Page 138 of Promise Me Not

Pullingup in front of the Avix U football house, I put the car in park, my eyes gliding toward the white wooden door.

The last time I walked inside there, Mason led me by the hand.

The last time I walked out of there, it was with tears in my eyes…

“Hey.” Chase leans forward, his soft tone slipping through the memory, and I turn to face him. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just a long day,” I lie.

“You know you can come in if you want. We’re allowed guests.”

A derisive laugh leaves me before I can stop it, and I nod. “Yeah, I know.”

He nods, and when he opens the door, I climb out, too, meeting him near the hood. “Thanks for lunch.”

He grins. “Thanks for going for sushi with me. No one else will.”

“I mean, I did order a California roll, so it doesn’t really count, but…” I tease, smiling a little when he laughs.

“If you’re up for it, I’m free again tomorrow.”

“Maybe,” I joke. “But if so, I’d say it’s my turn to pick.”

“As long as it’s not pizza. I’m pizza’d out. That’s all everyone seems to get in this house.”

“I’m sure I can be a little more creative than that.”

Chase grins, but that grin falls right off his face, and two point five seconds later, the reason why reveals itself.

A big white Tahoe appears, and thenhesteps out.

If I could sink into the dirt, I would, but my feet are frozen, my eyes glued to his face, waiting for the moment he looks up.

It only takes a second.

His head lifts, eyes finding mine without effort.

His feet stop moving, his limbs locking in place as a thunderstorm of confusion, concern, and cold hard resentment rolls across his face. He looks…bad. Worn out and pale.

I try not to stew on the fact that no one saw him all night and the fact that his clothes look well worn, as if he’s had them on for longer than today, but the pit of dread in my stomach only grows wider, even if I’m the one who dug the hole to start.

I take a half step forward without meaning to, and it’s like I reached out and touched him. He jolts as if burned, his head falling back, and he looks up at the sky seemingly searching for an answer he desperately needs.

“Mase,” I finally call.

His head snaps forward, and slowly, he heads this way, his eyes not once traveling to his friend beside me. “How long you been here?”

“I—” Shit. “Friday.” I manage to force the word, quickly adding, “I looked for you, but?—”

“But you didn’t call.”

In my periphery, I notice Chase looking between us. “I called,” he says. “Ari, too. And Brady.”

Mason just keeps staring right at me. “You didn’t call.”

Up close, the dark circles beneath his eyes are so clear. Too clear. “Where were you?”

“There was someone I needed to talk to.” He faces away, then mumbles, “Not that it made much of a difference.”

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