Page 14 of Stone Promises

She shakes her head, her mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“It wasn’t just a one-sided promise,” I tell her. “It was a pact. We made it sound as if it would ruin our friendship if one of us acted on our crush, but in reality, neither one of us wanted the other to have you.” I push off the bench and go over to collect the ball. “I guess it only makes sense that you’d end up with him. He’s a lucky guy, Mallory.” I throw the ball to her. “Your turn again.”

“Left-handed hook shot from the elbow off the backboard,” she says, with a sly grin.

“No fucking way,” I challenge her.

She makes it of course.

“Just gimme the goddamn ‘S’,” I say.

She giggles. “He’s not my boyfriend, you know. Not anymore.”

All in a matter of two seconds I feel relief. Then jealousy. Then anger. But I think relief wins the battle. “Anymore?” I ask.

“Long story,” she says, taking the ball from me and I get the idea the subject is off-limits. “Three-pointer. Backwards.” She lines up the shot perfectly then misses.

“Sweet!” I shout, plotting my next shot. I grab the ball and spin around twice before shooting, surprising myself by making the basket. “So, is there one? A boyfriend?”

“Not at the moment.” She motions for the ball. “Piece of cake,” she says, spinning around and shooting, only to miss the rim by a good two feet. “Aw, darn it. That’s an ‘H’ for me.”

I can’t help but laugh at her version of a swear word. “You still can’t say it, can you?”

“Say what?” she asks.

“Fuck.”

“Ugh. I can say it,” she whines.

“Then say it.”

“No. It’s not the same if I just say it out of context.”

“Okay.” I try to think of how she can use the word. “How about this—why don’t you ask me why the fuck I stopped emailing you and calling you? Ask me why I was the worst fucking friend of all time. Why don’t you ask me that, Mallory?”

“Because I’m sure you had your reasons,” she says, pulling her coat tightly around her.

I go back over to reclaim my spot on the bench, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees. “Nothing short of a lobotomy could excuse everything I did.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, resuming her seat next to me.

“There’s not much to talk about. Shit happened. A lot of shit happened. But that was then and this is now.” I look up and stare into her stunning eyes. “And I really like now.”

I could swear I see a blush creep across her face. Either that, or she’s freezing on this cold night. “I guess we all have skeletons in our closet,” she says. “Yours are just a little more on display for the world to see.”

I cringe wondering just how much she knows about the things I’ve done. But that feeling is trumped by another one—curiosity, and maybe guilt, knowing she has skeletons, too, but that I wasn’t here when she might have needed me. “Youhave skeletons?” I ask. “Squeaky-clean Mallory Schaffer?”

She elbows me in the side. “Maybe not so squeaky-clean anymore. And maybe not skeletons as much as regrets.”

There’s that feeling again. A pressure from within, gripping my chest like a vise. She has regrets. Regrets over Julian? Over some other guy, perhaps? “I’m sorry,” I say, scooting closer to her so I can put my hand on top of hers. “Maybe someday we can share our secrets like we used to. I’d like that, you know.”

She looks down at our hands and then up at my face. She looks at me like she can see my soul and extrapolate my secrets without me having to say a single word. Her eyes burn into mine. The soft flesh of her cold hand takes me back to old times. Times when we would sit for hours in her treehouse, barely saying a word yet always knowing what the other was thinking. Life seemed so much simpler back then. When we had each other’s backs through thick and thin. When it was us against the world.

Suddenly, she jerks her hand away from mine, sitting up to wrap her arms around herself. “It’s getting cold just sitting here, let’s finish our game.”

I spend the next twenty minutes getting my ass kicked in basketball by a girl. Not just any girl.Thegirl. I came here not knowing what to expect. But I’m leaving knowing exactly what I want. I want her. I’ve always wanted her. I’m just not sure what price I’m willing to pay to get her. Or better yet, what price she would have to pay to be with me.

Chapter Six

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