Page 12 of Stone Promises

He takes the last sip of his beer and puts the empty bottle on the table between us before standing up. “Please thank your dad for the beer. It’s been great seeing you again.”

And just like that, Chad Stone walks out of my life as quickly as he walked back into it.

Chapter Five

Chad

Mallory stays seated at her kitchen table as I walk through the house and out the front door. She doesn’t need to show me the way. I practically lived here when I was younger. I guess there isn’t much else to say. She wasn’t at the premiere party because of me. She’s obviously still pissed at me. And she has every right to be.

God, she’s beautiful. She was always pretty. But now, she’s fucking gorgeous. Those green eyes of hers are even darker than I remember, her fair skin even creamier. And Jesus, she’s a school teacher. Is there anything sexier than that? What the hell was I thinking not keeping in touch with her?That you didn’t want her to see what you’d become, you damn fool.

Shit. I didn’t think to look at her left ring finger. I assume she’s not married since she still lives with her dad. But who’s to say she’s not spoken for? A woman who looks like that must have men beating her door down. Richard didn’t say anything about a fiancé or a boyfriend. But then again, other than him telling me where she worked, we didn’t talk about her, we only talked about me. I think Richard wanted it that way. I’m sure he knows how Mal feels about me and he didn’t think it was appropriate to give me any personal details about her life.

I descend the four porch steps to the front walk where, tucked under a corner shrub, a ceramic frog still keeps watch over the front yard. I lean down and pick it up, looking underneath it. The house key is still taped to the bottom where it always was. The strong tape is weathered and torn and I wonder if they even remember the key is here. I put him back in his spot and walk to the driveway, glancing at Cole who has been waiting patiently for me.

Then I notice the old, rusty basketball hoop that is attached to the house over the garage door. Most of the netting is torn, as it was back then. It had seen hundreds of games of HORSE. Thousands maybe. I smile thinking of the times Mal and Julian and I spent out here. Immediately, my eyes go to the driveway hedge on the left side of the garage, lighting up when they spot an orange ball. It’s almost as if I were meant to find it.

I hold up a finger to Cole, alerting him I’ll be a bit longer. Then I pick the ball up out of the concave indentation that had become its home over the years. I press it firmly between my hands. It feels decently inflated. I dribble it a few times, happy to see it come back up to meet my hand each time.

I take a few steps back and take a free-throw shot. I miss of course. After all, it’s been nine years since I played. I dribble the ball around and take several more shots, making some now that the familiarity is coming back. I start to get into it, announcing my own fantasy game as if I were playing in the NBA finals. “And, Lebron fakes to the outside, but cuts in, spinning away from his defender and, wait, he’s going for three” —I jump up and make a sloppy-yet-effective three-pointer— “aaaaaaand, it’s nothing but net as the crowd goes wild.” I kiss my fingers and wave them to the pretend crowd as I take my victory lap around the driveway all but knocking over Mallory when I run up near the sidewalk. “Uh, sorry,” I say, shocked to see her watching me.

She’s laughing at me and I think it’s the best sound I’ve ever heard. “I heard the thumping of the basketball and came out to see what it was,” she says, putting her arms through her coat sleeves.

I back away from her, dribbling the ball. I nod to the net. “How about a game of HORSE? You know, for old times’ sake?”

She looks at the net and then at me, her eyes turning sad. She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. It’s pretty late.”

I look at my wrist as if there is a watch on it. “Oh, come on, Mal. It’s barely dark outside. I’m sure your dad will let you play a little longer, even if it is a school night,” I tease.

She looks back up at the house, just as the outside lights magically turn on, illuminating the entire driveway. I catch a glimpse of a curtain closing in the living room. I smile. Richard may think she hates me, but it appears he’s rooting for me anyway.

I bounce the ball on the ground, passing it to her. “Come on,” I goad as she catches the ball. “You know you want to. I’m a little rusty so you will probably kick my ass.”

She snickers. “That’s nothing new, Chad. I always kicked your ass.”

“Ouch!” I cover my heart with my hand. “That hurt, Mal. My ego is very fragile.”

“Ha!” she cries. “Somehow I doubt that.” She throws the ball at me. Hard.

I pass it right back to her. “Think fast!”

She catches it and dribbles it expertly behind her back. I raise an eyebrow. “You’ve been practicing,” I say.

“My dad and I play sometimes.”

“Shit,” I say. “You really are gonna kick my ass. Come on, you go first.”

She rolls her gorgeous green eyes at me. “Fine.” She walks to the middle of the driveway, about three feet away from the basket and she lobs a shot up and over the rim.

“Going easy on me, Schaffer?”

She shrugs.

Even though it’s been a few years, I still make the shot easily from this distance. I throw the ball back to her. “You’re going to have to come up with something better than that.”

“Okay.” She walks back a few steps. “Eyes closed this time.” She shoots and misses.

“Yes!” I say, with the enthusiasm of an adolescent boy. I scoop up the ball and position myself where the free-throw line would be and I take a shot. She follows my lead, easily making the basket.

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