I Promise You

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  A blob of enemy paint hits Owen on the arm. He curses and jerks up to standing. “I’m out!”

  Dillon gets a determined look on his face as he watches Owen leave the fort. “Just you and me, Serena. Odds are against us, being pinned in and all.”

  “It’s the Titanic.”

  “I’ll go down with you.” He pops an eyebrow. “On you too.”

  He is incorrigible! I elbow him.

  A rustling reaches my ear and I peek up. “Incoming!” I say as the enemy creeps forward, ducking behind trees as they approach.

  “Hold ’em off! Reloading!” Dillon mutters as he pulls a tube off his belt and pours it into his gun.

  “You can do that?” I turn to him—and my gun goes pop!

  Dillon drops to the ground and grabs his crotch.

  “Dillon!” I drop to my knees. “Dammit! Why did you bring me? I’m terrible!”

  He groans, his voice gasping. “You’ve got plenty of paint. Up to you…take them out…”

  My hands are clammy as I clutch my gun. “No. No. No.”

  “They’re down to the girl!” I hear one of the red team call to the other. There are two of them—against me.

  “Please don’t let them win…” he groans and whips off his helmet. His face is pale.

  “I’m really sorry for your pain.”

  “Just kill them, Serena.”

  I take a deep breath and peek through the slot. Fate is on my side when one of them trips over a root and stumbles, not enough to make him fall, but enough to slow him down. Pop! I hit his chest and whoop!

  The other one crouches and runs.

  “What’s going on?” Dillon wheezes.

  I don’t take my eyes off the enemy. “I got one. There’s another one behind a barricade doohickey.”

  He laughs then grimaces as if it hurt. “Alright, you’ll need to rush him. He won’t expect it from you. He thinks you’re weak.”

  “I am!”

  “No, you’re fierce.”

  “Just run at the gun?”

  “Last chance. You run out of here, dodge his paint, and pummel the hell out of his barricade, climb over the doohickey, and get to him.”

  “Run, dodge, climb, kill…” My heart pounds.

  “Zigzag pattern. Ready. One, two, three!”

  I jump out and run as fast as I ever have, straight to the enemy. I stumble and fight to keep my balance. Somehow I manage. My finger stays on my trigger, paint splattering everywhere as I flail myself on the wood of his barricade and crawl up.

  He’s waiting for me and fires a shot that goes wide.

  “Say hello to my little friend!” I yell then paint him with green.

  He stands and glowers at me. “Killed by a chick. Red. Out.” He marches off, and I run back to the fort.

  “I got him!” I dance around, high on adrenaline. This is the most fun I’ve had in forever!

  I make it to the fort, see Dillon, and stop celebrating. “Are you okay?”

  He’s thrown a hand over his face, still lying on the ground. “Fresh as a daisy.”

  The airhorn blasts and footsteps sound as our guys rush to the clearing.

  “Green wins by annihilation!” a voice calls.

  “Offense takes it!”

  Our team storms the basecamp, slapping me on the back. Everyone is covered in paint except for…me.

  Owen throws an arm around me. “You’re alright, even if you killed three of us.”

  Troy gives me a back slap. “Nice kill, Serena.”

  I beam.

  Sawyer picks me up and swings me around, and I flail about. When I look up, Dillon has made it out of the fort and is watching us with an expression on his face I can’t decipher. Maybe part satisfaction, part amazement?

  Someone’s handed him a cold beer and he’s pressed it to his crotch. His team surrounds him, smacking him on the back and giving him a hard time about me shooting him. I watch, biting my lip as I realize how close he is to them. He mentioned that he doesn’t see his parents often. His adopted father is on the West Coast and his mom is a socialite. What must that feel like, to rarely see them? After losing a sibling? I’m lucky to have a close-knit family, but not everyone does. Family isn’t always about DNA or the people who raised you. It’s about who’s there when things go to hell. For him, it’s his team. And he brought me here to be with them.

  “Great date?” I ask as I walk over to him.

  “Better than pulling weeds.”

  “I promise to make it up to you.”

  “What about my future children?”

  “Fact: a serious groin injury makes you puke. I’ve read where some guys can’t even get up off the ground.”

  “Sorry I’m not vomiting.”

  I bite my lip. “This was your idea.”

  “I need you to drive me home, cook dinner, and make ice packs. Do you have any frozen peas? Also, I might need a shoulder rub.” He hobbles closer. “Will you take care of me?”

  Oh, Dillon. My breath hitches. He meant it in jest, but I wonder if anyone really ever takes care of him?

  “He’s milking it!” Sawyer bellows. “Dude stuffs socks down there every day—today’s no different.”

  “I did wear a cup to paintball, this is true, but it still hurts.”

  Sawyer hands Dillon a plastic, golden trophy of a woman with a bowling ball. She’s scratched up and faded. “This should make you feel better,” he tells Dillon.

  When I ask Sawyer where it came from, he tells me it belonged to his granny. She loved bowling and won several championships. “That’s why we had to get the trophy back this year.”

  Dillon, the color coming back to his face, holds it high. “Offense today, boys! LSU this weekend!”

  Whoops sound from the players.

  I hook my arm through Dillon’s. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

  The house is quiet when my eyes open. It’s two in the morning, and I lie here trying to figure out what woke me. Straightening my camisole and sleep shorts, I tiptoe into my den and take in the large man on my couch: currently sound asleep, one leg thrown down on the floor, an arm over his face. A deep breath comes from his chest. The quilt I gave him hours ago has slipped down, and my eyes track the contours of his pecs, the red roses there.

  Last night, before we hit the city limits of Magnolia, Dillon changed his mind about going home and had me drive to my place instead of his. Sawyer and the guys were planning to have people over to celebrate the win, and Dillon didn’t want the company.

  He moves in his sleep, settling into the couch. One of his ice packs, now water, plops to the floor, and I pick it up. I felt absolutely terrible about injuring him, but he assured me his cup prevented a worse injury. However, he did insist I cook spaghetti and play Five Nights at Freddy’s with him, a survival-horror video game he downloaded on my laptop. It’s not bloody or gross but was engineered to scare the shit out of people. Set in a haunted pizza parlor like Chuck E Cheese, the evil animatronics (Freddy Fazbear, Bonnie the Bunny, Chica the Chicken, and Foxy the Pirate Fox) want to kill the player. They killed me a lot. Later, after some giggling, we found a movie to watch. I suggested Pitch Perfect—Chantal totally looks like the blonde chick. He begged for Shaun of the Dead, a campy zombie movie. I agreed.

  Halfway through the movie, conked out on Aleve and exhaustion, he pulled me down to lie next to him. I thought he might kiss me again—I wanted him to—but he tossed a muscular arm around me then promptly fell asleep. For an hour, I lay there, enjoying the feel of his body, his rhythmic breaths, the scent of his skin. Finally, around midnight, I got him a quilt and a pillow and headed to bed.

  “Serena,” he murmurs. “Come here.”

  I start, not sure he’s fully awake. Walking over to him, I sit lightly on the edge of the coffee table. “You feel better?”

  “Mmmm, had a nightmare. The Titanic was sinking, and we were on it. I tried to save you, but Freddy and Bonnie showed up to eat me. So weird…” His eyes flutter open then c
lose. His chest rises, his full lips parting.

  “Good to know,” I muse, “that I’m part of your nightmare.”

  I tug the quilt up, my fingers grazing his hand as a sigh comes from me. He’s so heartbreakingly beautiful. With one last look, I stand up and force myself to walk away, trying to remember that beautiful things are hazardous to my heart…

  17

  Tomorrow is game day, and I’m tense. This is our first big game against a ranked team.

  “Morning, boys!” the quarterback coach calls out as Sawyer, Troy, and I pile out of the Escalade at the private airfield a few miles from campus.

  “Holy fuck, that’s a big plane,” Sinclair mumbles as we walk up. He’s got a queasy look on his face. “I’ve never flown before.”

  “Not even when you came to school?” I ask.

  “Bus brought me.” He rolls his shoulders, hitching up his duffle. “And before you ask, I’m not scared. You?”

  “I figure since my bio dad and grandparents crashed in a jet, the odds of me dying on a plane are low.”

  He pales. “I forgot about that.”

  I get in line as the ramp comes down for us. Everyone is dressed in slacks and button-up shirts, belts, and dress shoes. Coach likes a clean-cut image when we waltz into our hotel in enemy territory.

  “Put your earphones in and meditate. You’ll be fine. Good paintball this week.”

  He gives me a wary look. “Yeah, thanks for including me.”

  “Just waiting till you love me like everyone else.”

  “You are such an asshole.”

  I’m not listening to him as I hear Serena’s voice behind me. The last time I saw her was when I woke up on her couch, peeked in her room, then left for my run. I wrote her a note thanking her for our date. Ha. We’ve texted on and off, but with the game looming, I crashed last night.

  I turn and see her with Neil. I’m cool. Not gonna punch him. She said he’s just a friend. Don’t even know what we are… Just taking it slow. She needs baby steps.

  I take my seat and dig out my headphones, waiting for her to walk past, jonesing to see her face.

  An exhalation slides through my lips when she approaches, tension easing. She’s wearing one of those tight little pencil skirts, black heels, and an orange Tigers shirt. My eyes snag on a navy ribbon around her neck that leads to something hidden under her blouse. Her hair is up in a high ponytail.

  “Ballbuster!” Sawyer calls out to her.

  “Everybody cover!” Troy chimes in. “Cod Killer is on the plane!” He slaps her on the arm, then reddens in embarrassment. “Uh, ‘cod’ is slang for a certain male appendage, you know, in case you didn’t get it.”

  She smirks. “I got it, Troy.”

  “Hey,” I say when she gets to my seat.

  “Hey.”

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Me too.”

  We gaze at each other, and my blood hums.

  “You look nice,” she says.

  “What’s under your shirt?”

  “My skin.”

  “Uh-huh. What else?”

  “My bra.”

  “Come on. Is there a certain, um, charm under your shirt?”

  “Please keep the line moving,” comes from one of the assistants at the head of the plane.

  She looks back at a scowling Neil then back to me. “Gotta go. I’m causing everyone to wait.”

  “Later.” As soon as she’s gone, I blow out a breath.

  I mutter under my breath. Lame, fucking lame. Why did I ask about the charm?

  “Who you talking to?” Sawyer asks, giving me side eye from the seat next to me.

  “No one.”

  “Himself,” Troy says from the seat across the aisle. “Get your head in the game, QB1. Your challenge can wait.”

  “Shut up and mind your own fucking business, Texas,” I mutter, frowning.

  The challenge isn’t real to me, she is.

  By the time we land and get to the Double Tree Hotel, it’s after two, and we immediately change and head to the field for a scheduled practice. When we get back, we’re sweaty, worn out, and ready for dinner in the hotel. After that, we’ll have a few hours to ourselves, but curfew is at ten. Coach runs a tight ship, and I’m expected to be a role model, which means I tell some of the younger guys Hell no when they plan to hit a bar down the street, maybe a strip club. In my younger years, yeah, I would have been all over that, but now…my game starts at one tomorrow, and it’s televised.

  My dad is coming.

  He’s been on my mind this week and we’ve spoken a few times, working out a plan to see each other. He’s flying in on his private plane, watching the game, and then we’re going to grab dinner before we leave.

  Brianna is also coming, and they’re bringing Marley, their nine-month-old. The last time I saw them was in February when I flew to California to see her after she was born. I passed on meeting them in the Hamptons this summer, opting to stay in Magnolia with Sawyer. Seven months without seeing my dad…

  “Your phone is ringing off the wall, man!” comes from Sawyer as I step out of the shower in our hotel room.

  “Okay!” I quickly dry off, throw on shorts, and come out to the room I’m sharing with him. Snatching up my phone, I do a quick redial, and Dad answers. “Hey! You here yet?”

  “Dillon, son, I’m sorry.” His voice is gruff. “We can’t come.”

  I clench the phone, disappointment crawling over me. “Why?”

  “Marley’s got a fever, probably just teething, but Brianna doesn’t want to travel with her. She’s fussy and can’t rest, and it will be hell. Brianna isn’t feeling great either. We’re… She’s pregnant.”

  My heart drops. Mom’s getting married and Dad is having another baby? A long breath comes from my chest. Do I even matter at all anymore?

  “Congrats,” I push out.

  “Took a look at your schedule,” he continues as if everything is fine. “Maybe we can make the Alabama game in October.”

  My heart thumps, anger rushing like a wave. “Ah, I see. You don’t have a nanny to babysit. Funny, I recall you jetting off whenever you felt like it when you were married to Mom, and you can’t even come to a game? You didn’t make the national championship—”

  “Brianna was nine months pregnant—”

  “I haven’t seen you since February. I came to see you.”

  There’s a long silence, just the sound of his breathing. I picture him at his house in Malibu, maybe looking out the windows at the blue of the Pacific. I hear Brianna talking in the background, the cry of a baby.

  “Dillon…” He sighs. “I’m sorry. You’re upset. I talked to your mom.”

  Oh? He wants to change the topic?

  My jaw clenches. “Yeah. Guess you won’t be at her wedding? Whenever it is. If it happens…”

  “She sprung it on you, didn’t she?” A gusty exhalation comes from him. “You must be feeling left out—”

  “Nope, don’t drag her into this to make yourself look better.”

  There’s a heavy silence. “We live on opposite sides of the country, Dillon. I work every day. I have a baby. Look, I haven’t given you the attention—”

  His excuses cut me to the bone. My eyes shut and I see Myles diving off that cliff…

  “We both know why you don’t want to see me. You can’t look at me without thinking about him,” I say, hand tight on the phone. “Take care of your new family.” I end the call and throw my cell across the bed.

  “You alright?” Sawyer asks, and I shake my head as I shove my feet into my shoes, grab a shirt, and pull it on.

  “Where you going? Dillon—”

  “For a run.”

  “Wait and I’ll go with you,” he calls out as I slam the door and stalk down the hall.

  My throat feels raw and tight as I jab the button for the lobby. My chest wants to explode. Angry and frustrated, I stare at myself in the mirrored walls of the elevator. I scrub my jaw as the door open
s and Serena walks in, giving me a surprised look as she settles beside me.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks softly. Her hand touches my arm, and I close my eyes.

  “My dad said he was coming and now he’s not. Just…need to run and I’ll be over it.”

  She’s changed into a slinky red dress and stilettos, and her hair tumbles around her shoulders, the lighter colors making her eyes stand out. Her lashes are thick with mascara.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Neil asked me to have a drink with him and some of the press. We’re going to talk football.”

  Uh-huh, I just bet.

  The door slides open and she takes a step out to the lobby, but I grab her hand and pull her back in. My hand hovers over the floor selection panel on the wall. “What’s your room number?” I ask.

  She takes a deep breath, licks her lips. “714. But I told Neil—”

  “Text him. You aren’t going.” I hit the button for the seventh floor and cage her in with my forearms against the wall. Adrenaline and anger and jealousy prick at me. I’ve tried to handle her at a gradual pace, but I want her so much it hurts. “You and me. Now.” My nose runs up her neck, the smell of her intoxicating.

  Her hands land tentatively on my chest. “Dillon…”

  “Say yes, Serena, say yes. Please.” My lips dip to hers, hovering, waiting.

  Her lashes flutter as she tugs on my hair, fisting it and pulling my mouth to hers. The kiss is hard and savage. I haul her up with my hands on her ass. Her legs twine around my hips, her dress riding up. My hands knead her ass as she sucks on my tongue, a low sound coming from her throat. The steel pipe in my shorts hardens more.

  She’s a hot flame, a fire I can’t walk away from.

  The door opens and she pulls back, her chest rising rapidly. “Someone might see—”

  “Don’t give a fuck.” I hold her against me, carrying her as we step out. “Which way?” I push out, drunk with desire.

  “Turn right. Four doors down.” She kisses my throat, peppering me with touches, sucking on the rapid pulse just beneath my skin. We make it to her door. “Key…purse. Let me down,” she says breathlessly.

  She fumbles around with me behind her, my hands on her hips, my face in her hair, immersing myself. My body throbs with need. My head buzzes with the smell of her. I’ve never done cocaine, but I wonder if she’s my drug, if I’ll get addicted. One kiss freshman year was enough to torment me for months. My lips suck on her neck and she leans back, nuzzling into me.