo sport. No need for numbers when it’s just you and the other guy on the mat.”

Paige makes a face of confusion, but the pinch of her eyes tells me she’s not all that confused, and the simple “huh” that leaves her is even less convincing.

I raise a brow, and she giggles, but the playfully patronizing way she pats my chest on her way back inside tells me it’s at my expense.

A moment later, my phone pings, and I pull it up. The number isn’t one I have saved, but I know it’s Paige when I open it, her first text telling me so.

Unknown: stole your number from the group thread.

Before I can respond, a second message comes though, this one the image she showed me inside of Deaton smiling wide at the camera, his big blue eyes as bright and glacier-like as his mama’s.

“Hey, little man,” I murmur, gliding my thumb over it a moment…but then my eyes travel lower, and I see something I missed before.

My spine shoots straight, and I push off the wall, dragging the screen closer but zooming out as much as the image allows.

How did I miss it?

Right there on his chest is a number, stitched in big block letters to match his name.

The number four stares back at me, and all the air leaves my lungs, because holy. Shit.

That can’t be a coincidence.

It’s not random.

The number bolded on his chest is the same one I’ll be wearing on mine tomorrow…when he’ll wear it on his.

He’s going to wear my number as I wear it.

My eyes burn, and I clutch my phone tighter.

Baby, did you do this for me?

I squeeze my eyes closed, breathing through the thin thread of hope threatening to take over.

When I first left for school last summer, after Deaton died, we talked a few times that first month, then weekly, and that quickly turned into every damn day.

I liked it like that. Iwantit like that.

But the girl has gone radio silent on me, and I haven’t figured out what to do other than let her. I stopped hounding her because I didn’t want to push. That’s what Noah did, right? When things got tough with Ari. He gave her space and waited like the saint he is.

I’m not like Noah, though.

I’m not strong enough for this shit.

I’m freaking the fuck out and constantly stopping myself from walking out of class, driving my ass to Oceanside, and forcing her hand. I’ve almost done it. Four times now, I’ve found myself sitting in my driver seat, keys in the ignition, but each time, something’s held me back.

The sad part is I’m pretty sure it’s not my deciding to give her the space she’s clearly after.

No, it’s straight-up fear.

What if it’s not a little extra space she’s looking for…but a set of shears to cut us off completely? If I go to her and make her talk to me, she could say those words.

Call me weak, which wouldn’t be a lie.

I’m already weak when it comes to her, so if she cuts me out, it will only get worse.

My eyes fall to the photo again.

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