Page 90 of Shattered Promise

My best friend grins.“You been holdin’ out on me?”

I stiffen, Theo tucked in tight against my chest. His little face scrunches as he lets out a whimper, turning and tucking into my neck like he’s trying to go back to sleep.

“Pipe noise,” I say flatly. “They always sound like that.”

Beau cocks his head to the side like he’s trying to be serious but the shit-eating grin on his face gives him away. “Sure. When someone’sinyour shower. Did you forget that we learned about the shitty plumbing together when you moved in?”

Yes. Yes, I did.

I grunt and shift Theo in my arms. He’s warm and clingy, the kind of post-nap limp that means he’s gonna be cranky until right before he goes to bed tonight.

“I don’t care if it’s someone I dated,” Beau adds casually, one hand resting on the counter like he’s settling in. “Though, did I even date anyone before Peach?” He squints like he’s genuinely trying to remember. “I think I mostly just made poor decisions.”

He says it with a kind of nostalgia, like he’s reminiscing about a past life, but his eyes are sharp and I can feel him trying to readthe air, trying to clock every micro-expression I give away. I keep my face neutral, jaw set, but I know I’m not fooling him.

He leans back on the counter, arms folded. “But, for real, Mase. You seeing someone?” There’s nothing but curiosity in his tone, maybe even hope. Like he wants the answer to be yes, like it would make something in the universe right if I wasn’t alone anymore.

I clear my throat but don’t say anything. It feels like I’m betraying her by not shouting her name from the fucking rooftops.

But I can’t make myself utter her name or anything else.

Because what happens when she leaves? What if she gets spooked and bails? And then Beau and all the rest of the Carters keep their distance too.

Beau huffs a sigh. “Yeah, alright, man. You tell me when you’re ready, yeah? But you might wanna tell your shower guest that you have company.”

He’s not wrong. In fact, there’s a beat—a single, perfect heartbeat—where I picture what would happen if Abby walked out of my bedroom right now, hair wet, towel barely hanging on. Would she freeze? Would she laugh? Would she finally put all of this on the table, mess and all, and let it burn?

I can’t risk it.

I just got her. I don’t want to lose her so soon.

I clear my throat again, the sound breaking like gravel under a tire. “Can you grab his bottle from the fridge?” I toss the words over my shoulder, already moving toward the hall. “Should be the blue one, top shelf.”

Theo’s already gnawing on his fist, eyes heavy-lidded and miserable. He’s not really awake; it’s the inertia of being yanked up too soon, the body’s protest. I cradle him in the crook of my elbow and walk fast down the hall, every step a calculated risk. The sound of the shower still running. Good. That gives memaybe another three minutes before Abby emerges pink and wet and completely unprepared for her brother sitting in my kitchen.

I duck into the bedroom, close the door behind me, and set Theo on the floor. For a split second, I almost laugh. The sight of him, tiny and grumpy and blinking up at me from the tangle of carpet fibers, is so absurd it nearly levels me. He blinks again, then whimpers in protest and rubs his eyes with both fists.

“Hang on, kiddo.” I squat down and smooth his hair, then glance toward the bathroom.

If this were a test, I’d have an F in planning. I never even considered what it would mean to hide someone in my own goddamn house. To orchestrate this clandestine, mid-afternoon shuttle run between my best friend and my girl without anyone noticing.

I rap my knuckles on the bathroom door. “Trouble?”

She doesn’t answer, so I ease the door open. Steam spills out like it’s trying to push me back, thick and heavy and smelling like my damn body wash. “Trouble.”

She spins around with a sharp inhale, arm flying across her chest, eyes wide.

“Jesus, Mason. You scared me.”

My brain short-circuits. She’s soaked, flushed, glistening. Her hair dark and dripping, her skin pink from the heat. A drop slides down the slope of her breast and vanishes behind the curve of her arm.

I don’t mean to stare, but I do.

She doesn’t move at first, doesn’t reach for the towel. Just watches me like she’s trying to figure out what the hell is happening.

Then her brows twitch, and her body shifts. A subtle straightening, tension creeping up her spine.

A slow smirk curls up the edge of her mouth. “I thought you needed recovery time, but if you’re?—”

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