Page 51 of Forsaken Oath

Mason shakes his head. “Absolutely not. In fact”—he pats his shorts pockets and pulls out his phone—“I need to document this. No one would believe me if I didn’t have proof. The great Beau Carter is a goddamn baby whisperer.”

I breathe out a quiet laugh. “Fine. If you don’t want to sleep, then at least go take a shower. You’ve got a little something on your shirt.”

He arches a brow and deadpans. “Yeah, man. So do you.”

“Damn.” I thought I felt something wet earlier.

“Seriously, Mase. I’ve got him for ten minutes while you take a shower.”

He stretches his arms over his head, grimacing. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be quick though. And just holler if he wakes up.”

I continue my same pace around the living room, cradling Theo to my chest. “We’ll be fine.”

The shower turns on down the hall as I keep walking slow circles around Mason’s living room, Theo dozing peacefully against my chest. His tiny breaths puff warm and rhythmic on my neck, his little hands curled into loose fists.

There’s something surreal about this moment, holding my best friend’s son in the quiet stillness of the night. It feels like a glimpse into a life I never imagined for myself. The domesticity, the responsibility, the bone-deep exhaustion that comes with babies.

But there’s a rightness to it too, an unexpected warmth that blooms in my chest as I hold him. It’s a foreign feeling, this protective instinct that swells in my chest, but not an unwelcome one.

My thoughts drift unbidden to a pair of amber eyes, to the feel of silky peach strands slipping through my fingers.

The sound of her laughter, bright and unrestrained.

My Eloise.

I wonder what she would think, seeing me like this. If she would smile that secret smile, the one that feels like it belongs only to me. If she would step close and run a gentle hand over my shoulder, over the baby’s back. If she would press a soft kiss to my stubbled jaw, her eyes warm with affection.

I shake my head, dispelling the fantasy before it can take root. It’s dangerous to let my mind wander down that path, to imagine a future with a woman who I’m not even fucking dating.

But still, the longing persists, an ache in my chest that has nothing to do with the infant sleeping on it. I want more than stolen moments under the cover of night. I want lazy mornings and inside jokes, shared secrets and slow dances in the kitchen.

Goddamn.

I shake my head as realization bowls me over.

For the first time in my life, I want a relationship.

And I want it with Eloise Hawthorne.

23

ELOISE

It’s hot outside today,which means it’s hot inside my house. We’ve got a few of those window A/C units, and I could hole up in Vivie’s room to cool off, but I’m just cranky enough that sitting outside and baking in the heat sounds like the best thing right now. What’s that saying? Misery loves company?

I don’t even know why I’m wallowing so much. I should’ve expected this, honestly.

It’s been five days since the second pre-qualifier, and I don’t know what I’m more disappointed about: that I didn’t receive an invite to the Gauntlet, that I haven’t heard from Beau, or with myself for being disappointed at all. I knew it was a long shot—all of it. But I forgot my cardinal rule: trust yourself first, last, and always.

So here I am, wallowing in my own pity party for one, unfit for any kind of company. Margot took one look at me and went back inside, probably wearing a sweatshirt because her room is a damn arctic tundra.

My phone vibrates on the table next to me, and my heart doesn’t even skip a beat. Even that damn organ is tired of my shit, I guess. It vibrates again, and then a third time—not thepattern of a call but three texts in a row. My money’s on Margot texting me memes, hoping to get a laugh out of me.

Without opening my eyes, I grope for my phone on the table and hold it up. Sure enough, three little bubble notifications pop up on the screen: one from Margot and two from an unknown number.

Margot: Look at these and tell me it’s not the most hilarious thing you’ve ever seen.

The attached meme is something ridiculous about a cat glaring at a watermelon with the caption:“How dare you bring this into my home?”I’d laugh if I weren’t so miserable.

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