Page 4 of Promise Me Not

It’s a far cry from the girl I was when I first showed up on my brother’s doorstep in two-hundred-dollar jeans and a purse that cost more than the down payment on his new truck. I was a certified rich girl, shiny and perfect on the outside, suffocating and starving on the inside—literally, thanks to my mother’s need for her version of a trophy daughter. She would let me eat so long as she saw me throw it up after. The only thing I was allowed to keep down was whatever she handed me with the “vitamins” she gave me each morning.

Nothing like an appetite suppressant and a handful of whole natural almonds for breakfast, right, Mom?

Shaking off the thoughts that will do nothing but sour my mood further, I look over my outfit—a sage-green skort and a loose-fitting vanilla, neckless style sweater that hangs off the left shoulder, a matching tank underneath to hide the giant straps of my nursing bra. The built-in shorts suffocate my thighs, but the hem of the skirt mostly hides it, and the waist comes up high enough to smash some of the curves into a hint of a shape.

I couldn’t fit into my old clothes if I starved myself for a year.

My hips are wider, my legs thicker, and every other part of me is right there with it. My ass, breasts, and belly. Even my feet are larger, unable to fit in several of the shoes gathering dust inmy closet, or maybe they’re just swollen from carrying around not only a twenty-three-pound baby boy but the extra forty or so I was left with after delivery.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and force myself from the room before I lose my nerve and ask Parker to bring Deaton back over with the excuse of nap time. They’re catching on to that, though, if the playpen that Lolli bought for her place, knowing the gang was planning to hang out over there for most of the week, is any indication.

My lips tip up at the thought.

There’s one thing I can say about all the new people in my life—they make me feel like they want to be there, not because they’re friends of my brother’s or family to his girlfriend, and not because I’m always around but because they truly, genuinely care.

They like me, and more importantly, they love my son.

With my head held high and a practiced smile in place, I walk out the back door, waving as everyone on the deck next door shouts their excitement at seeing me.

The fake smile on my face shifts instantly, and a real one takes its place, growing more eager to join the party with each step toward it.

That is until I meet the small scowl of the man with his forearms perched over the edge of the railing as if he was waiting for me to appear.

I have no doubt he was. It’s written in the sharp set of his jaw and tight smash of his full lips. He’s upset with me, and rightfully so.

Everyone is here for the holiday, so he knows my weekend is booked, that there’s nowhere to go aside from shuffling from my house to Lolli’s, to the one he co-owns with his friends down the road, but that doesn’t mean I won’t do what I can to avoid…everything.

His eyes narrow as if reading my thoughts, and the look that takes over his face sends a chill down my spine, whispering words he doesn’t have to speak aloud. The message is as clear as day in those expressive eyes:I dare you to try.

Sorry, Mase, but I will.

The sun seta few hours ago, and with it came a whole new sense of dread.

The afternoon was bustling, no less than five conversations happening all at once, making it easy to stay busy and keep my mind off things, but over the last half hour, couple after couple, group after group, has left, and when my brother and his girlfriend, Kenra, are the next to stand, a knot forms in my throat. Before I can follow and agree to calling it a night, the pair looks my way.

“Stay awhile,” Parker suggests, as I knew he would. “We’ll take Deaton with us and put him in his bed.”

Anxiety spikes, sending a wave of nausea though me, and I look to the sleeping baby nestled beside me on the patio couch, his blankets tucked tight up to his chin, nothing but his little face to be seen and a hint of dark curls along his forehead.

“It’s okay.” I rush to stand, but my brother puts a hand on my shoulder, pressing me back into the seat.

His blue eyes, nearly the exact shade as mine, soften. “Stay, Peep. I’ll turn on the monitors and watch him like a hawk. We’re gonna finish that docuseries we started anyway, so we’ll be up for a while. Relax, visit. Come home when you feel like it.”

I want to argue what if he wakes ups and needs me, but we both know he won’t.

Deaton, while attached to me at the hip and unable to fall asleep without being rocked or patted or hummed to, sleeps through the night, and it’s exactly his bedtime. That, and he will take a bottle if it came to that.

When I hesitate, Kenra nudges my knee with hers, drawing my attention. “I could go get the monitor, and you could watch him from here?”

“No, it’s fine.” I shake my head, smiling from her to my brother. They know I trust them completely with his nephew. She’s only offering because she wants to make sure I have no excuse to refuse the little bit of freedom they’re gifting me. “Thanks.”

It’s all I can say, and I stare as Parker bends and picks up his nephew Deaton, my gaze trailing after them as he carries him to the house beside this one.

As my eyes cut back across the sand, I spot Mason, watching them as I was, and I know what’s coming next. His head turns, attention latching on to me, and whatever he was saying to Brady, one-third of his best friend triangle, dies on his lips. He excuses himself immediately, climbing the stairs leading to the deck at what I would almost consider a run.

My nerve endings tingle, apprehension and more trickling over my limbs as he advances, no one close enough to intercept, though the look on his face tells me he wouldn’t let that happen.

He’s been waiting all day for this, an uninterrupted moment between him and me, just as much as I’ve dreaded it.

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