Page 33 of Promise Me Not

I’m not killing myself to fit someone else’s standard.

I’m not the girl I used to be.

I think I’m better.

I lift the bat, shattering the image, staring as piece after piece of the girl before me disappears until there’s nothing but a dingy white wall in its wake.

The broken shards crunch and crash to the floor, and an unexpected laugh leaves me. I look over my shoulder, my smile far too wide as I meet Chase’s gaze.

He smirks, and then it’s on.

We take our weapons to everything in the space, trading and tossing, and it’s fucking liberating.

I can’t wipe the grin from my face, and when we’re done, kicking off our coveralls, I finally pause a second to breathe, take Chase in, and start laughing.

He raises a brow, and I shake my head, my hand going to my stomach I’m laughing so hard now. “What’s so funny?” he asks.

“Us. This.” I motion between us, moving my hand up and down. “We literally came from a wedding. You’re wearing slacks and a button-down with black smears all over your face and you have a mace ball perched on your shoulder like it’s normal. I’m in a dress with curls that took way too long and more makeup than I’ve worn in a year, holding a freaking sledgehammer. We look like Harley Quinn and The Joker.”

Chase laughs, too, and then throws his arm over my shoulder, leading us back toward the front. “Nah, we look good.” He beams, and my own mood matches.

Not even the cold night air slapping me in the face as we exit can kill the buzz in the air, and it’s still just as present when, thirty minutes later, we’re seated on the tailgate with milkshakes and a basket of garlic fries.

I sigh for what seems like the millionth time, and Chase just chuckles beside me.

“I take it you’ve never been to a rage room before?” he asks, tossing me a hoodie before yanking one over his dress shirt and closing the cab doors.

He rejoins me, and I take a break from my shake to answer.

“Definitely not. My mother would have an aneurysm at the mere mention of it. She was a ‘work your frustrations out in the gym’ kind of woman, but you know, only if it’s me. Anything to get me to burn off calories, even if I hadn’t consumed any that day.” I frown, thinking about it. “She never worked out and looked flawless all the time. It was annoying.” I look up suddenly, wincing. “Sorry. I’m always such a mood killer.”

“Nah,” Chase disagrees with a smile.

“What about you? Beat things up often?”

He digs a spoon into his sundae, shaking his head. “Never needed to before. I get to knock people around or get knocked around on the field enough.”

I tip my head at him. “Usually.”

He looks over, pausing with a spoon at his lips.

“Youusuallyget knocked around enough that it helpstame the beast.” I try to make light of the subject that’s not really light at all.

It sort of works, and the chuckle that leaves Chase is only slightly strained.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” A heavy sigh escapes him, and he frowns at his pile of caramel syrup as if it’s personally offended him. “Usually.”

Lifting my camera from where it’s sitting in my lap, I hold it up and take his picture.

Chase’s head snaps up, a small glare fixed on his face.

I shake it back and forth. “Because you look so tragic. I figure I’ll show you this when you’re back to your happy-go-lucky self.”

“I’m not happy-go-lucky.”

“Yeah, you are.” I pause, testing the waters a little to see if maybe he wants to talk about it. “Or you were, but not so much lately.”

Chase’s brows dip even lower, but his features quickly go blank as he faces forward. “It’s not what you think,” he finally says.

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