Page 79 of Promise Me Not

The truth of the matter is none of that makes a difference, because the damage is already done. There is no stopping it, no backtracking or changing what I feel for the man before me, and that means all that would be left of me if something went wrong is an entirely different dose of heartache and everlasting pain.

I couldn’t survive that. I can hardly handle this, and it’s my own doing, so I can’t even begin to imagine all the ways in which I’d crumble if I fell at his feet and then something swept him away.

My eyes trail over Mason’s features, and I reach out, running a shaky thumb along the tension lines between his dark brows. They shouldn’t be there.

Mason, if nothing else, is a worrier and stress case. Almost always, his thoughts are made up of someone else, something I’m sure has only gotten worse after Ari’s accident. He was known to pick apart his performance with a fine-tooth comb or kill himself with concerns over what his sister had going on or his parents being too far for him to get to if they needed something fast.

But these lines, now nearly ingrained in his handsome face, didn’t invade his sleep before.

Yet here he is, out cold on a bed that isn’t his in a town we don’t live in, with deep creases lining his forehead and a tight pinch to his perfect lips. I can’t pretend I’m not the reason behind the restlessness he’s experiencing. I’m causing him pain, and that makes me sick to my stomach.

What’s worse, Mason looks thinner, his hair not as trim as normal and his usually smooth face littered with a shadow of stubble. I glance to his hand, the ice pack I brought in sliding more and more off his knuckles with each uneasy twitch. There are even slightly dark circles beneath his eyes, telling me he’s not sleeping like he should.

Gingerly, I open my palm, pressing against the heat of his cheek. Mason leans into my touch instantly, and sharp prickles sting behind my eyes when a ghost of a grin appears.

“My Pretty Little,” he slurs, his lashes fluttering, but his eyes are too heavy to raise. “Why’s she doing this to me?”

I clamp my hand over my mouth to keep the cry threatening to slip at bay and cautiously push to my feet, my eyes trailing over his pale face as I take backward steps toward the door. I pull it open as slowly as a snail, stepping out before looking back inside one last time, and when I close it, I take a moment to lean my head against the frame.

It’s as if an anchor is tied around my neck, tugging me farther down by the second. My emotions battle for dominance: guilt and sadness, confusion and regret. But it’s the overpowering sense of longing that burrows me deeper into the sand, because what right do I have to miss someone new when I’m supposed to be missing someone else?

I want to rewind time and speed it up at the same time.

I want to go back and shield him and jump forward and walk away.

More than that, I want the exact opposite.

I hate what life has done to me, but I hate myself for what I’ve done even more.

A soft clink of glasses snaps me out of it, and I take a deep breath, blinking several times to clear my head before stepping from the hall into the open kitchen area of the rental.

Everyone turns the minute I appear, varying expressions of concern on each of their faces.

“He’s asleep,” I whisper, offering a small smile as I cross into the space to join them, Deaton’s baby monitor sitting right there in the center of the table.

The sight makes my heart beat a little faster, and I’m forced to blink the tears away all over again, because my god, I’ve never known such real friendships existed. I never have to ask for their help or support. They give it freely and without fail. Without expectation.

Brady pulls out a chair beside him, patting the cushion, and Ari scoots the bowl of chips closer to the center.

I lower into the seat, a heaviness on my chest as they end whatever card game they were playing and redeal to include me.

It would be a lie if I said I’m the only one who feels the tension in the air tonight. With Paige and Cameron still feeling sick, Ari worried about her brother, and likely all of them trying to work out what exactly happened at the pub tonight, the mood has turned sour.

It’s clear everyone only rallied to make sure Mason was okay, especially when we don’t make it through a full game of Uno before we’re calling it quits and Ari and Noah are jumping up to make us a late-night snack.

I trudge over to the couch to get more comfortable, and I can’t help but stare at the couple hovering over the stove.

Noah slips behind Ari, wrapping his arms around her as he holds her hand in his, a pair of tongs tight in her fist. He helps her flip a slice of Spam, then turns his head, whispering something in her ear, and her head falls to his chest in silent laughter. The spatula is set down, and slowly she spins in his arms, their lips meeting in a soft kiss. I should look away, but I can’t.

There’s just something so pure about the sight that a small flicker of hope warms my bones. They just stand there, staring into each other’s eyes with a look akin to longing, which is crazy because they’re together. But I guess that’s the thing about finding that one person who was meant to be yours.

There’s no such thing as too close.

No such thing as too much.

No such thing as letting go.

That warmth turns to ice, and I swallow to settle the sting.

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