Page 10 of Stone Promises

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Kate, another teacher at our school, joined us at the gym and then we decided to go for dinner after, so the sun is setting by the time I get home. As I pull into the driveway, I wonder whose SUV is parked out in front of our house. Dad didn’t say anything about company. He never has company. I park in the garage and reach into the passenger seat to get my leftovers. I hope Dad hasn’t eaten dinner yet because the meal I ordered was amazing.

Melissa keeps trying to talk me into moving to the city, but I can’t get myself to leave. At first, I stayed to save up money for my own place. But after that, as the time came closer for me to move, I couldn’t pull the trigger. My dad all but stopped living after my mom died seven years ago. He still works at the local hospital as an orthopedic surgeon, and that has become his life. Work and me. So I cook for him a few times a week. He cooks for me a few times a week. The rest of the time, I’m with my friends or we get take out. Every so often he’ll ask me about my savings and when I think I’ll have enough to move out. I always give him the same answer, ‘go big or go home—so I’m staying home until I can go big.’ He smiles every time I say it. He also offers me money to reach my goal. I never accept it and he never argues. We have a symbiotic relationship. Or an enabling one. I’m not sure which. He needs to get on with his life. I need to learn to live on my own. But what we have works for both of us.

Before the garage door closes, I see a man leaning against the hood of the SUV, looking at his cell phone. It’s kind of creepy because it’s getting dark. I take out my phone and pull up the dial screen, ready to call 911 if I need to. I quietly step into the mudroom and put down my teacher bag.

I hear my dad laughing in the kitchen and I breathe a sigh of relief. For two reasons. One: the man outside is probably not a serial killer; and two: my dad has company, which never happens.

Then I hear the other voice and my heart flips over. Actually, my heart leaves my body, travels around the corner into the kitchen, does flips and then returns to me, although not in its proper place. It seems to be currently lodged somewhere in the vicinity of my throat.

What the hell is Chad Stone doing here?

I head toward the kitchen. Then I turn around and head toward the garage. Then I turn back around. I change my mind so many times, I make myself dizzy. Then I bump into the coat rack, dislodging my purse, sending it thumping onto the floor.Shit.

“Mallory, is that you?” my dad asks.

Shit, shit, shit.

I close my eyes and take a calming breath, trying to control the pace of my heartbeat which is pounding so hard I feel like I’m still on the treadmill at the gym. I hold my head high and walk around the corner.

When I see Chad, smiling and sitting with my dad, two beers on the table in front of them as if they are old friends themselves, it guts me. Here he is after nine years, back in my house, looking all gorgeous and not at all nervous. Looking like he didn’t rip out my heart when he left. Looking all regal like the rich bastard he’s become. Looking like he doesn’t even care about the shit he left in his wake to get there.

“Uh, okay,” I say, looking at them. I don’t know what to do or what to say. Did he come here to see my dad? They got along back then, and his folks were good friends with mine. Maybe he’s just here to see him. Should I join them? Walk past them and go to my room? Turn back around and go to Mel’s? I bite my lip pondering my choices.

Just then, my dad scoots his chair out, finishes his beer and puts the empty bottle in the trash. “I’m sure you two have a lot of catching up to do. I think I’ll turn in early.” He offers his hand to Chad. “Nice to see you again, son. Don’t be a stranger.”

“I don’t plan to be, sir,” Chad says, shaking my dad’s hand.

My dad walks out of the room with purpose, loudly climbing the stairs so there’s no mistaking where he’s going, and then he shuts his door heavy-handedly. I roll my eyes at his unnecessary performance.

I realize I’m still standing in the doorway to the kitchen, not having moved since seeing Chad in my house. I search for something to say. But what do you say to the boy who left you high and dry when he went on to make millions on a TV show before getting fired for drugs and gambling and fighting, who then went on to make movies, hobnobbing with mega-stars who only need one name like Zac, Liam or Brad?

He doesn’t seem to know what to say either. Maybe he’s nervous after all. He probably thinks I’m going to hit him or something. Maybe I should.

I clear my throat. “Um, so the guy outside. He’s with you? Your driver?”

He nods. “My bodyguard.”

“You have abodyguard?”I ask, reeling over the fact that my one-time friend is so uber-famous that there is a huge man perched against a big black SUV outside my house to protect him.

He shrugs, seemingly embarrassed by my reaction. “Well, not all the time, but for premieres and stuff.”

All of a sudden, I find myself becoming protective of my old friend. “Has someone threatened you? Do you have a stalker?”

“No.” He huffs out a strained laugh. “Not this week anyway.”

My heart sinks. He’s had stalkers? It must be awful not to be able to go where you want to go and do what you want to do because some wacko is out there.

He nods to the chair my father vacated. “Are you just going to stand there all night, or do you want to sit?”

“Uh . . . ” I look at the bag of leftovers I’m still holding. I walk to the fridge and deposit it inside, grabbing myself a beer before I shut it. I may need a bit of liquid courage to get through this conversation. I sit across from him. He reaches over to open my beer for me. Our hands touch. I try to ignore the shooting sensation that travels through me, piercing my heart. “Thanks,” I say, pulling my beer away from his hand. I motion to his drink. “I thought you didn’t drink. Weren’t you in rehab?”

He laughs awkwardly. “Direct much?” he says.

I take a drink of my beer. “I never censored myself with you when we were kids, why start now?”

“I know. It was one of the things I loved about you. You always said it like it was. And, yes, I was in rehab. Not for alcohol though.”

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