Promise Me Not

by Meagan Brandy

If there is one thing that hasn’t changed, it’s his eyes. The honey-brown irises are as rich as ever, the perfect mix of dark and light, vivid yet grave. A flawless illustration of his character. Mason Johnson is as fierce as he is tender. He’s yin and yang.

“Just a little water,” he whispers, erasing the stupid tear that slipped without permission.

I’m talking that gravity-defying, soul-defining, epic love story shit. She has that. I want that. Fuck.

A frustrated groan leaves me, and I glance toward Noah, but he isn’t looking at me anymore. A slow smile is spreading across his face, a faraway look taking over, and I don’t have to turn to know who stepped out onto the deck. “Sister,” I call out to test my theory. “Brother.”

“Don’t tell anyone, but I’m scared, little man,” he whispers. “Your mama’s avoiding me, and I have no idea what to do about it.” He goes quiet for a moment, and I struggle to breathe, staring at my son’s hand as it opens, his tiny fingers wrapping around Mason’s thumb. Mason’s lips spread into a wide grin, a soft, quiet chuckle slipping free. “This your way of telling me you won’t let me go?”

A knot forms in my throat, and I lock my hand around my neck. Suddenly, Mason’s face falls, and he bends, his forehead now resting on the edge of the crib. “Please don’t let me go.”

He’s right. I am avoiding him, and he did come here three times this summer. According to the messages I left on read, the only reason he came…was for me. My eyes fall to Deaton, who plays happily in the warm water, and I know that’s not right. Mason didn’t come home for me. He came for us.

“Just so you know,” he begins. “It’s okay not to be okay…even if it’s not for the reason everyone thinks.”

“Hey, Mason!” Deaton calls not five seconds after we break from the others. We glance back, and Deaton’s eyes lock with mine. “You got my family in your hands.”

“You called…him?” He speaks the words so low, I almost miss them. With a slight shake of his head, he stumbles back a step. “Mase.” He looks away. “Mason.” He shuffles farther away, and acid bubbles burst in my gut. When his cleats meet the sand, he starts to run. I jerk forward, a barbed wire wrapping around and puncturing my lungs. Panic sets in, and I launch myself toward the stairs “Mason!” I scream. But he doesn’t answer. He’s gone now, too. I fall to my ass and cry until I pass out. Just like I did on this very same night exactly one year ago today.

“I’m dead serious. I can’t compete with a ghost, so I won’t,” I promise. “He can keep your heart for all eternity. Just let me hold you for all of mine.”