Every Little Promise

by Lexi Ryan

  “I’m fine.” I’m a fucking liar.

  “You think she’s intentionally evading the question about her marital status, or . . .?”

  Right. That. “I’m not sure.” But I intend to find out.

  “Assuming she’s single . . . you two just gonna pick up where you left off?”

  Since we “left off” with Brinley pushing me away, I hope not, but I shrug.

  Alec grunts. “Tone it down, Mars. You’re way too vocal about your emotions.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” I take a sip of my bourbon. Alec Hayes knows more about my life pre-college than anyone besides Aunt Lori, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to spill my guts right now. “I’m still trying to figure out if this is really happening.”

  “It’s happening.” He pauses a beat, his gaze glued to the hall where the girls disappeared. “If you need me to keep the friend busy tonight, I can do that.”

  “Real fucking selfless of you.”

  Alec grins. “I’m giving like that.” That grin falls away as he studies me. “I see that brain of yours working overtime. Dial back the introspection and enjoy yourself.”

  “That could be a recipe for disaster,” I mutter, but it doesn’t matter. Even if spending the night with Brinley is a terrible idea, I know I’ll take every second she’ll give me.

  He takes a pull of his vodka tonic and sighs. “Consider it a gift—one night in Vegas with the love of your life.”

  “You’re making a lot of assumptions there, Hayes.”

  “I’m not assuming shit. You’d have to be blind to miss the way she looks at you. And you’ve told me more than once how you feel about her.”

  “No, you’re assuming I’ll only get one night.”

  Alec snorts. “I have complete confidence that you’ll get your night and turn it into whatever you want.” He pauses a beat. “Have you thought about this, though? She kind of fucked you up, dude. Do you really want to ask for seconds?”

  My emotions are a mess of regret and longing and hope. I can barely remember the anger I felt those first few years after she pushed me away. I want Brinley. If there was any doubt about it in my mind before, it vanished the moment I laid eyes on her. “I want it all.”

  I drain my drink. Bourbon isn’t meant to be guzzled like a cheap beer, but I’m wound so tight and I just want to enjoy this night—this chance. One more chance with Brinley. Alec is right. It’s a gift—one I never dared ask for.

  Chapter Two

  Marston

  September 21st, before

  * * *

  “When you’re done scrubbing those pans, come find me in the dining room,” Aunt Lori says. “I’ll need your help to set up for tomorrow’s breakfast.”

  I nod, not bothering to look at her. I’m half afraid she’s going to renege on her promise to pay me for tonight. Ten dollars an hour to help cook and wash dishes for some spoiled teenager’s fancy birthday party? It seems too good to be true. But even if she breaks her promise, it’s not like I had anything better to do with myself.

  I moved to Orchid Valley a week ago. I’d been living on my own in Atlanta. It was fine at first—better than being stuck with my mom and her carousel of bad boyfriends. But then I didn’t make rent one month and was short again the next and found myself sleeping in the park. It was temporary. I just needed to save up enough for a room. Maybe I could have done it, but I didn’t have a place to wash my clothes, and I couldn’t use my car because I couldn’t afford gas, so I lost my job. Then a reckless, desperate idea turned into flashing red and blue lights and a breaking and entering charge.

  It wasn’t Mom but Aunt Lori who got the lawyer to make the judge go easy on me. She turned Mom’s addiction issues into a massive sob story. I hate pity, but it worked. A couple of days later, per court orders, I moved sixty minutes north to Lori’s little place in Orchid Valley. And on Monday, per court orders, I’ll attend my senior year of high school here with a bunch of rich kids. Not that I’m complaining about that—I know Lori saved my ass—but if the party happening down the hall is any indication, Orchid Valley is crawling with entitled, preppy-ass teenagers.

  “Leave me alone!” someone shrieks from the hall, and I look up just in time to see a ball of fluffy pink tulle barreling through the double doors and into the kitchen. She turns around and gives me a shaky smile. “Do you mind if I hide in here for a minute?” Tears stream down her face, leaving sooty trails of mascara in their wake.

  Shrugging, I drag my gaze off the girl in the ridiculous dress and focus on scrubbing the pan in front of me. “Don’t care,” I mutter. Scrub, scrub, scrub.

  I’m aware of her walking toward me, but I don’t look up. I’m good at being invisible, and that’s all I want to be right now.

  “I’m Brinley Knox. What’s your name?”

  Brinley Knox, the guest of honor. Funny that she asked if she could stay. This is her house, after all.

  I feel her gaze on me and realize she’s waiting for an answer. “Marston.” I tense, waiting for her next remark. I get all sorts of shit about my name.

  Brinley sniffles, and despite myself, I’m aware of her eyes on me, of every move she makes to close the distance between us. “Are you new here? I don’t think I’ve seen you on staff before.”

  Staff. Her family has staff. Of course they do. They live in a freaking mansion and are throwing their daughter a sixteenth birthday party fancier than most people’s weddings.

  “I’m new.” I rinse the pan and set it in the rack to dry before pulling the drain on the soapy water. I grab a towel and dry my hands. “Why are you crying?” I can’t imagine ever crying if I lived in a house like this. But what do I know? Maybe her dad hits her. My mom always said dysfunctional doesn’t have an income bracket.

  She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, smudging her bubblegum-pink lipstick. “It’s my birthday,” she says, as if that’s any sort of explanation.

  “Shouldn’t that make you happy? It’s your birthday, and your parents threw you this big party.” The sneer I intended to wrap around my words is nowhere in sight. Whatever her problems are, they’re real to her. I can’t believe I feel sorry for the spoiled little rich girl.

  “My boyfriend broke up with me. At my party.” Her bottom lip trembles. When she meets my eyes, something hits me. She’s pretty underneath that makeup and ridiculous dress. Really fucking pretty. Her dark hair is pinned in curls on top of her head tonight, but I bet it’s long and soft when it’s down, and her blue eyes . . . Well, even full of tears, those eyes are like a sucker punch to the gut. “He said I’m uptight, and he doesn’t want to be with a girl who makes him wait for a kiss when we should already be doing . . . other things.”

  Jesus. “What a douchebag.”

  “You know what’s funny? I was going to let him kiss me tonight. I’ve been looking forward to it all week, but I don’t think he would have cared if I had.”

  I toss my towel on the counter and lift my chin in the direction of the party. “Point him out to me. I’ll teach him a lesson.” Only assholes try to manipulate girls into sex before they’re ready.

  Her watery eyes go wide for a beat before she smiles, and damn . . . That smile. She’s more than pretty. She’s take-me-by-the-nuts-and-own-me gorgeous. “You’d beat up Roman Humphries for breaking the heart of some girl you just met?”

  She says his name like it’s supposed to mean something to me, but I shrug. “Sounds like someone needs to.”

  She looks me over slowly as if she’s seeing me for the first time. The black oxford and matching dress pants Aunt Lori said I had to wear tonight are new and easily the fanciest clothes I’ve ever owned. This girl probably doesn’t wear anything from Target, and she sure as hell doesn’t know what it’s like to live on the streets. I feel my past written on every inch of my skin. Self-consciousness pricks at the back of my neck. “Marston, you said? You’re the boy who moved in with Ms. Lori. You’re on probation or something?”

  I lift my chin. “What do
you know about it?”

  She treats me to another one of those soul-owning smiles, and my stomach hitches. “Only that you’re the most interesting boy in this town. Not that there’s much competition.” Her fluffy tulle skirt sweeps the floor as she closes the distance between us. She doesn’t stop until she’s a foot away, craning her neck to look up at me. She’s close enough that I could wipe the smudges of makeup from her cheeks. Close enough to kiss. “You’re tall.”

  I bite back a laugh. “You’re short.” And without realizing it, I’m cupping her face in my hands and wiping away the tear tracks. She gasps in surprise, and I drop my hands. “Sorry. You had . . . makeup or whatever. From crying.”

  “Oh. It’s okay.” She gives me a shy, crooked smile.

  Really fucking pretty and really fucking off-limits, Marston. “You should get back to your party.”

  “Because you need to get back to work?” she asks, looking at me again.

  Because I want to kiss you. Because I think you’d let me. Because I have no business kissing a girl who lives in a mansion and has staff.

  But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I say, “So you can tell Roman to get the hell out of your house.”

  She giggles, and I don’t know if it’s because she’s scandalized by my use of the word “hell” or if she’s maybe feeling the same contact high from being close to me as I’m getting from her. “My parents would kill me. A good hostess takes disappointment with grace,” she says, clearly parroting a lesson she’s been reminded of repeatedly.

  “Then don’t kick him out. Go out there and make it clear you don’t need him.”

  She skims her fingertips across my knuckles before taking my hand. “Come with me somewhere?”

  I should say no. But I couldn’t refuse her, even if I wanted to.

  Brinley leads me to the servants’ stairs at the back of the kitchen. The stairwell is so narrow and her skirt is so big that I have to walk up behind her, but she never lets go of my hand.

  We’ve climbed two flights when she opens a door and pulls me through it and down a dark, narrow hall.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, because I should care. Because I shouldn’t be willing to follow her anywhere.

  Turning, she puts her finger to her lips and winks before pushing open a door I didn’t even see. She leads me into a fancy room with the biggest piano I’ve ever seen. Tall bookcases line the three walls, and a balcony overlooks the ballroom below. Music, laughter, and conversation float up to us.

  “Should I be here?” I whisper, even as she pulls me closer to the railing.

  “If anyone catches us, I’ll tell them I wanted you to set up refreshments for me and my friends.” She gives a final tug on my hand before dropping it and turning to look out at her party. “When I was a little girl and my parents had parties, I’d sneak out of bed and watch them from up here.”

  “They didn’t see you?”

  She shakes her head. “No, not with the way the lights in the ballroom are. Mom said it was designed that way by my grandmother so she could spy on her guests.”

  With that bit of reassurance, I take the last step to the railing and look down at the party below.

  The biggest party I ever went to was Aunt Lori’s wedding when I was five or six. I remember thinking her husband, a schoolteacher, must’ve been spectacularly rich to afford to feed fifty people for dinner. But Brinley’s birthday party is at least three times that big, and everyone in the ballroom below is dressed in formal gowns and tuxedos. It doesn’t look real. It looks like something from TV, and it’s the perfect reminder that I belong back in the kitchen, not here with Brinley.

  She growls softly, and I arch a brow in question. “See that?” she asks. She points to the dance floor, where teenagers and adults alike sway to Norah Jones’s “Come Away with Me.”

  “Dancing?” I ask.

  “No, the guy in the white tux eating the face off the girl in red.”

  The white tux makes it easier to single out the couple in question. They’re on the dance floor, but dancing seems secondary to making out.

  “That’s Roman,” she says. “Jerk couldn’t even wait until after my party before moving on.”

  Roman’s hands move up and down the girl’s back before settling on her butt. “Total ass,” I agree. “You can’t tell me you really want to be with a guy like that.”

  “I . . .” She shrugs. “I guess I thought I did, but maybe for the wrong reasons?”

  “What were those?”

  She cuts her eyes away from me, as if she knows I won’t like the answer. “My parents are friends with his parents. He’s . . . a good match, as my parents would say.”

  “I can’t pretend I know what it’s like to have that kind of pressure. The only thing my mom expected of me was for me to leave the house when she had her guys over and that I didn’t call the cops when she was dealing.” As soon as I see the sorrow in her gaze, I regret saying it. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you pity me. We all have bullshit in our lives. Mine’s just a little less shiny than yours.”

  “I don’t pity you.” She gives a shaky smile. “If anything, I envy you.”

  I scoff. “Yeah, right.”

  “You know what I see when I look at you? Freedom. I’ll never have that, not as long as I’m a Knox.”

  I want to argue that being on probation hardly makes me the icon of freedom, but I get what she’s saying. There are expectations that come with this kind of money. More money, more problems or whatever. “That’s pretty depressing.”

  She shrugs. “My parents are pretty depressing.” She steps closer, and the back of her hand brushes mine. I hold my breath and tamp down the impulse to thread my fingers with hers. I have no business touching a girl like this.

  Suddenly, the music goes quiet, and everyone turns to the ballroom entrance, where a frail girl with long red hair walks into the room. She’s wearing a light blue version of Brinley’s dress, and when she lifts her hand and waves like some sort of pageant queen, the room erupts in applause.

  “Who’s that?” I ask Brinley.

  “My sister, Brittany,” she says softly.

  I frown. “Is it her birthday too or something?”

  “No. But she . . .” She swallows. “She’s been sick. It’s kind of a big deal that she’s even home right now, and a bigger deal that she’s out of bed. She’s spent more time in the hospital than out of it this year.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Me too.” There’s more than sorry there in the anguished lines of her face—some complexity of emotion I can’t read and don’t dare try to interpret. “We’re only eleven months apart, and we used to be best friends. People thought we were twins.”

  I look down at the redhead and arch a brow at Brinley. “Even with the hair?”

  “That’s a wig. She lost her hair after the chemo.”

  My neck and cheeks burn. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry.” I’m such an idiot.

  “She handled it like a champ. That’s how she does everything. Knoxes keep their chins up.”

  Her fake smile draws my attention to something she said. “You . . . used to be best friends? You aren’t still?”

  She shakes her head. “I love her more than anyone, but she pushed me away after this last recurrence. It makes sense. On some level, she resents me. I get to live the life she thought she’d live, and I still get to have all the experiences she was supposed to have right alongside me.”

  That seems unfair. “But that’s not your fault. Surely she knows that.”

  “Yeah. Of course, but it’s normal. She’s not trying to be cruel. She’s just human.”

  “That’s an awfully mature way to look at it.”

  There’s something in her eyes when she looks at me—not quite a vacancy but a distant pain, as if this is something she’s pushed way down. “There’s no point in being immature about it. It wouldn’t fix anything.”

&nb
sp; We both watch the party below as Roman pulls Brinley’s sister onto the dance floor and spins her around in his arms.

  “You think she knows he broke up with you?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she says, but she doesn’t explain how. Maybe she talked to her sister before she hid in the kitchen. Maybe her sister was the one she told to leave her alone.

  “Does he have no shame? Dancing with your sister at your party, right after breaking your heart?”

  She shakes her head. “No one will ever judge you for showing kindness to a dying girl.”

  What about showing kindness to you? “You should probably get back to your party.”

  She turns away from the crowd below and studies me for a long beat. Her cheeks are flushed and there’s something almost lonely in her eyes. “I’d rather not.”

  My phone buzzes from inside my pocket. Since this is a brand-new phone and the only one who has the number is Aunt Lori, I know it’s a text from her before I look.

  Lori: Where are you? I need you in the dining room.

  “You need to go?”

  I nod as I type back a reply, letting Aunt Lori know I’m on my way. “Duty calls.” I hesitate. “You feel better?”

  Brinley releases a ragged breath. “Actually, I do. It wasn’t the birthday I planned, but maybe this is all for the best.”

  “What did you plan?” It’s a dumb question. Obviously, she planned to enjoy the party with her boyfriend, but I’m stalling now. I don’t want to leave her.

  Her gaze settles on my mouth when she says, “I thought I’d get my first kiss tonight.”

  Her first kiss? I won’t be eighteen for a couple more months but . . . well, kissing is kiddie stuff at this point. Not that I had the best role models. But those blue eyes are still on my mouth. I thought I knew hunger when I was on the streets, but I’ve never felt anything like this need to kiss her. “Judging from the way he was kissing the girl in red, I think you would’ve been disappointed anyway.”