Page 32 of Shattered Promise (Avalon Falls #4)

MASON

The rain comes just before 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 singing Hamilton to 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 fucking baby— my fucking 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 said I just want to be back before it storms has 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 her again is 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.

The wind claws at my clothes, hoodie sticking to me with every gust. Somewhere behind me, another crack of thunder rolls across the field like a warning shot.

I keep going.

I palm the monitor in my back pocket, just to reassure myself I still have it. I don’t know how far the signal goes, and urgency pounds in time with my heartbeat.

This plan feels foolish and ill-advised, but I know I won’t be able to sleep until I lay eyes on her. Once I see she’s fine and well, then I’ll march back through the snake pit and go back to pretending she doesn’t leave in less than twenty-four hours.

A crack of thunder sounds off to the right, and lightning splits the sky. It illuminates everything around me, including the white cottage-style cabin fifty feet in front of me. There’s a small beam of light visible through the front window, but otherwise, the house is dark.

I jog the rest of the way to her house, and I pound my fist on the front door. “Abby? I’m comin’ in.”

The handle turns easy. Because of course it’s unlocked.

The door bangs shut behind me, wind gusting in before it slams. The cabin’s quiet except for the storm clawing at the walls.

“Abby?” My voice is too loud in the hush of the place, echoing off the exposed beams and the walls painted pastel. No answer. For a second I think maybe she’s already asleep, that I’ve done all this for nothing, and I’m about to turn around and let myself be the joke she’ll laugh about tomorrow.

But then there’s that beam of light again, clicking on and revealing Abby in the middle of the living room. She’s wearing pajama shorts that ride high on her thighs and a faded hoodie that hangs loosely from her shoulders— my faded hoodie.

One hand clutches her phone, the screen casting a pale glow on her face, while the other grips a flashlight that trembles slightly in the air.

For a second, we just look at each other, a thousand things passing between us.

“Mason?” she gasps. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re with me tonight. Time to go home.” I jerk my head to the side, water dripping from me all over the entryway.

Without a word, she drops her phone and the flashlight, both landing with soft thuds on the rug, and she’s running straight for me.

I have just enough time to open my arms and brace before she barrels into me. Her arms wrap around my neck, her legs around my waist, and she shoves her face into my neck.

It feels like some kind of scene from a movie. Like something that doesn’t happen in real life.

She crashes into me so hard I stagger back a half-step, but then she's clinging to me, soft and shaking and so goddamn alive it sets every nerve ending on fire. I wrap my arms around her, one under her thighs, the other palming the back of her head. She smells like summertime and fresh cherries.

“I”m soaked,” I grunt out.

“I don’t care,” she mumbles into my skin.

She pulls back and looks at me, her face cast in shadow. “Wait. Is Theo okay?”

“He’s fine. Sleeping,” I assure her, tunneling my fingers through her hair. “But you’re not. So let’s go.”

I adjust her, sliding my other hand down her back to palm her ass. It’s an objectively more secure hold on her, but also because I want to. Her ankles lock around me, her face going pink as she looks away from my eyes.

“I’m fine, you know,” she says. But there’s a raw relief in the way she holds me, like she’s spent hours convincing herself she was fine.

“Alright.”

I grab her keys, hanging on the hook next to the door, and twist the lock before pulling it closed behind us. She’s still wrapped around me, grip tightening when the wind howls. Her whole body is trembling, and I’m not sure if it’s from the storm or something else.

The rain stings my face, soaks my jeans, but she’s warm where she’s pressed against me. I keep my head low and start the short trek into the snake pit.

“I can walk,” she says into my ear, wiggling her ass.

I squeeze both cheeks and haul her closer to me with a grunt. Fuck, she feels so good against me. “I know.”

“I mean, this is a little silly. Coming to my house is one thing, but carrying me is a whole other level,” she says. I can hear the exasperation over the clap of thunder.

“I told you, you’re with me tonight.” I keep walking. “And we’re in the pit. Can’t let you down now, you’re not even wearing shoes.”

“Whose fault is that?” She laughs. I can feel the vibration against my chest, sharp and sweet. “It’s not even snake season.”

“Snakes don’t care about seasons. They care about girls running around in the dark.”

“Full offense, Mason, but you’re the only one running around in the dark tonight.”

“Not true. I see you, Abby Carter. You’re a runner.”

She huffs a breath, but I catch the way her arms stay tight around me, how her fingers curl into the hair at the nape of my neck.

The rain makes every step a test of balance. My boots slip in the mud, and I readjust her, hiking her up higher. She’s lighter than she used to be. Or maybe I’m just stronger now.

The last time I picked her up, she was seventeen.

She was afraid to go on the rope swing over the quarry by herself, and everyone was teasing her for it.

So I offered to help. I held the rope, and she held me.

I carried her for fourteen steps before we climbed onto the rope, and I remember feeling embarrassed as fuck because my dick was hard.

Fourteen steps felt like an eternity and a blink of an eye.

When we hit my front porch, she shifts to peer over my shoulder, rainwater streaming down the tip of her nose. “You didn’t even bring an umbrella,” she says. There’s a playful note in her voice, a far cry from earlier tonight.

“I was in a hurry,” I say, and set her down gently, keeping my hands at her waist to steady her on the slick wood. “You’re not going to melt, anyway.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m mostly made of sugar,” she says, squinting at the glow of the porch light, then at me, and then at nothing in particular. The storm spits cold rain in sheets across the porch. A gust rattles the half-closed screen door.

I want to get her inside, but she’s not moving. She stands in the spill of yellow light, drops of rain caught in her hair and eyelashes, skin flushed and goosebumped. Her chest rises and falls in quick little waves, like she’s wrestling herself into calm.

She looks up at me with something raw and searching. The kind of look that means she’s about to say something important, but she doesn’t want to. Maybe she’s afraid to ruin the moment. Or maybe she’s afraid to make it real.

I swallow, the cold starting to seep into my bones. “Let’s get inside and dry off. I gotta check on Theo.”

She nods, a decisive dip of her chin. “Right, of course.”

She steps over the threshold and I follow, shutting out the storm behind us.

The air inside is warm and thick with the smell of baby shampoo and the ghost of the burnt popcorn I made earlier.

I toe off my boots and watch her shiver, arms wrapped tight around her middle, like she’s holding herself together.

“I’ll get you some clothes to change into. Be right back.”

I jog down the hall, my jeans making that uncomfortable slap of wet denim against skin. I grab the first pair of sweats I see and a soft T-shirt from the drawer. I hesitate, then snatch a clean pair of socks too. I don’t know if her feet are cold, but it seems like something I should do.

When I get back to the living room, she’s standing by the window, watching the lightning flicker across the black trees. Her arms are still wrapped around herself, but her shoulders have dropped, just a little. She hears me and turns.

“Here,” I say, handing her the stack of fabric. “Help yourself to anything you need in my bathroom.”

She stands there for a second, like she’s weighing the offer, then disappears down the hall, her bare feet leaving damp prints on the old pine floorboards.

I head to Theo’s room, the familiar hush and whir of the white noise machine like a tide pulling me back to center. He’s still asleep, mouth open, one chubby hand curled by his ear. I tug the sleep sack straight, brush the damp from my own face, and close the door behind me.

Something in my chest loosening for the first time all day, and I can finally take a breath.