Page 10 of Shattered Promise (Avalon Falls #4)

MASON

I settle Theo into the new high chair, my hand lingering on his back for a second longer than necessary before I slide into the seat beside him.

Beau mutters something about garlic bread being its own food group, and I bump his shoulder as I reach for the bowl of salad.

He elbows me right back, the motion easy, automatic.

Across the table, Graham and Francesca talk softly about a fundraiser for the bookstore. Vivie’s wedged between Eloise and Cora, spooning lasagna onto her plate with intense focus, like it’s an art form.

The conversation flows around me, warm and weird and full of inside jokes I’ve been around for most of my life, but still sometimes feel just a few seconds behind. But Theo’s here, wide awake now and blinking at the chaos like it’s the best movie he’s ever seen, and that helps anchor me.

I dig a bib out of the front pocket of the backpack and fasten it around his neck. It's soft gray cotton with a faint grease stain that I can’t get out no matter how much I wash it. He doesn’t squirm, just watches me with big, curious eyes.

“Alright, bud,” I murmur, using the edge of my fork to cut up a piece of lasagna from my plate into baby-sized bites. I nudge a few onto the tray, adding some torn-up garlic bread as well.

Conversation carries on in the background—silverware clinking against plates, Jasper launching into a story about a busted carburetor, Cora pretending not to listen while clearly eavesdropping. I settle into it and let the noise wrap around me.

Then a lull hits. Not a full stop, just a soft dip. One of those quiet pockets that shows up when everyone pauses to chew or refill their glass.

Conversation flows easily around the table.

Jasper’s leaning into Cora, his arm slung around the back of her chair, and whatever he’s whispering has her blushing into her napkin.

Francesca and Graham are talking with Lucas about some upcoming event at Fiction & Folklore.

At the other end of the table, Hazel and Beau are deep in debate about how many more plants she can realistically fit in her greenhouse.

I lean back a little, letting it all wash over me. It feels good. Would probably feel better if Abby was here though. My phone burns inside my pocket, our text exchanges feeling illicit somehow.

Across the table, Eloise and her youngest sister, Vivie, have their heads bent together in a low conversation.

Vivie’s eyes flick toward Hazel and Lucas, then back to her sister, her shoulders creeping toward her ears.

Eloise must kick Beau underneath the table, because he suddenly grunts and looks directly at her.

“Ma,” Beau calls, wiping his mouth. “Vivie’s got a question for you.”

Hazel shifts her attention without hesitation. “What is it, honey?”

Vivie glances at Eloise, who gives a small nod of encouragement.

“I was just wondering if I could use you and Mr. Carter for this school project,” Vivie says, voice small but steady.

“Of course,” Hazel replies, already smiling. “What’s the project?”

“It’s a family tree thing. We’re supposed to chart out everyone. And since I don’t have a dad and my mom doesn’t really wanna be a mom, my tree’s really small. Beau said I could use his family too, but I . . . wanted to make sure it was okay.”

Hazel reaches across the table and squeezes her hand. “Oh, sweetheart. Of course it’s okay.”

Lucas adds, “You’re part of the family, of course you can use our tree.”

“Okay,” Vivie says softly, visibly relaxing. "Maybe we could work on it this week? I have to get it done soon."

"Of course, honey. We can start after dinner tonight if you want," Hazel says.

Vivie's shoulders relax and she smiles as she reaches for a forkful of lasagna. “I was wondering about Mason and Theo? And Theo’s mom? Where do they go on the tree? Are they cousins or something? I’ve always wanted cousins.”

The conversation pauses for a heartbeat. Not dramatically, but enough to feel it. Like the pause between thunder and rain.

Vivie’s cheeks flush. She turns to Eloise with wide eyes, her fork gripped too tight in her hand. “Did I say something wrong?”

I shake my head before Eloise can answer. “Nah, kiddo. You didn’t say anything wrong. Theo's mom didn't want to be a mom either, but unfortunately, we're not cousins.”

Beau cuts in, voice firm but easy. “But they’re family.”

Vivie nods and twirls her fork around on her plate for a minute while conversation picks back up.

Eloise leans back in her chair, her gaze on me and her voice low. “Hey, at least you don't have to worry about custody battles."

It’s not cruel, and she's not wrong. There are moments—quiet, private ones—when I’ve felt almost grateful that Theo’s mom isn’t around.

That I don’t have to split holidays or fight over routines.

That he’s mine, only mine. But the second that thought surfaces, guilt crashes in behind it.

Because I know what it’s like to be the kid left behind.

And I’d give anything for Theo not to feel that.

Beside me, Theo lets out a low whine. The kind that signals we’re in dangerous territory. I glance over and realize his tray’s mostly empty. He’s got one noodle left and it’s clinging to his fingers like it knows what’s coming.

I grab a few more soft bites from my plate and cut them small. “Hang on, bud. Reinforcements incoming.”

Theo hums contentedly as I load up his tray again. He immediately reaches for a chunk of garlic bread and starts gnawing on it like a squirrel hoarding for winter.

“He’s such a good eater,” Cora says from further down the table, resting her chin in her hand with a smile. “And so calm. Like, unreasonably well-behaved.”

“Give it time,” I say, half-laughing. “He’s just lulling me into a false sense of security.”

Laughter ripples across the table again—easy and familiar. I look around the table—at the noise, the laughter, the familiarity—and I realize how much I miss it when I’m gone. But I also know it’s never really been mine . This house, this family. It’s something I borrow.

And borrowed things always have to be returned.

Hazel chuckles as she slides the lasagna dish closer to me. “He looks just like you, you know.”

I glance at Theo, really look, and something catches in my throat. “Maybe. My mom says the same thing, but I think she sees what she wants to see.”

“How’s your mom doing?” Lucas asks, his tone soft but steady.

“She’s good,” I say. “Spending a few months with Cal.”

“His team still killing it this year?” Graham asks.

“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “They’ve got a real shot at the championship.”

I leave it at that.

Because the truth? The guys at this table were always more like brothers to me than Cal ever was. But that’s not something I say—even now.

Beau's halfway through his second helping of lasagna, and Hazel’s already slicing into a pie Cora brought for dessert—some kind of summery thing with a lattice crust and peaches that makes the whole room smell like sugar and sunlight.

But Theo’s rubbing his eyes now, fists dragging across his cheeks with a little whine building in the back of his throat. The kind that starts soft but ramps up quickly if I don’t get ahead of it.

I shift in my chair, catching Hazel’s eye. “I think that’s our cue.” I slip some wipes free from the backpack and start wiping down his face and hands.

Hazel nods knowingly and pats Theo’s chubby foot where it dangles from the high chair. “Thanks for coming, sweetheart.”

Lucas rises as I stand, rounding the table with his easy gait. He claps a hand on my shoulder—firm and familiar, saying more in the gesture than he ever would out loud. “Drive safe, son.”

I nod. “Thanks. And thank you for dinner tonight.”

Beau pushes back from the table and stands, already reaching for his hoodie draped over the back of his chair. “I’ll walk you out.”

I wave him off. “Nah, stay and enjoy dessert. It looks delicious.”

“It is,” Jasper mumbles around a forkful, grinning at Cora like she’s his whole world.

I reach for our plates to take to the kitchen, but Lucas beats me to it. “Leave it. Get that boy home before he turns into a pumpkin.”

“Appreciate it,” I say, lifting Theo into my arms. His head drops onto my shoulder like he’s melting into me, that soft baby weight that makes you feel like the safest place in the world. For now, at least.

Francesca waves from her spot beside Graham. “Next time, I’m holding him first.”

“Gotta be fast,” I say, nodding toward Vivie with a wink. “She’s got the home field advantage.”

Vivie perks up. “I’m getting certified in babysitting. Eloise found a Red Cross class in Rosewood.”

“You let me know when you get that certificate,” I say, adjusting Theo and grabbing the diaper bag. “I’ll put you to work.”

“Oh, I will,” she chirps, pride blooming on her face.

Beau holds the door open for me as I step onto the porch. The screen creaks, then slaps shut behind us. The porch light casts everything in gold.

“Thanks for coming,” Beau says after a beat. Quiet. Sincere.

I glance at him. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“You okay?” he asks.

I hesitate. Not because I don’t trust him—but because I don’t have an easy answer. “I’m good,” I say finally. “Just tired.”

Beau nods like he gets it. “Yeah. I get that.”

Theo shifts in my arms again, a soft sound escaping his mouth, half yawn, half sigh.

“I’ll see you soon,” I say, already stepping off the porch.

Beau doesn’t stop me. Just leans against the doorframe and calls out, “Tell your kid I expect a snuggle next time.”

“I’ll let him know,” I say over my shoulder.

The porch light flickers once, like a wink goodbye, and I head for the truck.

By the time I get Theo home, the house is quiet in a way that only small towns can manage. Crickets chirping beyond the tree line, porch light casting a soft yellow pool at the front door, the scent of pine and something else settled in the air.

I park the truck, lift Theo out of his car seat, and feel the weight of him settle into my arms like something sacred. He’s groggy but awake, blinking slowly up at me as I carry him inside.

The house smells like sawdust and baby lotion.

I toe off my boots, keep the lights low, and move through the house on instinct. We’ve done this routine enough now it’s second nature. Diaper then pajamas, and that lotion he likes rubbed into his tiny arms and legs. He yawns halfway through it and lets his head fall against my chest.

In his room, I sink into the glider chair in the corner. It's soft and gray, broken in just right. My mom dropped it off a few days after we got Theo. Called it practical and promised I’d thank her.

God, she was right.

That first week, I was barely holding it together.

I didn't know what the fuck I was doing. And my mom was a godsend, helping me as much as possible. She told me about the old wooden rocker she had when I was a baby. Said it belonged to her grandma, and she had to stack throw pillows on the seat just to get comfortable or her ass would go numb after twenty minutes, but she didn’t care. That’s just what moms do, she said.

I hold Theo against my chest, one hand curled around his back. His tiny fingers bunch the front of my shirt, holding on like he always does, like he’s afraid I’ll let go.

Now I can't imagine not rocking him to sleep every night. I know my days are numbered, that one night, probably soon, he isn’t going to want to fall asleep like this or I'll read something on one of those blogs that'll scare the shit out of me, and start making him cry it out or whatever.

So for tonight, I'll soak it in a little more.

I lower my head until my lips brush the top of his hair.

“I love you, Theo,” I whisper. “I’ll never leave you. Not for anything.”

The room settles around us, still and safe.

And for a minute—just one—I let myself believe that’s a promise I’ll always be able to keep.