Page 106 of Shattered Promise

Abby’s eyes are bright and wild, her jaw set. She shifts Theo on her hip and squares her shoulders, the movement so deliberate it reads as a warning. She’s not hiding behind anyone, not even me. She’s standing her ground, and there’s a flicker of pride in my chest so fierce I almost don’t know what to do with it.

“Yeah, Jake, you heard my sister: Fuck. Off,” Beau says, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Jake glares at Beau. “You were always such a dick, Carter.” He slides his gaze over to me. “You too, Porter. But it’s time to grow up.” He runs his hands through his floppy hair again, turning his beseeching gaze to my girl. “I thought we could be adults about this. Friends, right? Friends text each other, stop over for a visit.”

Abby shakes her head slowly, her face a mask of neutrality. “No, Jake, we’re not friends. I don’t even know if we ever were.”

There’s no inherent cruelty in her voice, but Jake recoils like she slapped him. He rocks back on one foot, and stares at her, his expression hard.

“Goodbye, Jake,” she says, her face falling into something softer. “Don’t come back here.”

She pivots away, not even glancing back to see if he’ll listen, and in the motion her hand grazes down my arm—just a brush, just a trailing of fingertips over the crook of my elbow. There’s something electric about it, a silent thank you and a silent plea, and then she’s walking away, Theo slung on her hip, his headlolling against her shoulder like he trusts her to hold the whole world up.

I watch her go.

The air in the foyer is thick with everything unspoken—resentment, relief, the sharp tang of pride. Jake stands rooted to the spot, his jaw working as his eyes narrow.

“Lansing, fuck off,” I chirp, amusement dripping from my goddamn pores.

Then like we planned it, Beau and I take a step back, and I close the front door. Right in that asshole’s face.

“You really went hard for Abby there, huh?” Beau asks, sliding me a curious sort of grin.

I roll my shoulders back with a shrug. “I fuckin’ hate that guy. I’ve been wanting to do that for a decade, man.”

I can feel his gaze on me as we walk down the hallway, but after a few seconds he huffs a laugh.

“Yeah, I’d say he earned more than just that. But karma might have to take the reins now, ya know? At least she broke up with him for good.”

Yeah, thank God for that.

40

ABBY

The garage doorcreaks louder than usual as I push it open with the heel of my palm, sunlight cutting across the concrete in long, honey-colored stripes. Mason is bent over the workbench, hands deep in the guts of something mechanical—maybe a generator, maybe one of the older ATVs. It doesn’t really matter.

What matters was the way his shirt rides up just enough to reveal the cut of his lower back, the curve of his hip. Grease smudged along the edge of his jaw like a fingerprint. His forearms flex as he worked, dusted in sweat and sawdust and whatever else men like him pick up from simply existing outdoors all day.

I lean against the doorframe and bite back a smile. “Hey.”

He doesn’t look up right away. “Hey, Trouble.”

Theo and I had been outside all morning—chasing butterflies, collecting wildflowers, watching a line of ants march across a tree stump like they had somewhere important to be. I still smelled like sunshine and dirt and peanut butter crackers. My hair is curling at the edges, damp from heat and effort. My sundress clings at the back, a little too warm now, the fabric sticking lightly to my skin.

“Mister Porter,” I call, pushing off the frame and skipping a few steps closer, letting my voice curl around the edges of mischief. “I just put Theo down for a nap.”

That gets his attention. Mason straightens slowly, wiping his hands on a rag, his brow pinched in that soft, absent way he always has when thinking about Theo.

I let the pause stretch for a moment. “I was thinking about taking a shower.”

His gaze flicks to mine. Curious and casual.

I tilt my head, let my eyes slide over him, just enough to make him work for it. “Just figured I’d let you know. In case you needed something . . .”

Mason’s mouth curves, slow and crooked. The rag in his hand stills. “In the shower?”

I shrug, letting my hair fall over my shoulder. “Maybe.”