Page 66 of Shattered Promise
“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.
