Stone Promises (A Stone Brothers Novel)

by Samantha Christy

  She throws the ball to me but doesn’t make eye contact. I hold the ball and stare her down, trying not to be jealous that Julian has remained in her life all these years. “You’re not telling me something. What is it?”

  “You’re stalling the game, Chad. Take the shot,” she says.

  I narrow my eyes at her and then turn away, focusing on the basket as I run up to it. Halfway into my lay-up, something dawns on me and I trip myself up, missing horribly as I fall to the ground, landing on my ass.

  “Are you okay?” Mallory asks, running over to me when I don’t get up right away.

  “I’m fine.” I drape my arms across my knees, looking up at her. “He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?” When she doesn’t deny it, I shake my head in anger. “That little shit. He promised.”

  She looks surprised by my outburst. “What do you mean he promised?”

  I stand up and walk over to sit on the bench next to the driveway. “He never told you?”

  “Told me what?” she asks, sitting down on the other end of the bench.

  “That we made a pact before he went to Brazil.”

  “You made a pact? About what?”

  I sigh. Then I laugh at myself. We were sixteen back then. Of course he didn’t keep his promise. Plus, I guess I gave him an out by moving across the country. I’d never know if he broke it and there wasn’t anything I could do about it if he did. “I think Julian was afraid I’d make a move on you back then. He was getting ready to leave for Brazil for the summer and he made me promise I wouldn’t touch you.”

  Mallory guffaws. “Why would he say such a thing? That’s silly. We were all best friends.”

  I stare her down. “Oh, come on. You must know both of us had a major crush on you.”

  “W-what?” she asks, looking at me like I’m ten cards shy of a full deck.

  “Seriously? You didn’t know?” I ask.

  She shakes her head, her mouth hanging open in disbelief.

  “It wasn’t just a one-sided promise,” I tell her. “It was a pact. We made it sound as if it would ruin our friendship if one of us acted on our crush, but in reality, neither one of us wanted the other to have you.” I push off the bench and go over to collect the ball. “I guess it only makes sense that you’d end up with him. He’s a lucky guy, Mallory.” I throw the ball to her. “Your turn again.”

  “Left-handed hook shot from the elbow off the backboard,” she says, with a sly grin.

  “No fucking way,” I challenge her.

  She makes it of course.

  “Just gimme the goddamn ‘S’,” I say.

  She giggles. “He’s not my boyfriend, you know. Not anymore.”

  All in a matter of two seconds I feel relief. Then jealousy. Then anger. But I think relief wins the battle. “Anymore?” I ask.

  “Long story,” she says, taking the ball from me and I get the idea the subject is off-limits. “Three-pointer. Backwards.” She lines up the shot perfectly then misses.

  “Sweet!” I shout, plotting my next shot. I grab the ball and spin around twice before shooting, surprising myself by making the basket. “So, is there one? A boyfriend?”

  “Not at the moment.” She motions for the ball. “Piece of cake,” she says, spinning around and shooting, only to miss the rim by a good two feet. “Aw, darn it. That’s an ‘H’ for me.”

  I can’t help but laugh at her version of a swear word. “You still can’t say it, can you?”

  “Say what?” she asks.

  “Fuck.”

  “Ugh. I can say it,” she whines.

  “Then say it.”

  “No. It’s not the same if I just say it out of context.”

  “Okay.” I try to think of how she can use the word. “How about this—why don’t you ask me why the fuck I stopped emailing you and calling you? Ask me why I was the worst fucking friend of all time. Why don’t you ask me that, Mallory?”

  “Because I’m sure you had your reasons,” she says, pulling her coat tightly around her.

  I go back over to reclaim my spot on the bench, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees. “Nothing short of a lobotomy could excuse everything I did.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, resuming her seat next to me.

  “There’s not much to talk about. Shit happened. A lot of shit happened. But that was then and this is now.” I look up and stare into her stunning eyes. “And I really like now.”

  I could swear I see a blush creep across her face. Either that, or she’s freezing on this cold night. “I guess we all have skeletons in our closet,” she says. “Yours are just a little more on display for the world to see.”

  I cringe wondering just how much she knows about the things I’ve done. But that feeling is trumped by another one—curiosity, and maybe guilt, knowing she has skeletons, too, but that I wasn’t here when she might have needed me. “You have skeletons?” I ask. “Squeaky-clean Mallory Schaffer?”

  She elbows me in the side. “Maybe not so squeaky-clean anymore. And maybe not skeletons as much as regrets.”

  There’s that feeling again. A pressure from within, gripping my chest like a vise. She has regrets. Regrets over Julian? Over some other guy, perhaps? “I’m sorry,” I say, scooting closer to her so I can put my hand on top of hers. “Maybe someday we can share our secrets like we used to. I’d like that, you know.”

  She looks down at our hands and then up at my face. She looks at me like she can see my soul and extrapolate my secrets without me having to say a single word. Her eyes burn into mine. The soft flesh of her cold hand takes me back to old times. Times when we would sit for hours in her treehouse, barely saying a word yet always knowing what the other was thinking. Life seemed so much simpler back then. When we had each other’s backs through thick and thin. When it was us against the world.

  Suddenly, she jerks her hand away from mine, sitting up to wrap her arms around herself. “It’s getting cold just sitting here, let’s finish our game.”

  I spend the next twenty minutes getting my ass kicked in basketball by a girl. Not just any girl. The girl. I came here not knowing what to expect. But I’m leaving knowing exactly what I want. I want her. I’ve always wanted her. I’m just not sure what price I’m willing to pay to get her. Or better yet, what price she would have to pay to be with me.

  Chapter Six

  Mallory

  My phone vibrates in my pocket, alerting me of a text during my math lesson. I worry it might be an emergency because nobody I know would text me during school hours. I turn my back on the students and walk to the whiteboard, taking a peek at my phone. It’s a number I don’t recognize, so I slip it back into my pocket.

  I’m a little more here today than I was yesterday, although I’m still distracted by thoughts of last night. I’m still not exactly sure why Chad showed up on my doorstep. Maybe he didn’t know I lived there anymore and came to see my dad but felt obligated to hang out with me. Maybe after he saw me at the club, he felt the need to tie up loose ends.

  But the thing is, it didn’t feel like loose ends to me. Some of the things he said about him not being a stranger and about how he’d like us to share our secrets ‘someday,’ made me feel like maybe he wanted to rekindle our friendship. Which is ridiculous. He lives in L.A. and I live here. He’s famous and I’m a school teacher. Our lives are polar opposites. We’d have nothing in common anymore.

  After I walk the kids to the cafeteria for lunch, I head to Mel’s classroom to eat with her. Along the way, my phone vibrates again, reminding me of the earlier text I need to read. I reach Melissa’s classroom before she does, so I get out my turkey wrap and start munching on some grapes as I read my missed messages.

  310-555-0186: Can I take you to dinner tonight?

  I don’t recognize the number and I have no idea who it is, although part of me knows who I want it to be. A very reluctant part of me. There is another text from a few minutes ago from the same number.

  310-555-0186: Is
that a no or are you making me sweat it out? I was hoping to do a little more groveling over say, pizza? It’s still your favorite, right?

  I smile. It must be him. And the fact that he’s afraid I’ll refuse his invitation is mildly endearing. I find it amusing that his area code matches that of the show he once starred in—Malibu 310. Guess that’s where they got the name. I tap out a text.

  Me: Who is this?

  I quickly program his phone number into my contacts and put my phone away, knowing a busy guy like Chad probably doesn’t have much time for chitchat.

  Melissa walks in the room, complaining about having to meet with a parent of a misbehaving student. She immediately stops rambling when she looks up at me. “Why the cheesy smile?” she asks.

  My phone vibrates and I can feel my smile widen even further. I resist looking at it straight away. “Just happy to see you,” I say.

  “Bullshit.” She sets her salad down, eyeing me skeptically. “You are still reeling over last night, aren’t you?”

  As soon as Chad left, I was on the phone to Mel, spilling every last detail of what happened as we analyzed each conversation I had with him. I swore her to secrecy of course. Not that I needed to, she’d never use my past with Chad as a way to get attention. Luckily, I’ve been blessed with friends who are anything but attention whores. Well, maybe I have one friend who is an attention whore, but whether or not we are friends anymore remains to be seen.

  “He texted me today,” I tell her, popping another grape into my mouth. “Asked me to dinner.”

  Her squeals bounce of the classroom walls. “What? Oh, my God, Mal, he asked you out?”

  I shake my head. “No. He asked me to dinner.”

  “Same difference,” she says. “Oh my God, you’re going to be on TMZ. You’ll be famous. And I can say I knew you when.”

  All of a sudden, a sick feeling washes over me. I didn’t even think about that. What would happen if we were seen in public together? Every woman he’s seen with becomes his reported girlfriend. I’m sure he doesn’t want that—to be seen with a teacher, a nobody. And I don’t want that either. He has a bodyguard for Christ’s sake. He’s that famous. Why would he even want to risk his reputation by having dinner with me? “It is not the same, Melissa. He just wants to get together and talk.”

  “Where is he taking you?” She holds her hand out to silence me before I say anything. “No, let me guess. Eleven Madison Park? Or maybe Masa? Jesus, you’re lucky.”

  “First off, I’m not accepting his invitation. And second, really?” I stare her down as she bounces around on her chair like one of her second-grade students.

  She stills in her seat. “Sorry. I forgot that he’s an insensitive prick and that we hate him.”

  “Well, maybe hate is too harsh a word,” I say. “But the jury is still out.”

  I pull out my phone and check the new message.

  Chad: Should I be concerned that you might have more than one random guy asking you to dinner? It’s Chad.

  Without thinking too much about it, my fingers start tapping out a text.

  Me: Oh, Chad! You mean the guy whose butt I kicked in HORSE last night?

  Chad: One and the same. I want a rematch by the way. I’ve been practicing.

  Me: You’ve been practicing? Since last night?

  Chad: Hells yeah. Ethan took me to his gym this morning. So watch out, I’ll be ready for you next time.

  Next time? I can’t help the smile that extends from ear to ear. Wait—do I want a next time?

  Melissa squeals again. “Oh, my God, you’re texting him right now, aren’t you? You are sitting here just nonchalantly texting Thad Stone. Hearts are breaking all over the world right now, you realize that?”

  “Shut up, Mel. It’s not like that at all.”

  She leans over to read our texts. “Not like that, my ass. The man wants in your pants, Mallory.”

  My smile quickly fades. My friend has put it all into perspective for me. Of course he wants in my pants. He wants in everyone’s pants. Why should it matter that I’m not famous? Either way, I would just be another notch on his bedpost.

  Me: Thanks for the invitation, but I have plans tonight. BTW, how did you get my number?

  “Plans? Are you crazy?” Melissa asks.

  “I’m volunteering tonight. It’s Tuesday,” I remind her.

  Every Tuesday I volunteer at a place called Hope For Life. It’s a shelter for pregnant teens who’ve been kicked out by their parents and have nowhere to go. I’ve been going there for years.

  “I think the girls can go one night without you,” she says.

  Chad: Sucks for me. Pizza for one it is. About the number - do you want the real answer or a less-stalkerish one?

  Mel squeals again. “He’s stalking you. You are being stalked by a superstar! Oh my God, you have to go out with him. Do not let that man eat alone. Or send me in your place.”

  I shoot her a traitorous look. “Steve would not appreciate that very much.”

  She scoffs at the mention of her husband. “Steve who?” she says, laughing.

  Me: I’ll go with real for one hundred, Alex.

  Chad: LOL. When your dad hit the bathroom last night, I saw your cell phone bill on the kitchen counter. I may have peeked inside.

  Me: I thought my dad gave it to you.

  Chad: Richard was pretty tight-lipped about you.

  Me: He’s just being protective. Lunch break almost over. Gotta go.

  “Liar,” Melissa says, looking at the clock on her wall.

  Chad: How about tomorrow night?

  “Christ Almighty, he’s begging,” Mel says, fanning herself. “Will you just put the poor man out of his misery already?”

  Me: Aren’t you busy promoting your movie?

  Chad: That’s mostly during the day, interviews and stuff.

  Me: Oh. Can I get back to you on that?

  Chad: Always. Have a great day, Mal.

  Me: Thanks. You too.

  “Are you crazy?” Melissa asks. “Do you know how many people would kill to be you right now?”

  “Stop being a fangirl for two seconds, Mel, and think about it. I’m not going to be his New York booty call. What else could he want? He’s only in town for a week. If he really wanted to reconnect with old friends, he’d be contacting Julian, too.”

  She puts down her fork, looking guilty. “God, you’re right. I’m so sorry. I’m such a bitch. I promise to only be supportive from now on.”

  “No more fangirl?” I ask with raised brows.

  “No more fangirl.” She picks up her fork and starts eating again. “So, can I tell you about the hot single dad of my new student?” she asks around her mouthful of salad.

  ~ ~ ~

  “How was it at Hope today?” Julian asks me at our late dinner.

  “It was good I guess. But we had a thirteen-year-old go into labor tonight.” I shake my head still in disbelief. “Thirteen,” I repeat. “She’s only a few years older than my students and she’s having a baby. It’s so sad. Babies having babies.”

  He leans over and puts his arms around me. He knows how much this stuff gets to me. “What’s going to happen to her?” he asks.

  “Same as a lot of the others, I imagine. She wasn’t going to keep it, so she’ll probably end up going back to her family, into the same abusive situation she was exiled from four months ago when they found out she was pregnant. I just wish there was more I could do.”

  “You’re doing everything you can, Mallory. You being there to support them, it’s helping them in ways you will probably never know.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “I hope so.”

  The waitress brings our food, putting the large pizza down on the table in front of us. It makes me wonder if Chad is eating pizza tonight as well. Pizza for one. Surely not. There are probably a hundred people he could eat with. Courtney Benson seems like she’d be first in line. I wanted to ask him about her last night. I should have when he questioned me about
Julian. It would have been the perfect opportunity. But maybe I didn’t want to know if the rumors are true.

  “Has he contacted you?” I ask Julian.

  “And by he, I assume you mean Chad?”

  I nod.

  “I was wondering when his name would come up. No, he hasn’t.” He studies me. “Wait, has he contacted you?”

  “Yeah. He came to the house last night,” I tell him, reaching for a slice of pizza.

  He drops his jaw along with the food in his hand. “He came to your house?”

  “I know. I had the same reaction. He was there when I came home from dinner. Just sitting at the table having a beer with my dad like they were old buddies.”

  “He was drinking?” he asks, concern evident in his voice.

  “That’s what I said. Apparently, his issues were with cocaine, not alcohol. He told me he doesn’t drink that much.”

  “Hmm,” he mumbles. “What did he want?”

  “I’m still not sure. Forgiveness maybe?”

  “You didn’t give it to him, did you?”

  I shake my head. “No. But we did play basketball for an hour.”

  “Basketball? What the hell, Mallory? The guy walks back into your life and you just forget about how much of a dick he is?”

  I try not to get defensive. After all, Julian is kind of right. “I haven’t forgotten. But he did seem like he needed a friend. He said his life was crazy and he needed a little bit of normal.”

  “What does that even mean?” he asks.

  “He said when he saw me outside the club Saturday night, he saw me as normal or something so he looked me up.”