The Worst Kind of Promise (Riverside Reapers Book 2)

KIT

THIRTY MINUTES EARLIER

Faye Hollings is the closest thing I have to infinity right now. I want to stay in her arms until my body memorizes every touch, every indent of smooth, pliable flesh. I want to hear her voice on repeat in my mind, be able to pinpoint her raspy inflections in a faceless crowd. I want to douse myself in her peachy scent, drag it through my nostrils, bottle it up whenever I need to revisit that warm familiarity that lies within her very being.

I can’t get enough of her. And even though I know we shouldn’t be doing this, sneaking around is insanely hot. The thought of kissing her around a darkened corner, where anyone could stumble upon us. The thought of clamping my hand over her fuck-me lips when she comes loud enough to alert the neighbors. The thought of making her ride my face when we’re pressed up against the bathroom door, all while there’s a line of people waiting outside. I’ve never felt desire this strong, this seismic before.

I haven’t been able to get our sexcapade from yesterday out of my head. Every time I close my eyes, I’m transported back to the bedroom, and my cock convulses when I think about the way she cried my name, the sounds our combined arousal made with the accentuators of slapping skin, how she came so hard she soaked my dick and the sheets beneath her.

I’m in public right now. I don’t need to be sporting a half chub. Especially not around her brother. I haven’t seen Faye all day. Then again, I’ve been busy helping the guys set up for the party. People are slowly starting to file in.

She’s probably getting ready upstairs, slipping into a nanoscopic bikini, running lotion up her long, tan legs. I want to be the one on my knees for her, lathering shea butter over her flawless skin, watching as she tips her head back blissfully, how her top shifts just enough to give me a view of the underswells of her breasts. Jesus, I need help.

I’m about to head inside to look for Faye when Hayes stops me, a pack of beer hugged underneath his arm.

“Hey, man. Can we talk really quick?”

My fantasy version of Faye pops like a sad balloon.

Talk? Talk about what? Oh my God. Does Hayes know? No, that’s impossible. If he did know, he’d be losing his mind. He’s calm right now, and he isn’t trying to stab me with barbecue tongs. But if he doesn’t want to talk to me about that, then what does he want to talk to me about?

“Yeah, sure.” I think my voice sounds steady, which is good because my stomach is currently in the process of overturning.

We don’t have to search for much privacy since the backyard is barely crowded. I lean against the sliding glass door, letting it take my full weight, trying to look as nonchalant as possible—not like I’m about to shit my pants.

“What’s up?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest, feeling my heart kick against my ribs in an erratic tempo.

“I just wanted to…”

I brace myself for impact, mentally cursing the nerves superseding any confidence I came into the conversation with—which was low from the beginning. My mind staggers with every possibility that might spew out of Hayes’ mouth. Am I about to become the keeper of a very disturbing secret he’s keeping from Aeris? Is he about to not-so-subtly kick my ass after finding out I accidentally shrunk one of his T-shirts during my load of laundry? Is there any way in this universe that he actually knows what happened between me and Faye?

“…thank you,” he finishes, donning a smile rather than the frown I was expecting.

Say what?

“Thank me?”

“Yeah. For everything you’ve done for Faye. Driving her here, giving up your room. I didn’t ask you to do any of that.” He sets the drinks down beside his feet, giving his muscles a rest. “It’s been so long since we spent the summer together. And I just…I love having her here. So, thank you.”

I blink owlishly. Wait for him to laugh and say, “Gotcha,” maybe come out with a camera crew from World’s Biggest Liar, but he doesn’t.

“Oh, uh, it was no big deal.” I shrug off his gratitude, hoping that my expression looks more indifferent than constipated. People—mainly Fulton—have commented that my resting face has this so-called “weird strain” to it.

I’ve never kept a secret from Hayes. Not just because we’re close friends and I respect him, but because I don’t keep secrets. I believe in the philosophy that people should just be open and direct. It would save time, hard feelings, and the chance of miscommunication. And it was easy for me not to have any secrets because guilt was never an emotion I was familiar with. I do shit full-out, with no remorse or regret.

I never realized what a toll keeping secrets takes. Or how moral I’ve apparently become. Faye’s made me soft—my personality, not my body. I now have this normal-sized heart rather than my usual shriveled up one.

Hayes is oblivious to my discomfort, to the sweat covering my forehead, to the fact that I might be seconds from blowing chunks everywhere.

“It is a big deal. I seriously owe you one. Faye…she hasn’t had the easiest past few years. With me joining the Reapers, I haven’t seen her as much. You know about my deadbeat dad. I was Faye’s sole caretaker for a long time, so when she was old enough to look after herself, I always felt this nagging worry to make sure she was okay.”

You’re a terrible person, Kit! Terrible!

I nod, running my finger disinterestedly over the rubber seal of the door.

“I like knowing that she has other people looking out for her,” he explains, another warm smile settling over his lips.

A rumble in my throat. I clear it. “Mm-hm.”

“She honestly hasn’t been this happy in a long time. I think the last time was maybe her first year of college? And high school was a shitshow for her.”

Please stop talking. I need to get out of here before I say something that I shouldn’t. I desperately search for an escape route, but all of my teammates are gathered over near the pool, so I can’t catch a ride with them to freedom. And if I keep telling people I need to shit in the middle of a conversation, they’re going to start thinking I have IBS or something.

Hayes stoops down to snag a beer from the pack, popping the can open and taking a hefty swig. “I mean, obviously the pressure to get into a good college was a lot. But her social life wasn’t always that great. Her choice in guys was fucking abysmal. I hated every single one of her boyfriends. Pieces of shit that didn’t know how to treat a woman right, let alone treat her right. They were…”

He pauses, then looks me up and down.

“Well, they were like you.”

Hold up. What?

“Huh?” I falter, trying to ignore the agonizing pain of Hayes’ knife in my back.

A laugh springs from his throat, and it’s not your run-of-the-mill chuckle. It’s a full-fledged laugh that shakes his shoulders and brings his smile lines out. “You know, they were players,” he supplies concisely.

Players.

That word lights a fuse in me, an orange burst of fire that ignites in my gut, a point of genesis that scatters static throughout my veins. I’ve never had such a visceral reaction to anything before in my life. But hearing the way Hayes’ voice curls with disdain truly breaks me a little.

And that break…it starts with tiny pieces. But with time, they become big enough where cracks are easily visible, where the adhesive isn’t strong enough to withstand the emotional turmoil.

“They didn’t really care for her. They were only focused on themselves, on what they could get out of the relationship. Not that you do relationships. You’re all about one-night stands.”

I’m not…like Faye’s terrible exes, am I? I’m not that bad, right? The last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt Faye.

Fuck. Am I hurting her? Leading her on to imagine this life that I couldn’t possibly ever give her? A life of safety, security, certainty. Hayes has reminded me of something that I’ve seemed to forget—that I’m not that kind of person. I’m not built for long-term relationships or marriage or kids. I jump from person to person after sucking out all the affection they give me. It’s a horrible thing to admit.

Thank you, Mom and Dad, for not getting a divorce soon enough when you clearly should have.

If I continue down this path with Faye—if we get closer than we already are—I’m not sure I have it in me to reel it back. And then, when I’m up to my knees in regret, pulling the plug will hurt her so much more. I have to remember that we’re not living in some fairy tale, some impenetrable bubble that doesn’t also affect Hayes. I have just as much as power as Faye right now, and the responsible thing to do would be to…to end things.

I can’t even imagine my life without her in it. Fuck. I slept with my friend’s little sister. That’s something I have to live with now, a secret that I’ll have to take to my grave. It’s a betrayal of everything our brotherhood is built on. This wasn’t a byproduct of too much alcohol. It was something we both agreed on with clear heads, knowing people would get hurt in the process but not caring enough to resist the chemistry between us. I, once again, chose to be a selfish bastard, not thinking about the consequences for Faye or Hayes.

I can’t make that mistake again. I can’t.

But was it really a…mistake? Is that how I truly feel? Faye looks at me like I’ve hung the moon for her, aligned the stars in just the right formation to spell her name, used her favorite colors to paint the night sky, to make it known to the galaxy that she’s mine and I’m hers.

I wish that could be me, but it’s not.

“She deserves better,” I say, my teeth an inch from grating together, a smokiness to my voice that’s never been there before.

Hayes polishes his first drink off, crushing the aluminum in his hands. “She does. Hopefully this summer will be a fresh start for her.”

I don’t reply. I don’t even really look him in the eyes, mainly because I’m so disgusted with myself. I need to end things. I don’t know what I’m going to say, but it has to be believable. It has to be enough for her to hate me, to never want to be near me. I’d suffer a lifetime of hatred if it meant that Faye got the happily-ever-after she deserves.

Hayes picks up the now-opened pack, gripping a jagged hole in the cardboard. “Anyways, I’ll see ya around. Have fun. Don’t have sex in the pool,” he half-jokes, clapping me on the back with a powerful hand.

My parked feet lurch forward a bit, and I stabilize myself on the see-through partition. I have to find Faye.

This will be the last time I hear her laugh, right? The last time I’ll feel her arms wrap around me in a hug. The last time we’ll ever be on good terms. I’m about to throw everything away to protect Faye. To protect her from me. And as I go in search for her bobbing head of brown hair, I feel my heart shatter into millions of pieces.

PRESENT

Do you know what it feels like to lose a piece of yourself? To lose someone you can never get back because they only came out in the presence of another person? That’s what I’m grieving right now—the realization that I’ll never have the connection I had with Faye with anybody else on this planet. It’s hard, knowing who your person is and not being able to have them. It’s one of the hardest things humans have to endure.

I broke Faye’s heart. I broke it, and I can’t confide in any of my teammates. This is something I have to carry on my own. Fuck, I don’t even deserve sympathy from anyone. I’m a piece of shit. I cultivated a safe space for her, allowed her to open up and trust me with her deepest secret, and then left her all alone, just as she was when I saw her sitting on that curb.

I’m fully prepared for whatever beating Hayes is going to dole out to me if he ever finds out. I deserve it.

I need to distract myself. The memory of her is tangled in my mind, this huge mess of loose threads that each hold the sound of her laugh, the color of her eyes, the smell of her hair, the softness of her skin, the taste of her lips. If I allow myself to think about her, I’m going to go crazy. Crazy with rage, grief, insanity.

My first instinct was to lock myself away in my room, but then I remembered that Faye’s splayed out all her things like a confetti cannon went off in there, so that would be trapping myself in my own personal hell. If I can’t run from my mistakes, then I’ll just have to numb the pain. Which is exactly what I’m going to do.

The moment I spot Gage and Fulton conversing animatedly by the pool, I jockey through the congested mass of people, grabbing Gage’s drink out of his hand mid-sip. I chug it. All of it. I’m well aware that both of their eyes are on me. My throat burns and my gut curdles from the influx of alcohol, but I finish that fucker with a crush of the can between my fingers.

Gage narrows his eyes. “Dude, now I have to go and get another one.”

“What’s up with you?” Fulton asks, a concerned cleft in the center of his brows.

“Nothing,” I bark, accumulating some alarmed looks from nearby strangers. I wipe away the sticky residue of beer on my mouth.

Gage is in the middle of getting up when he sees the red-eyed Terminator expression on my face, then wisely sits back down. “O-kay. You seem…”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“I was just going to say that you seem a bit stressed.”

“Thank you for that unwanted observation.”

I busy myself by looking at the horde of people that seems to have gathered to the left of the pool, all talking at obnoxious volumes of excitement.

Fulton mirrors my line of vision. “Do you want to talk about it?” His voice is small, harmless, unlike his companion’s. Fulton knows when to shut up. Fulton doesn’t push me. Gage, on the other hand, will pick up any stick in the vicinity and poke me.

I bite down so hard on my tongue that I taste blood, traces of iron intermingling with the malty flavor of beer.

“Do you—”

More people split off into the smaller crowd that’s formed. What could be so fucking interesting that it’s captured the five-second attention span of literally every mouth breather at this party?

Some kind of bubblegum pop music greets my ears, contributing to the headache pummeling my brain. My scarlet-tinted vision sways. Fulton’s and Gage’s efforts to calm me are lost when I decide on a whim to storm over and separate the goddamn fire hazard.

I shove my way to the front, fully ready to lose my cool, but the sight of something else halts my personal agenda. The sight of Faye dancing seductively in front of half our hockey team in that pathetic excuse she calls a bikini. Paralytic shock threads through my upper back muscles, and possessiveness washes over me at the unhinged jaws and glossy-eyed stares following her every move. She sways her hips back and forth, her hand trailing sensually up her stomach and over her breast, her wild, mussed hair all over the place.

My first instinct is to get her the fuck out of here. I don’t know where Hayes is, and a part of me is glad he’s not here to witness whatever’s happening. When she goes to twirl around herself, I insert my body into the space, feeling her collide into me. She glances up through her lashes, a dopey smile affixed to her lips.

“Kit! Hi!” She grabs my arm and swings it in tandem with her body.

Fucking Christ. I need to think fast. Every guy on the team is looking at her right now. They shouldn’t be looking her. In fact, they shouldn’t even be breathing the same air as her.

“We’re leaving, Faye,” I tell her, using the hand attached to my arm to try and pull her sideways.

She digs her heels into the ground, resisting me with a lot more strength than I was expecting—which is saying something since my rage has gone from zero to off-the-charts inhumanly fast.

“I’m not done dancing!” she whines, making a very public show of stomping her foot down and throwing a gigantic tantrum.

“Yes, you fucking are,” I growl, the heaven-high flames of my wrath seeming particularly painful as they scorch my chest. “If you’re going to fight me about it, I’ll throw you over my shoulder right now. Is that what you want?”

I’ve abandoned my tireless mission of dragging her away. I stand deathly still, all while watching her use every muscle in her body to try and break free from my grip. Nobody intervenes. My teammates are looking at me like I’ve lost my goddamn mind—and I pretty much have.

“You’re not in charge of me!”

Even though my head’s screaming at me, I peel my fingers off her wrist, letting her spring backwards a little from the driving force of her fruitless pulls. And when she thinks she’s home free, I swoop her legs over my shoulder and hold the backs of her thighs, enduring a colorful storm of expletives and the banging of small fists.

“Kit! Put me down!” She kicks her feet and wiggles her ass, making the trek inside the house a lot fucking harder than it has to be. I want to spank her. I almost do, but then I remind myself that my whole hockey team just saw me manhandling Hayes’ little sister like some kind of brainless monster, and the itch in my fingers settles.

Once we’re in the smaller of the downstairs bathrooms, I gently place her back down and lock the door.

She throws her arms up before folding them over her chest. “I can’t believe you just did that! Ugh! I-I-I hate you!”

I wish I could convince myself that she doesn’t mean it, but she definitely does. At least, right at this moment. I don’t want to start a fight with her. I didn’t carry her away on some jealous rampage—maybe a little—but not entirely, okay?

Faye’s never acted like this before. I’m worried about her.

The only self-medication I have right now is breathing. There’s nothing else keeping me from driving my fist through this door. With a loud inhale, I click on the light, hearing the fan clunk to life with its usual, ceaseless hum. Then, and only then, do I sigh.

“I know.”

I tip her chin up so she meets my eyes, which she thankfully doesn’t fight me on. Then emotion careens into me like a bruising slapshot. Those irresistible brown eyes with flecks of gold stare straight into my soul, begging me to forfeit everything I’ve just said to her. Begging me to make her mine again.

But the picture fades, and I notice how dilated her pupils are, how she’s looking at me but seems to be a million miles away. Like she’s on a different planet.

My eyes flare, my jaw clicking with tension. “What did you take?”

Upon my seriousness, she bursts into a fit of giggles, trying to contain them with the blockage of her hands. “N-nothing,” she says through her fingers, the blush on her chest carrying to the slope of her neck.

“Faye.” My tone hardens, bordering on dangerous territory. I can feel my body start to shake, but it’s not from rage. It’s from worry. Metric tons of worry large enough to fill up an entire cargo dock.

This isn’t your run-of-the-mill wasted. I’ve been to enough ragers to know the difference between drugs and drinks.

Even in the small space, she floats around on her tiptoes, humming to herself, clearly unfazed by the gravity of the situation. If it’s what I think it is and she’s taken some kind of drug, I’m not opposed to throwing her in the goddamn car and taking her to the nearest hospital.

I grab her harshly by the shoulders. “What. Did. You. Take.” The words all come out separately in a low growl.

She blinks a few times, flinching at my tone. “Why should I tell you? You’re just going to yell at me again.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose as frustration skewers through me. “I won’t yell at you.” I relax to the best of my ability, which is harder than I thought. It feels like there’s a permanently lit fire running rampant inside of me.

“Do you promise?”

“Yes, Prin—” I stop myself. I can’t call her that anymore. “Yes, Faye.”

Her cheeks rise with a beaming grin, and she motions with her hand for me to lean down so she can whisper in my ear. As I do, that peachy scent encases me, cloying, and for a split second, the neanderthal part of my brain overrides my rationality. But it fizzles out, taking with it any lingering carnal desire I have for her in this very moment.

“Marboly,” she whispers, her breath tickling the shell of my ear.

Marboly? What the fuck is that? Is that some new, intense strain of drug that kids are doing these days?

I draw back from her and shake my head. “Faye, I don’t—”

“It’s eucalyptic.”

“Excuse me?”

Even though I have a pretty limited vocabulary, I’m pretty sure what she just said isn’t a word.

“Eucalyptic! It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Kind of like I did before you went and broke my heart.” Her baby hairs are frizzing up around her blanched face from the humidity, her eyes glassy underneath the recessed lighting.

Ouch.

“Or is it eucaphoric? Maybe it’s that. Is that what koalas eat? Have you ever seen a koala before? They’re so cute, but I heard they can give you chlamydia. Would you hold a koala if it meant you got chlamydia? They look so soft.”

Euca…phoric?

I drill my eyes into her, thoughts whipping into action faster than my rebound time. “Euphoric?”

She thrusts her finger into my pecs. “Yes! It’s that! Oh my gosh. That was going to drive me crazy.”

For fuck’s sake. If I have to play another Guess the Word game with her, I’m going to lose my mind.

I wasn’t a very straitlaced student in college. I drank and smoked on the weekends, sometimes partook in harder drugs depending on the situation. And there have been more than a few times I felt pretty “euphoric” after popping a white little pill.

The thunderclap of my heart is the only noise I can hear over the whirring fan. “Faye, look at me,” I implore, using my index finger to gently pivot her jaw. She does as I say, following the heat of my finger, giving me a smile that sparks an ache in my chest.

“Did you take Molly?” I ask, trying to maintain some semblance of calm, even though I can feel my pulse pounding in my throat.

With a straight face, she considers me for a second, then giggles. “If I tell you, you need to keep it a seeecreeet.”

“Did. You. Take. Molly.”

“That’s what the guy said. I can’t believe I’ve never taken it before! It’s so much fun. And it looked like a bag of snow.” She flitters her fingers in the air, imitating snowflakes. “I love Christmas.”

I’m so enraged that the tremors have started up again, the muscles in my body binding tighter and tighter, sweat wetting the back of my neck. I can’t see or think straight. I’m not mad at Faye. I’m mad at whoever the fuck had Molly on them and gave it to her. No way in hell would Faye go searching for it.

The only solution is for her to ride it out. I’d stick my fingers down her throat if I didn’t think she’d fight me the entire way.

I realize I have no right to say it. I don’t think about it, though, before the pet name leaps from my tongue. “Princess, do you remember who gave it to you?”

I’m begging her to remember. If I tell the guys that she’s high as a kite right now, there’s no telling what will happen. It’ll just add more stress. I need to figure this out on my own.

She shakes her head. “Didn’t tell me his name.”

“Fuck,” I curse under my breath, beginning to pace around the small vacuum of space we have, trying to rack my brain to think of anyone I know that carries illegal substances on them like a pack of gum.

Faye flops onto the toilet seat and nervously watches me, twiddling with her birthstone necklace.

My thoughts do a roller-coaster loop as I kneel down in front of her, my arms sandwiching her sides. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to stay in here while I figure this out. You’re not going to leave the bathroom. Do you understand?”

Something chips away at her joyous demeanor and bitters those soft features of hers. “You’re leaving. Again. Just like you were planning all along.”

“Faye…” I murmur, my hand sailing down my face and itching at my scruff.

Her wet-eyed gaze stays nailed to the porcelain tiles, and she doesn’t do anything to banish the tears. “Just go.”

She’s killing me. She really is. I hate that I let this happen. Yes, I know it’s not the end of the world, but it feels like it. Would she have taken the drugs if we hadn’t got into that fight?

I work double time to dispel the tension, tracking my finger along the outside of her leg—letting her know that I’m here. “I’m going to bring you some water. You need to stay hydrated.”

All that I can focus on is her. Not getting revenge, not the aftermath, not our fight. Her body seems to be handling the drug well. This whole situation could’ve gone a lot differently had it been cut with something stronger, and I’m thankful that she’s conscious and alert.

As I go to exit, she flings her hand out and wraps it around my wrist.

“You’re coming back, right?”

I know she probably won’t remember any of this, and maybe that’s why I say what I say. My heart means it, my head means it, every cell in my body means it. Even with this self-inflicted distance, I’ll always mean it.

“I’ll always come back to you.”