Promise Me Not
: Chapter 11

Payton

Now, July 10

Ari gives Deaton another kiss to the cheek before wrapping her arms around my neck for a quick goodbye, and I do my best to keep smiling. Cameron is next, and then they’re piling into the car.

“Bye, girlie! Chat soon!” Cameron blows a kiss, hits the gas, and they’re off, officially leaving me and Deaton alone.

Their car doesn’t even make it to the stop sign before my lips begin to quiver, and my arms tighten around my son. I walk swiftly into the house, closing and locking the door behind me and bouncing him in place a moment while I try to gather myself.

Everyone is gone. All of them.

This is what you wanted, I try to remind myself, but it doesn’t feel like what I want.

Or maybe it’s that it’s not what I need. I don’t know, but I’m alone. My brother and Kenra are gone, Lolli, Nate, and Noah with them, the group headed over to the Tomahawk headquarters, where Noah will get settled into the apartment closer to the NFL practice field. Nate’s going to share with him since he’s a sophomore at the University of San Diego this year and isn’t required to stay in the dorms. None of them are coming home tonight.

Everyone is back to normal life, college, work, playing for a professional freaking football team, and here I am…essentially in the same place I was last year, on this very day.

Two point five seconds away from a nervous breakdown, overflowing with anxiety, pain, confusion, and, the worst of all, wishful fucking thinking.

Last year, I stood in this very place in the entryway, though it was the one next door, and wished Deaton would stay, that we had more time so I could talk to him about where life was going to take us now that we were pregnant. But his brother showed up, and he said he had to go home or his parents would come and make things worse. He promised everything would be okay, that we would figure it out and he’d call me when he got home.

Today I’m standing here wishing for nearly the same things. That he didn’t go and we had the time to talk, that I got the chance to tell him I wanted to raise the baby together and I was just afraid, that I wasn’t going to give our son up for adoption, and that he would get to be the father he wanted to be the moment he learned I was pregnant.

The only difference is last year, everyone was here, so I wasn’t alone when the call came through to say there had been an accident and we needed to get to the hospital as quickly as we could. Ironically, the call wasn’t even for me but for Nate, because his sister was in the same car Deaton was that night.

Today, I am alone…because no one realizes what today is, which is understandable. No one was affected by the loss of the boy I loved the way I was. I’m sure it was hard on his parents in one way or another, as horrible as they were. Considering how poorly they treated him, they don’t deserve this frame of thinking, but I have to believe they mourned him in some way, that they experienced some sort of loss and sadness. He deserves to be missed, and I’ll do everything I can to make sure he’s never forgotten.

My son will know his father even if he never gets to know his father.

One year.

It’s been one full year without you, and it still feels like yesterday.

Deaton’s little hands come up, pressing into my cheeks and squishing my lips, and a choked sob slips past them. Thankfully, the wateriness of my smile is missed by my baby boy, and when he smiles back, there’s nothing but joy and his big blue eyes. I tug him close, pressing kisses to the side of his head as I play with the dark curls that mirror his father’s.

Pulling a deep breath into my lungs, I take one single second to settle myself, and then I put on my happy face and bounce my little boy around the room.

We play with his plushies and then his blocks. We go down to the ocean and dip our toes in the water and have lunch on the patio.

I selfishly try to keep him awake as long as possible, and he makes it well past his nap time, but when he starts to fall asleep in his high chair, I suck it up and lift him into my arms. We settle on the couch, because I can’t stand the thought of putting him down, and he quickly falls asleep on my chest.

Within minutes, my mind is spinning once more, and the panic is back so strong, I nearly choke for air but do my best to keep my heart rate steady, since his little cheek is resting against it.

Tears fall from my eyes, the saltiness slipping between the cracks of my lips, and I drop my head back to keep them from landing atop his head.

Lifting my phone into the air, I hastily scroll through the contacts, pausing when I reach his name. My eyes squeeze closed, and I shake my head.

You can do this. You can get through today. Get through today, and tomorrow will be better, and no one has to know.

I drop my phone to my side, but after a moment, I pick it back up and send a different message before I can think twice.

I toss my phone and forget about it, cuddling my son tight. Thankfully, he stirs only forty-five minutes later, his little head popping up with a grin.

“Hi, mister man.” I kiss his cheeks and change him, and we settle on his nursery floor.

We read a couple of books and sing along to a couple of shows. We take another walk, a longer one this time, and then we have dinner, just the two of us at the kitchen table. We take a bath and stay in there until we’re cold and shriveled, and it’s not long until he’s rubbing at his eyes some more.

This time, I know I can’t hold him as he sleeps. He’ll be out all night now.

I rock him slowly, and all too soon, his little snores sound in my ear. With shaky limbs, I push to my feet and ease him down into his bed. After one last longing look, I turn on the monitor and close the door.

And then I collapse against it. I drop to my ass, my head falling into my hands as a sob racks through me uncontrollably, shaking me to the bone and leaving me gasping.

I grip my throat and shove to my feet, stumbling through the house and out the back door. I rush to the railing, clutching it with both hands as I bend at the waist, my head hanging between my extended arms, and I cry.

Cries that are interrupted by the soft shuffle of sand.

My head snaps up, and every muscle in my body locks tight.

Mason stands there, still in his practice gear, cleats and all.

“Mase…” My voice breaks.

He climbs the steps slowly, a soft smile on his lips, his arms hanging at his sides stiffly, as if he wants nothing more than to reach for me but isn’t sure if he should.

All worries wash from my mind, and I throw myself into his chest.

Instantly, his strong arms wrap around me, holding me close, his cheek resting against my head.

“I’ve got you, Pretty Little. I’m here,” he whispers. “I’ve been here.”

Confused, I pull back and look up at him.

A tender smile tugs at his lips, the longing in his gaze almost too much, but I don’t look away. His hand comes up to cup my cheek, and his voice is raspy when he speaks. “I came as soon as I could…just in case you needed me.”

I latch onto his wrist, holding on for dear life.

He knows. He remembered what today was. He knew how hard it would be for me.

He remembered for me.

“This is why you’ve been distant,” he guesses.

I nod, unable to form the words and unwilling to admit he’s only partially right.

“I should have realized, and I’m sorry I didn’t. I just got in my head and thought maybe you changed your⁠—”

“Payton, you back here?” a voice calls from the side of the house, and both of us freeze.

Mason goes rigid against me, and when I look up, his eyes are staring to the left. I follow, spotting a head of sandy brown hair.

Chase jerks to a stop, his brows drawn in confusion as he looks at the two of us.

“Uh…hey.” He nods at Mason, and slowly, his eyes come back to mine as he lifts the little bag in his hands. “Brought the shakes.”

I swallow, fingers digging tighter into Mason’s top.

“What’s going on?” Chase asks cautiously, his eyes moving back to his best friend’s.

Tension tugs at my chest, and I force myself to look to Mason, but his eyes are still pointed at the newcomer.

“What’s wrong?” Chases pushes.

Mason’s muscles flex against me, and my stomach churns at the blank sheet of his expression.

“Mase,” I breathe.

Gently, with movement so slow it tears at something within me, he removes his arm from around me and his hand from my face, and lastly his fingers latch around my hand, untangling my grip on his wrist. He steps back, and only when no part of him is touching me do his brown eyes drop to meet mine.

“You called…him?” He speaks the words so low, I almost miss them. With a slight shake of his head, he stumbles back a step.

“Mase.”

He looks away.

“Mason.”

He shuffles farther away, and acid bubbles burst in my gut. When his cleats meet the sand, he starts to run.

I jerk forward, a barbed wire wrapping around and puncturing my lungs. Panic sets in, and I launch myself toward the stairs “Mason!” I scream.

But he doesn’t answer.

He’s gone now, too.

I fall to my ass and cry until I pass out.

Just like I did on this very same night exactly one year ago today.