Page 41 of The Worst Kind of Promise
“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 aboutthat, 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 actuallyknowswhat 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 treatherright. 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.
