Page 16 of Shattered Promise

“You look like shit,” he says, squinting. “You on the porch again?”

“Yeah.” I scrub a hand over my jaw. “You gotta see it out here, man.”

He scoffs, his mouth pulling into something between a grimace and a grin. “I’ve been to your place plenty of times, Mase. What the hell?”

I chuckle at the mock outrage lifting his eyebrows. “Nah, I meant at night. It’s different out here. Feels like a whole other world.”

His face smooths into a familiar smirk. “Are you asking me for a sleepover, bro?”

He barely gets the words out before he’s laughing—loud and unfiltered, the same way he always has. The sound bubbles under my ribs, loosening something.

I roll my eyes, even though I know he can’t see it from the porch light’s glow. “We’re not ten.”

He’s still grinning, wide and unapologetic. “Right, right. Let’s call it camping, then. Shit, you’ve got like a million acres out there. Peach and I could pitch a tent anywhere.”

My gaze narrows at the gleam in his blue eyes. “I don’t like that look.”

It’s the same one I’ve seen our whole lives, right before he does something wild and talks me into going with him. He gives me his best wide-eyed expression and holds it for a solid two seconds before a feral sort of grin stretches across his face.

“That.” I point at the screen. “That’s the look I’m talking about. Whatever half-baked idea you’ve got cooking, I’m out. Yeah?”

He laughs, ending it with a low whistle. “C’mon, man, I’m just fuckin’ with you. But camping’s not the worst idea I’ve ever had.”

“I’ve got a baby, Beau. I’m not camping in my own backyard when I’ve got a perfectly good roof and four walls. Can you even imagine me trying to tent-sleep with Theo?” I shake my head. “He barely sleeps now. Our whole routine is just . . . whatever works.”

Beau grins. “Well, you’re the one who moved out to the sticks. You could’ve had the unit around the corner from me, bro.”

It’s a conversation we’ve had a hundred times before.

“Yeah, I know,” I say, dryly. “Your place is great. But you know I needed space for Theo.”

Beau and his older brother, Graham, bought up an entire block of three-story maisonettes a couple miles from downtown. They turned two into their own bachelor-palaces and left the third as a shared middle unit—for what, I’m still not sure. It’s like their version of a clubhouse. Or a fallout shelter. Either way, it wasn’t what I had envisioned.

“Yeah, I know.” Beau shifts, leaning forward until the light from his screen catches the faint furrow in his brow. “I just wish you were a little closer. Peach and I could help out more with Theo, you know?”

He means it. I can see it in the way his mouth twitches like he wants to smile but doesn’t. The way his eyes soften just enough.

I exhale slowly. “Yeah, man. I appreciate that. You’ve got an open invite, always.”

Beau relaxes a little, slumping back against whatever couch or chair he’s sprawled across. “How’s my favorite burrito anyway?”

I huff a laugh at the nickname. Beau helped me figure out how to swaddle Theo when he was brand-new—tight and snug like a burrito. Which, now that I think about it, started with a panicked video call to Abby. She walked him through it from my kitchen one night, voice calm even though I was losing my shit in the other room because Theo wouldn't stop fussing.

That was back in the early days. A lifetime ago. I haven’t thought about that night in a while.

I clear my throat and pull my mind back into the present. “He’s good. Think he’s cutting a tooth or maybe it’s that sleep regression thing, I don’t know. Took two books, twenty minutes of lullabies, and every ounce of patience I had to get him down tonight.” I sigh, but the corner of my mouth tips up. “But yeah. He’s good. Getting big.”

“Shit,” Beau says, smirking. “Are you singing again?”

I shake my head, letting the grin come easier now. “Spotify. I’m not cruel.”

Beau’s gaze shifts. “What about you? You sleeping?”

I glance out into the dark, watching the trees sway like they’ve got secrets. “Sometimes,” I say. Then slide my gaze back to him. “When my loudmouth best friend doesn’t call me in the middle of the night to talk about camping.”

He snorts. “Don’t start. I’ll tell Peach you’re talkin’ shit.”

I smirk. “Since when do you hide behind your girlfriend?”

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