Page 31 of Shattered Promise (Avalon Falls #4)

ABBY

The Uber drops me off in front of my parents’ house on Sunday night. I’m not late, but I’m not as early as I usually am. Truthfully, I had a hard time making myself leave my cabin.

It’s not that I don’t love my family, and I am trying to spend more time with them. But I haven’t been feeling like myself lately—the version of me that exists for everyone else.

In fact, I’ve felt more like me in these last two weeks than I have in two years. It’s as freeing as it is foreign.

And the thought of squeezing back into the family-approved version of myself makes me want to slide right back into the Uber and ask to be taken home.

Instead I stand in the driveway, staring at the house. Their porch so aggressively welcoming it could be a set piece from a commercial about insurance or mayonnaise. The porch lights are already on, casting a glow across the hydrangeas that border the walk.

I picture everyone inside—Mom in her trademark apron, my dad and brothers yelling at the TV and whatever sports game is on, my sister dodging my mom’s advice on her bakery.

Mason offered to drive. Said it made sense, since I was already with him and Theo. But I told him no. That it was easier this way.

What I meant was: I’m not ready to tell them about the cabin.

I don’t want to field the inevitable questions that would roll in like fog over the quarry. Why I’ve been hiding out in my inherited cabin like some hermit with a guitar and a past she doesn’t know how to carry.

I step onto the porch and the door swings open before I can knock.

My dad stands in the doorway, arms wide, as if he’s been waiting all week to catch me coming home.

“There’s my girl!” he bellows, and for a split second I’m twelve again, running toward him after I didn’t get the solo in the school musical, before the years got heavy and the hugs got complicated.

He pulls me in, his arms a bear trap, and I let myself fall into it. He smells like aftershave and oregano. “Good to have you home, Abby,” he says into my hair.

I smile, but it’s brittle around the edges. “Good to be home.”

“C’mon in. Mom will be excited to see you,” Dad says, holding the door open for me.

Inside, the house is chaos, in the best way. The noise hits me first—voices overlapping in every room, the clatter of pans, the sharp crack of the baseball game on replay. It smells like garlic bread and rosemary, and the faint trace of the lemon candle Mom always lights after she cooks.

“Is that my daughter?” Mom crows from the end of the hallway that leads to the kitchen. She wipes her hands on her apron as she quickly erases the distance between us. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages,” she whispers as she pulls me into a hug.

“It’s only been a couple of months,” I say into her shoulder, but I let myself lean in. Just for a second.

Mom pulls back, eyes shining. “Still too long. I’m just so proud of you, honey. Working so hard out there in the city.” Her smile softens into something hopeful. “I’m glad you took the weekend off. It’s good to have you home.”

I’ve been here for two weeks, I don’t say.

“I missed you guys too.”

“You’re just in time. Dinner’s ready and the boys set the table,” Mom says, ushering me into the dining room.

Everyone is already there, and somehow the dining table is longer than I remember.

“Did you guys get a new table?” I say, rounding one end of the table and heading toward the only open seat left next to Cora. Across from Mason and Theo.

Mom grins as she takes her seat at one end of the table. “Your father found the leaf in the garage. But we’re in the market for a new one. Our family is growing so fast, and I have a feeling it’s only going to keep growing.”

My brows raise at Mom’s pointed gaze darting toward my sister. Considering Cora was just drinking aperol spritzes at book club two days ago, I think it’s Mom’s wishful thinking.

Mason’s eyes catch mine for a split second before they slide away, but something lingers between us. A hum in the air that no one else seems to feel.

Mom claps her hands and sits down. “Alright, everyone. Dig in!”

The table comes alive. Plates and platters pass in a constant stream, hands reaching and retreating, someone laughing too loud every few minutes. The noise is a comfort and a threat: nobody listens, yet nothing is missed.

“Abby,” Dad says, “try this sausage. Tell me it’s not the best you’ve ever had.” He’s already passing the serving dish down, and I take a small piece. He watches me chew, anticipation on his face, and I do my best to perform appreciation. “It’s perfect, Dad. Really.”

“See? I told you, honey,” he says, beaming at my mom.

“All I said, Lucas, is that sausage isn’t usually served with stuffed shells,” Mom says, affectionately rolling her eyes.

Dinner moves fast after that—everyone talking and laughing, plates getting passed around. I try to listen, chime into some conversations, but my eyes keep finding Mason. He’s quieter than usual tonight, his mouth a carved line as he slides cut up pieces of food onto Theo’s tray.

“You guys,” Cora says suddenly, laughing as she grabs her phone. “We have to pick a day next week for Skate Town. It’s only open a couple of days, and the hours are weird.”

“Do a poll in the group chat,” Francesca offers, bumping her shoulder against Graham. “Don’t worry, I’ll vote for your brother too since he’s against organized fun.”

Graham’s lip twitches as he stares at his wife before he leans in and murmurs something in her ear.

“You guys are in a group chat?” It’s an innocent enough question, but it hovers over the table, shifting the air.

Cora’s face falls, her gaze darting around. “Oh, uh, yeah. It’s just a little group chat we have. We would’ve included you, but it’s just for planning local stuff.”

I blink, feeling the slow burn of something uncomfortable spread across the back of my neck. “Right,” I say, forcing a smile. “Of course. Makes sense.”

I know I should let it go. But the crack’s been there for a while, and now it’s just wider. I focus on Theo, who’s banging a plastic spoon with single-minded joy and pretend not to notice Mason watching me.

He’s not subtle about it. Not tonight, not after last night, not after the things we said—didn’t say—after he kissed the hell out of me.

I keep my smile in place and reach for the butter. No one notices how quiet I get after that.

Thunder rolls in the distance and the lights dim for half a second as my parents’ air conditioning kicks on.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and I discreetly pull my phone out of my pocket and check my weather app. Thunderstorm expected in an hour.

Shit .

“Hey, Mom, I think I’m going to head out soon. I’m kind of tired,” I murmur, waggling my phone toward her.

Mom’s lips part and her brows cave in. “What? No, you just got here. You can’t leave yet. Why don’t you stay in your old room? That way we can spend more time together. Honestly, I don’t know why you’d even pay for a hotel room anyway.”

I swallow, feeling the old argument spiral up from the trapdoor in my chest. The part of me that wants to say, Because I can’t breathe in this house . Because being back here makes me feel like I’m performing .

But my mom is waiting, and I can’t say any of that.

“I like having my own space ,” I say, faking a yawn. The lie comes out smoother than it should.

“Don't pressure her, Mom. Besides, she's probably staying with someone,” Cora says, sliding me a wink that’s less teasing me about dating and more like poking fun at the fact I don’t date.

Mom sits up straighter and leans toward me. "Oh? Someone like Jake?" Her brows arch toward her hairline, her grin growing wide.

My throat feels tight as I say, “Mom, no. That ship has sailed.” And it burned at sea before it sank into the deepest depths of the ocean, never to be recovered.

“Maybe it can redock? Come back portside and toss in an anchor?” Mom asks, half-laughing and filled with so much hope.

Cora smothers a laugh. “Mom, what ?"

Mom chuckles and shrugs. "What? I'm trying to stay on theme.”

Beau raises his glass, tipping it toward Mom. “Nailed it, Ma."

Mom’s eyes are practically sparkling as she looks at me, and all I can think about is how the hell no one is recognizing that I’m the only one not laughing.

Well, not the only one. Mason’s corner of the table is awfully quiet, but I can’t bring myself to look at him right now.

Mom sighs, some of her amusement simmering to mirth. "Look, all I'm saying is I run into him all the time, and he always asks about you, Abby." She lifts her shoulders and holds up her hands. "I'm just saying you could do a lot worse than Jake. He’s still such a nice boy."

The ache in my jaw from clenching my teeth is almost comforting. I try to focus on my plate, to disappear into the blurry chatter.

Mason’s presence is a hot, silent line across my skin. I can feel his stare, heavy and unblinking, even as he pretends to be absorbed in Theo’s attempts to eat peas with his fingers. I don’t look at him. I can’t. My whole body is a taut wire, wound tighter with every new volley from my mother.

Dad launches into a story about the neighbors and fireworks, and the conversation shifts once more.

I press my thumb into the seam beneath the table, willing myself to stay present. Heat crawls up my neck, the timer inside my brain counting down. I’ve got maybe thirty minutes before I absolutely have to leave, otherwise I’m going to get trapped here during the thunderstorm.

Five minutes pass, and I stand up, pushing my chair back. “I'm going to grab the dessert now.”

Mom stares at me, lips parted and brows furrowed. “Honey, we're still eating. What's the rush?”

I bite back the sigh and brace for the judgment. “There's a thunderstorm coming.”

Dad whistles “Supposed to be a rough one tonight too.”

“We do need the rain though. My beds are looking dry in the backyard,” Mom says, humming a little.

“I don't like driving in the rain either, Abby,” Francesca offers, her face open and kindness curving the side of her mouth.

“It's not that—I'm not driving. I don't have a car here,” I mutter, my skin feeling tight.

Francesca nods, pink bleeding into the tops of her cheeks. "Oh right, I forgot about that."

Mom tsks. “Your old room is yours if you want it, honey. Then you don't have to worry about getting wet going to your hotel—or wherever —tonight.”

“I'm good, but thanks. I just want to be home— back —before it storms. That's all. So can we do dessert now? If not, someone can save me a piece too.”

“Wait. You’re not still afraid of thunderstorms, are you?” Cora asks, brows high and eyes widening.

Ugh, I fucking hate that look. Like she’s surprised and it’s not a good kind of surprise. It brings me right back to my childhood, when I would still try to get my sister to like me as much as she loved our cousin, Evangeline.

“Yeah, I am,” I say, giving Cora the briefest of glances. “And I don’t feel like sticking around for a power outage here.”

My parents’ house loses power so often, my dad’s been lobbying the electric company for some kind of credit. Little windy? No power. Classic thunderstorm? No power. Someone hit an electrical hub on the other side of town? No power.

I see Theo reaching out toward me with the little grunts I’ve come to recognize as him asking to be picked up, and I use him as a lifeline.

I feel a little bad about it, but I’ll apologize to him —and to Mason—later if I have to.

I just need to get out of this conversation, get away from this table.

I scoop Theo from the high chair and prop him on my hip, wiping his sticky hands on a wipe Mason wordlessly hands me. “C’mon, buddy, you can help me grab Cora’s dessert.”

Theo grins and drops his head to my collarbone as we walk toward the kitchen. I like to think of it as his version of a hug.

I smooth my hand over his back and murmur, “Thanks, buddy. You give the best hugs.”

“What’s going on?” Cora asks from behind me.

I jump at the sound of her voice, spinning around to look at her. “Jesus, you scared me.”

She tilts her head slightly as she looks at me, like she’s trying to piece together a puzzle. “What are you doing?”

I blink at her. “What do you mean?”

She flicks her finger around, like she’s circling me and Theo. “I mean with all this .”

A flush falls over me and I shift my weight a little bit. I drop my gaze as I round the island and open the fridge, looking for something dessert-shaped. "You know I've always been good with babies and kids.”

“Right. But why are you suddenly so good with this baby?” she says, her voice right behind me. She reaches over my shoulder and grabs a covered pie plate. “Strawberry apple crumble pie.”

“Sounds delicious,” I mumble, stepping back and closing the fridge.

“Don’t dodge my question! And look, you’re doing it right now ,” she accuses, pointing a finger at me. “You’re swaying with Mason’s son like you’ve had a lot of practice.”

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 spent babysitting. 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 I are friends, 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?