No Promises

by N. Raines

  It was Morgan's turn to look ashamed. Color rose in her cheeks. When at last she spoke, her voice was quiet but unapologetic. "I had to know."

  Moving robotically, Britt placed the bottle of nail polish on the coffee table. "Had to know what? Did you think I was cheating on you?"

  Morgan's stony silence gave the answer.

  "Oh my God. I can't believe you. And you actually snooped on my phone?"

  "What was I supposed to do?"

  Britt threw her arms wide. "You could have fucking trusted me!"

  "How am I supposed to trust you when you do crap like that behind my back?" Morgan's voice was raspy, her eyes shiny with angry tears. "You should have been honest with me from the jump. If you'd just told me, it would have been no big thing."

  "Right. No big thing." Britt rolled her eyes. "You've done nothing but talk trash about Rick since the party. Like you wouldn't have lost your shit if I told you I was worried about him."

  "You could have given me a chance."

  "Well, that goes both ways, baby. You should have given me a chance to come to you without going all CIA on my ass."

  The air crackled with anger and hurt. In midst of their standoff, Britt and Morgan had both forgotten they weren't alone. It didn't matter. Sam had plenty to consider.

  She always thought Rick and her cousin had simply drifted apart after high school. Or that their breakup had been a mutual decision. Britt's confession made Sam's head reel with too many questions.

  How much had Rick loved Britt back in the day? How badly had she hurt him?

  Most importantly, was he still in love with her?

  Sam stood. "I'm gonna go," she said quietly.

  Britt trailed her outside. "I'm sorry you had to hear all that."

  So am I. But no, it was better she know the truth. "Are you and Morg going to be all right?"

  A mantle of sadness seemed to settle around Britt's shoulders, weighing them down. "I don't know. It looks like we've got a lot to talk about."

  "I didn't know it was you who broke up with Rick." Sam bit her lip. Her cousin had enough on her plate without Sam adding her own worries, but she needed some explanation. Something to calm the fear churning in her gut. "Guess I always thought it was something you both wanted."

  "Don't remind me." Britt shook her head. "I feel bad enough already."

  "Why do you think he…?"

  Britt looked at her sharply. "What?"

  "Isn't it weird he contacts you out of the blue after all this time?" Sam didn't know quite what she was getting at. Some suspicion niggled at her, burrowing in her brain, struggling to get free.

  Britt frowned in puzzlement. "No. Why should it? Everybody does that on Facebook all the time."

  "Yeah, but why now? Now, when he—" But Sam couldn't finish the statement. How could she, when she didn't even know what to ask? She only knew something had happened to Rick that he wouldn't talk about.

  Was it only a coincidence he had contacted Britt around the same time?

  "What's going on, Sam?" her cousin asked. "Are you okay?"

  Sam swung open the truck door and stepped up into the cab. "Sure."

  Before closing the door, she leaned out to say good-bye. "I hope you and Morgan can work things out. Call me if you need to talk."

  "Sam—"

  Sam shut the door and started the engine. She had nothing else to say to her cousin. Britt couldn't answer her questions. The only one who could was Rick.

  ****

  Sam pulled into the driveway, eyed the house, then glanced at the garage. A light shone through an upper window.

  When she reached the top of the stairs to the loft, she found Rick sitting on his bed. "Hey."

  "Hey," he answered.

  Well, this is a scintillating conversation. Then, before her brain could filter it, the question burst from her lips. "Are you still in love with Britt?"

  His eyes popped wide. "What?"

  "She told me that she broke up with you in high school. That you didn't see it coming. Are you still in love with her?"

  He stood up, staring at her in disbelief. "Why are you asking me that?"

  "Because. I want to know if this whole time you've been with me, I've just been standing in for her." Heat burned the back of her eyes. No. She wouldn't cry. She swallowed the thickness in her throat before she went on. "A substitute for the girl you really want."

  He gave an impatient huff. "Are you serious?"

  He still hadn't answered the question. "You were in love with her. She broke your heart."

  "Broke my heart." He rolled his eyes as he mimicked the words. "And five years later I'm still carrying a torch?"

  "I don't know!" Frustration made her voice rise. "That's what I'm asking."

  One side of his mouth tilted in a smirk. "Sounds like the plot of a romance novel, babe."

  He thought this was a joke? She gaped at him, completely speechless.

  She suddenly noticed the empty backpack beside him on the mattress. "What's that for?"

  "I heard from Zach, my former roommate. He and his crazy-ass chick are leaving, moving to California or someplace. He called to see if I wanted back in the apartment." He shrugged. "Since my name's still on the lease, I figure why the hell not?"

  "You're leaving." Way to state the obvious, but her brain felt stupid and slow. As though he'd smacked her in the head with a brick.

  "Yeah. Thought I'd get my stuff together and go tomorrow. Why wait, you know?" His matter-of-fact, emotionless demeanor chilled her.

  The only way to protect herself was to be just as cold-blooded. "Right. I mean, we both knew your stay here was just temporary." God, she sounded like a hotel desk clerk. We hope your stay here was satisfactory, sir. Please don't forget to fill out our guest survey before you check out.

  What did she expect, anyway? He'd never indicated he wanted a relationship. His tattoo made it perfectly clear: No Promises.

  The silence between them stretched until Sam couldn't handle it. "So you're going back to work."

  He stood and picked up the backpack. "I'll have to, won't I? To make my rent. That's what grown-ups do, Sam. They pay rent. They don't live with their mommies and daddies all their lives."

  Her temper sparked. He had to go there, didn't he? Low blow. "You said you were through with EMS. Too much red tape, too much bullshit."

  "Who said anything about EMS?" He swept past her and jerked open the top drawer of his dresser. "I'm going to work for the old man. I called him after I spoke to Zach."

  He was so remote, so cool as he grabbed handful of socks and stuffed them into the sack. She wasn't fooled. "Your stepfather? You'll hate that."

  "You said yourself I'd need a job. I'll have one, with steady pay and none of the crap I had to deal with before." His mouth twisted in a bitter smirk. "Good thing I got an in with the boss, huh? What do they call it? Nepotism."

  No. After everything he'd told her about his stepfather, Sam knew he'd be miserable under the man's thumb. "You don't have to do this. You can stay here." Even if you don't want to be with me.

  Her face flamed as she swallowed the last little crumbs of her pride.

  He slammed the drawer shut. "And then what, Sam? Work some lousy minimum-wage job and come home to this little rent-free hole? No. The old man was right. Time to stop living like a loser. Time to grow up."

  Did Rick really see himself as a loser? Did he hate himself that much? What if she loved him just the way he was? Did that make her a loser? Did that mean he hated her too?

  "Don't give up." The words scratched Sam's aching throat. She reached out to touch him, but he dodged her hand.

  "I'm not giving up." His voice sounded dead. "I'm getting smart." He crossed the room, grabbed paperbacks from the shelf, and crammed them into his backpack. "We'll see each other. I'll be busy, dancing to the old man's tune, but I'll call you, we'll get together…" The words tumbled out, slick and easy, but his gaze slid off to corner of the room.

  A hard knot forme
d in her chest. It didn't matter what he said. He couldn't meet her gaze, and that told her everything. He was ashamed. Not of her, but of himself.

  Her eyes felt swollen and as hard as marbles. Her throat ached. But she wouldn't bleat What about us? or some pathetic shit like that. There's no "us," Sam, you dummy. No Promises, remember? Well, here it is, biting you in the ass.

  She wouldn't let him see how badly he hurt her. In self-defense, she tried to hurt him back. "Don't worry about it. I've got no complaints. We both got a couple of decent screws out of it, right?" She wouldn't humiliate herself by asking if he'd been thinking of Britt every time they'd been together.

  "It was nothing like that. You know it." Something flickered in his eyes, and for one second, he stopped impersonating a blank wall.

  "Whatever." She flicked her hand as though he were a pesky bug to shoo away. "Pack your little backpack and don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out."

  His jaw tightened. "Yeah, sure. I'll do that. Better than being stuck here like you are."

  Cold needles of shame pricked her. "I'm not stuck."

  He laughed. "Not much. You still live in the house you grew up in. Sleep in the same bed you've had since you were a little girl. Live with your daddy instead of having a place of your own."

  "He needs me." Sam's lips felt numb, her tongue clumsy. "He's sick."

  "He's a grown-ass man. He's taken care of himself his whole life. Took care of you after your mother died. You keep tabs on him like he's a kid. He doesn't need you. You need him. Just like you need those stray cats of yours. To keep from living your own life. Because that would mean you'd have to leave Daddy."

  Sam suddenly felt as though the room had shrunk. A heavy weight pressed on her chest and an invisible hand closed around her throat. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't even speak to defend herself.

  That didn't stop Rick from tearing into her. "If you want to live in this little bubble the rest of your life, fine. That's on you. For me, it's time to peace the fuck out."

  The claws around her throat loosened enough to let words escape. "I c-can't…" Why did her voice sound so far away? "I promised…"

  His tirade stopped abruptly and something shifted in his face. "What do you mean, you promised?"

  "My mom wanted me to watch out for him. Not to let anything bad happen to him."

  "Your mother?"

  "I let her down once." The words fell from her lips like cold, hard stones. "I let her down, and I'm not going to do it again."

  Rick's forehead crinkled in confusion. He took her arm and gestured to the bed. "You don't look good. Sit down."

  She jerked away from him. No. He didn't get it. She didn't want to be touched. Shivers passed through her, and her teeth chattered. "When I was a kid, my mom would make cinnamon toast for me every day after school. We'd sit at the kitchen table and talk. Then, when I was in third grade, she got sick. She was sick for a long time. She couldn't get out of bed. So I started making the cinnamon toast. It's not hard. You just butter the toast and sprinkle on some sugar and cinnamon. But I was proud, you know, that I could do that for my mom. It made me feel grown up. I'd take a plate of it up to her bedroom and we'd eat and I'd tell her about my day."

  Sam stopped, remembering her mom. No matter how pale and thin she was, no matter how tired, she always had a smile for Sam. Even when she couldn't eat the cinnamon toast, when she was too sick to stomach anything, she still wanted to hear about her daughter's day.

  "I didn't know." Rick's voice was quiet, his gaze soft.

  Sam wrapped her arms around herself. "Mom knew she wasn't going to make it. Tried to prepare me. But I didn't want to hear it. She wanted me to promise I'd look after Pop when she was gone, but I wouldn't. I wouldn't promise, because I didn't want her to talk about dying." Her teeth chattered. Why was she so cold? "I thought if she didn't talk about it, it wouldn't happen. If we could just keep eating cinnamon toast and not talk about anything bad or sad, she'd stay alive. But she died anyway and I never promised. I let her down."

  "No. No, Sam." Rick's eyes were deep pools of sympathy. No matter. It was too late.

  "Yeah, I did. But I'm not going to let my father down." Her chest ached as though it had been cleaved open, but she couldn't cry. She'd cried in Rick's arms once before. She wouldn't do it again. "I know it's stupid, all right? I know it's got nothing to do with any fucking cinnamon toast and there's nothing I could have done that would have kept my mom alive. But I don't want to lose my dad too. I'm not going to lose him." She glared at him fiercely, daring him to contradict her.

  "Okay." He took a step forward, reaching for her.

  She put her hands up to ward him off. "No."

  "Sam—"

  She tore away from him. "No!" She didn't want his comfort, didn't want him looking at her, much less touching her. "You're leaving. So go." She shook her head, hardly knowing what she was saying. "Just do whatever. I don't care."

  She raced to the stairs and stumbled down them, losing her footing halfway and bumping down on her ass. Rick called her name, but she didn't look back, just bounded to her feet and ran to the house.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning Rick entered the kitchen warily, dreading another go-round with Sam. Or worse, her giving him the silent treatment. Or maybe this would be the day Jay met him with a shotgun aimed at his belly…or lower down. He wouldn't blame the man one bit.

  He'd been a dick to Sam last night, tearing into her about the choices she'd made. Who was he to ridicule her life or anyone else's, when his was such a friggin' mess?

  After she'd told him about the promise her mother had pushed her to make, he really felt like a shit. Now he understood what drove Sam, what compelled her to live in her father's shadow. He'd wanted to go after her, apologize. But she'd run from him like he was a serial killer.

  Jay, seated at the table, greeted him with a lift of the eyebrows. Okay. It wasn't a smile, but it wasn't a glare, either. And there were no visible firearms in the vicinity.

  Rick shuffled in. Closed the door behind him. Stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Hey."

  "Hey, yourself. You don't look too good this morning."

  "Huh." Rick pushed some hair off his forehead. "Didn't sleep too well."

  "Neither did Sammy." Jay gave him a level look. "She looked like death warmed over when she came down for breakfast."

  Rick started. "She's not here? We're supposed to feed the cats." Shit, had she gone without him? His empty gut twisted with worry.

  "She left a while ago," Jay told him. "Guess she didn't think you'd be coming."

  Rick double-checked his watch. "I'm not late."

  Jay's eyes narrowed. "Then she must not have wanted your company." With his chin he gestured to the coffeemaker on the counter. "Grab yourself some coffee and have a seat."

  Rick glanced at the door, his nerves crawling under his skin. "Nah, I better get over there. She shouldn't be there alone."

  "Sammy's not helpless. She did fine on her own before you came along. Get some coffee and sit your ass down." Jay thrust out his own mug. "While you're at it, get me some too."

  Rick blinked, then took the mug. He filled it, poured a cup for himself, and brought both coffees to the table. They took a few swallows in silence while Jay let him flail around like a fish on the hook. Even so, Rick knew he was getting off lightly.

  Jay finally spoke. "You and my daughter had some kind of fight, huh?"

  Rick's hands were cold. He cupped them around the mug to warm them. "Yeah. I said some pretty nasty things to her."

  "Thought it was something like that. Knowing Sammy, she had a few things to say too. So what was this fight about?"

  "I'm going back to my old apartment. I can get a job with my stepfather and—"

  Jay cut him short. "I get it. You're running away."

  Anger zapped him. What the hell? Here he was, determined to be the sober, responsible man his stepfather wanted him to be. How was that running away?

/>   Because you'll hate it. Sam had called it one hundred percent.

  Rick's mouth flattened. "You worked the same job, lived in the same house, the same town your whole life. What the hell do you know about running away?"

  Jay raised his eyebrows. "What, you think you're the first guy to dream how much easier it would be to leave his troubles behind and start over?"

  "You didn't."

  Jay snorted. "The hell I didn't. You don't know how much I wanted to start over after my wife died. Just say the hell with it all, pack up the truck, and go. Everything in the house reminded me of Marguerite. The chair she used to sit in, her favorite teacup with the flowers. Every damn thing. It tore me up."

  Rick couldn't believe his ears. Dependable, rock-solid, salt-of-the-earth Jay Pennywell confessing his dreams of running away? "But you had Sam."

  "Yeah. I had Sammy. And every time I looked at her, I saw her mother. It was hard, you know?" Jay looked down, rubbed his weathered face, but Rick could see the glint of tears in his eyes. "I went a little crazy. God forgive me, I almost had myself thinking she'd be better off without me. That I could leave her with one of her older brothers or her aunt, and they'd take better care of her than I could."

  Rick was dumbfounded. He couldn't have been more shocked if Jay suddenly announced he was Elvis, living in obscurity all these years to hide from his fans. "But you…"

  "I finally came out of my haze long enough to see how much that would hurt my daughter. She'd already lost her mother. She couldn't lose her dad too. I had to drag myself out of grief and keep living. For her. And finally for myself too."

  Rick was silent. He didn't have a daughter or son for whom he was responsible.

  "You only need one person, one reason to stay. To fight."

  "Fight?"

  "Fight whatever it is you're scared of. That's what a man does. He's responsible for the people who need him. The people he loves."

  Rick grunted. He could fight another person, maybe, but how could he fight himself, his sense of failure? And besides… "Nobody needs me."

  Jay lifted an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure Sammy does. Even if she won't admit it."