Page 17 of Shattered Promise

“Since she started doin’ this thing with her?—”

“Beau Carter, I know you’re not about to run your mouth on speaker,” comes a voice offscreen, sharp and amused.

He grunts, but the grin spreading across his face is smug as hell. He glances to the side. “C’mon, Peach. You know I love you.”

“I know,” she replies, sweet and dangerous. Then she leans into the frame—tilted head, wild dark curls, sharp eyes that miss nothing. “Hi, Mason. Don’t believe a word he says. He’s full of shit.”

“Eloise,” I say, lips twitching. “Nice to see you.”

She winks. “You too.” Then vanishes out of frame just as fast.

Beau’s grin shifts, softens. “All I’m saying is say the word, man. I’m five minutes away.”

“In your dreams,” Eloise calls from somewhere offscreen. “It takes twenty-five if I’m driving. Forty if he’s behind the wheel.”

Beau turns toward the sound of her voice, laughing as he shakes his head. “Now who’s talkin’ shit, Peach?”

“Facts, Carter,” she drawls back.

Their back-and-forth settles into the quiet like a warm blanket, something soft and steady and sure. It pulls tight in my chest before I can stop it—that ache of wanting something like that. A partner in the room. A second voice. A kind of ease I haven’t felt in a long time.

Beau turns back to me. “All I mean is—we’re here for you, man. We’re family. And family shows up.”

I nod, swallowing around the lump that rises too fast in my throat. “Thanks, man.”

He studies me for a beat, then brightens. “How about Peach and I swing by tomorrow, hang out with the little burrito while you get some work done?”

I shake my head. “I appreciate it. I really do. But we’re good. I built out a setup in the garage. Playpen, sound machine, rocking chair, the works. We’ve got a routine going now.”

Beau raises a brow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I huff a quiet breath. "Besides, he's a handful now. The kid never stops moving."

“Please. We’ll bring Vivie. She’s a tween now, and she's all about babysitting. I pray for Peach when she hits her teens.” He mock-shudders. “God, do you remember Cora and Abby in high school? Goddamn menaces, both of ’em.”

I smile at that—small, involuntary. The kind that stings a little on the way out.Yeah. I remember.

Beau misses the beat in my silence. He straightens a little, something more serious flickering behind his eyes. “You’re doing good, Mase.”

I nod once, slowly. “I’m trying.”

He nods back. No joke, no deflection. Just that steady kind of quiet that only comes from someone who’s been in your corner long enough to know when to talk and when to let things sit.

"Alright, man, let me know if you change your mind, yeah?"

"I will. Now get off the phone and pay attention to your girl," I tease him, jerking my chin a little.

"Oh, I'm gonna pay herallkinds of attention." He grins, waggling his brows at me.

"Later, man," I say around a laugh.

"Later, Mase," he says, and ends the call.

Abby’s Instagram flashes back up, her profile still open behind the call. Like she never left. Like the whole thing was just a break in my regularly scheduled scroll.

My thumb hovers over a photo again—thephoto—and before I can stop myself, I trace the outline of her face. A touch that doesn’t touch. A memory pretending not to be one.

Then I lock the screen and tuck my phone away. Lean back against the porch post. The baby monitor still glows steady blue beside me.

---