Page 34 of Shattered Promise

You’re perfect.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to chase it away, but the echo lingers. It burrows deeper. And there’s this ache under my skin I can’t quite explain.

The water burns down my cheeks, too hot, too fast. Maybe that’s why I don’t notice the tears at first. Not until my throat tightens, breath catching in my chest like I’ve forgotten how to do something as basic as inhale. A broken sound claws its way out of me, sharp and small, then another.

My knees buckle, and I drop my ass to the floor of the shower, steam curling around me like a second skin. I pull my knees into my chest and press my forehead to them, hands trembling as I wrap my arms around myself.

It’s like earlier, standing in Nana Jo’s doorway, cracked the seal. And now the grief floods in too fast to stop. All the carefully held pieces of myself dissolve under the weight of it. And all that's left is the broken pieces of my failures, my mistakes and missteps.

And underneath it all: the hollow throb of loneliness I never let myself name.

The sound of the water drowns out the sobs. No one can hear me here. That’s the point. That was always the point.

13

MASON

The fieldbehind the house hums with heat and cicadas. Midday sun baking down on the overgrown stretch like it’s trying to smother anything brave enough to walk through it. I stand at the edge of it anyway, one hand braced on the porch railing, the other swiping at the sweat gathering at the back of my neck. Theo’s snoring soft and steady in the bouncer beside me, one leg twitching in his sleep.

It’s been two days.

Two days since Abby disappeared over the hill like a ghost. Two days since she handed me my son, told me thank you, and slipped away with her hood up and her shoulders high. Like she was bracing for impact.

I’ve replayed that moment too many times. How her fingers brushed my forearm when she passed Theo over, light and quick, like even that was more contact than she meant to allow. How her eyes wouldn’t quite meet mine.

I’ve walked the trail behind the house twice a day since then. Once in the morning, then again near sunset. Just in case she decided to sit by the creek again.

She hasn’t.

Theo’s nap schedule has gone to shit again. Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m the one who can’t settle. The one who has been pacing too close to the edge of something I can’t quite name.

I glance toward the far edge of the property—the side field where the grass grows long and the fence line disappears into bramble and wild daisies. A shallow rise cuts across the land, curving just enough to hide what’s beyond it. Pretty sure her cabin’s tucked just on the other side, nestled low where the slope evens out into flat ground. I bet it’s not even a half-mile away.

Out of sight, but never out of mind.

I haven’t gone over there, even though I’ve thought about it a hundred times. I’m trying to do the right thing, to give her space. But I’m just about at the end of my rope, patience for waiting her out growing too low.

I have half a mind to storm across the field right now and make sure she’s okay. But an invisible string keeps me on my porch. Not because I’m afraid of anything. Not really.

Except maybe snakes.

I’ve done enough fencing work to know the difference between a stick and a rattler, but that doesn’t mean I want to test it. I’ve got a healthy respect for anything venomous and fast.

I’m notscared, I’m just not stupid.

And storming over to Abby Carter’s house like I have some kind of claim over her time feels supremely stupid.

I tug my phone out of my pocket and pull up our thread. The last text I sent stares back at me, unread. I look at it long enough that the letters start to blur together. My fingers twitch with forced stillness, and I type out a text before I let myself second-guess it.

Me: Text me back or my next text is to Beau.

Thirty seconds. That’s all it takes, and the screen lights up with her incoming text.

Abby: Wow, Mason. Really?

A grin pulls at my mouth—sharp and immediate, so damn unexpected it nearly startles me. I can picture her brows reaching toward her hair and her lips parting with an incredulous glare. She’s fuckin’ cute when she looks at me like that.

The thought pounces across my consciousness before I can shut it down, and my smile falls a little. Those kinds of thoughts are dangerous.