Page 31 of Shattered Promise

And if it’s her ex? If Jake fucking Lansing put his hands on her? I’ve been waiting years for an excuse to wipe that smug look off his face.

Abby lowers her gaze. Her mouth opens like she might speak, but all that comes out is a shaky breath.

“It was an accident,” she says finally, voice so soft I almost miss it. “Wrong place, wrong time.” But she won’t look at me. Her shoulders shrink inward. Her hands twist at the hem of her hoodie.

“You don’t have to protect anyone,” I say, softer this time. “You know that, right?”

Her gaze lifts to mine, startled. “I’m not—” She swallows hard. “I’m not covering for anyone.”

The breath I let out doesn’t bring relief. It knots tight in my chest—some twisted mix of guilt, frustration, and confusion I don’t have the words for.

“Abby . . .”

Her hand glides up my forearm, fingertips grazing skin, until it settles gently over my wrist. “I’m serious, Mason. It was an accident. I don’t even know who it was.”

My eyes search hers. Those deep, stormy blues that have always given her away. “Then why don’t you want your brother to know you’re here?”

12

ABBY

“I don’t wantyou to have to lie for me,” I whisper. Like if I say it too loud, I’ll make it true in some irrevocable way.

“You let me worry about that,” Mason replies without hesitation. Quiet but firm, like he’s already decided, and I don’t get a say in it.

I blink hard, my gaze sliding over his shoulder to the slow-moving creek, to the green quiet stretching around us. I’ve spent the last two days trying to disappear. And somehow he still found me. I don't know what to make of that.

“I don’t want my family to know I’m here,” I admit. “I just . . . I just needed somewhere quiet for a little while.”

Mason blinks. “So you decided to camp by the creek?”

A dry laugh hitches in my throat. “No. God, no.” I shake my head. “I’m staying at my cabin. The one Nana Jo left me.” I bite the inside of my cheek, internally chastising myself for letting that little piece of information slip freely. My brothers never talked about their inheritance, kept it sealed up like a secret between them and Nana Jo. And I guess, without realizing it, I’ve been doing the same.

“Cabin,” he echoes.

“It’s tucked back near the ridge. You can’t really see it from the trail.”God, stop talking, I yell at myself.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just shifts his stance a little, like he’s balancing the weight of the sleeping baby on his back and the weight of whatever this is between us.

“You hungry?” he asks after a beat, voice rough like gravel and hesitation. “I’ve got frozen waffles and like, three kinds of toddler snacks. And an ice pack if you want one.”

My brows lift. “Are you luring me into your house with waffles?”

A muscle in his cheek ticks. “I didn’t say they were good waffles.”

I should say no. I should back away, go to the cabin, close the door behind me, and pretend this didn’t happen. Hide out like I'd planned.

But somehow, Mason Porter—with his worn flannel, steady hands, and baby snuggle bait—feels safer than silence right now.

“I could use some ice,” I murmur, eyes flicking toward the ground.

He shifts his shoulder like a shrug, but I see the relief pass through his eyes before he turns. “This way.”

We walk the dirt path in silence, birdsong overhead, the rush of the creek fading behind us. Theo is nestled in the carrier on Mason’s back, head tipped to one side, his cheek pressed against the fabric of Mason’s shirt.

Mason’s hand hovers near my lower back whenever the trail narrows. He doesn’t touch me again, but I feel him there. Like he would, if I needed him to.

We don’t say much, but the quiet between us isn’t awkward. It’s something else, something careful. Like maybe we’re both wondering how that nickname sounded so good coming from his mouth.