Page 68 of Shattered Promise

I force a nervous laugh and shrug. I wasn’t even aware I was swaying. It feels like one of those unconscious things. “I don’t know why you’ve suddenly forgotten all those years I spentbabysitting. This is one of those things you just do. Like muscle memory or whatever.”

Her eyes narrow like she’s figured out those puzzle pieces after all.

I force myself to roll my eyes and give her a bit of truth. “Mason and Iarefriends, so I see photos of Theo all the time. Feels like I know him, ya know?”

My sister doesn’t say anything for a whole minute, which feels like a feat honestly. “Mm-hmm. I hope you know what you’re doing. Long distance relationships are a real bitch.” She grimaces. "Sorry, Theo."

I clear my throat. "Yeah, I'm not in a long distance relationship.”

She nods. “Good, because as much as I hated that dick, Jake, at least he taught you that lesson: you’re not a long-distance girlfriend.”

No, no I’m not.

So why does that sit so heavily on my heart?

26

MASON

The rain comes justbefore midnight. Much later than Abby made it seem at dinner at the Carter’s house tonight.

Not in a quiet, prowling kind of way. A gust of wind blows and the house groans, thunder cracks hard enough to rattle the windows a little. I glance at the baby monitor glowing beside me. Theo’s still asleep, his little body sprawled like a starfish across the crib mattress, sleep sack twisted at his waist.

I’m flat on my back, staring at the ceiling fan like it’s going to give me answers to all the questions rolling around in my head.

Thunder rolls again, low and mean.

I see her face when I close my eyes. Not the laughing version. Not the one singingHamiltonto Theo. The other one, from dinner tonight. Tight smile and distant eyes. That blank kind of polite that means you’re not fine but you’ll pretend you are until your throat closes up.

God, I fucking hate that feeling.

Those first few months of Theo's life weigh heavily on me, guilt and shame shitty bedfellows. I was thrown in the deep end when his biological mother dropped him off on my mother's doorstep like he was a bouquet of flowers and not a fuckingbaby—myfucking baby. I should've handled it better, should've been more skillful at weathering those newborn days with him. Instead, retreat was blaring inside my head constantly.

And that’s what I did.

So, yeah, I get why Abby needed space, why she didn’t stop by afterward, didn’t talk about plans for tomorrow.

I get it. I don’t have to fucking like it though.

Sometimes family stuff leaves you needing space. But the way she saidI just want to be back before it stormshas been playing on a loop in my head for hours now.

There was fear in her voice. Not the dramatic kind. Not the flinching, jump-scare kind. The quieter kind. The kind that sits just under the skin and simmers.

I check my phone again, but our text thread is the same. No new texts, not even a meme. Not a single bubble of black in hours. I tell myself to let it go, that she’s probably sleeping soundly in her own bed. And texting heragainis bordering on stalker behavior.

But my mind can’t unspool the image of her with that faraway look she had at dinner.

Another flash of lightning slices across the bedroom. A second later, the thunder cracks.

I throw off the covers. "Fuck it."

I’m moving before I can talk myself down. Jeans, boots—no socks, no laces. Hoodie from the floor, threadbare at the elbows. I shove the baby monitor in my back pocket.

The storm hits me like a wall when I step outside, pausing only to lock the front door. The wind whips the rain sideways and cold water sluices down the back of my neck. I jog down the stairs and head straight into the snake pit, the patch of meadow between our homes.

Her place isn’t far. Few hundred yards across the pit, but it feels longer in the dark with the wind shrieking and wet earth doing its best quicksand impression.

“You fuckers better be sleeping under your bushes,” I threaten any nearby snakes who’re getting any ideas.