Promise Me Nothing (Hermosa Beach Book 1)

by Jillian Liota

  It’s one of the reasons I try not to allow myself to be on my own for too long. I’ve been a person who has only had herself to rely on for quite a while, now. And I want to push myself to not see that as my only option.

  There has to be something better.

  Someone better.

  I just have to keep believing that.

  I look around the dining room after my shift is over, spotting Eleanor on the far side, entering an order into the POS, her hair up in a funky bun held in place with a few pencils.

  She’s the one person out of the bunch from Sunday evening at Harbor’s that has stayed friendly. We’ve had a few shifts together, and she’s always been smiley and willing to chat with me when we’re waiting at the bar for drink orders to be filled.

  Though if I want to be a pessimist about it, Eleanor is also the one person who seemed like she was beyond excited to talk to Paige. It makes me wonder if she really wants to be friends with me, or if she’s staying moderately nice to me because I’m Lucas Pearson’s sister.

  I hate that I’m even considering that idea, and I try to shake it off. I tuck that thought into the back of my mind, choosing to file it away for examination some other day, choosing instead to believe that Eleanor is a genuine person. And then I head in her direction.

  “Hey,” she says when I sidle up next to her, giving me a friendly grin as she continues to flick through the system. “You finished for the night?”

  “Yeah. Finally. I’ve been here since one o’clock this afternoon and it’s…” I glance at my phone, “almost nine o’clock now.”

  “That’s not so bad. Once, I worked an open through close. But that was back before Hamish started as the manager. He’s not so bad when it comes to the scheduling.”

  “I guess I’m just used to the here-and-there hours I was getting at my last job. My feet are killing me.”

  Eleanor laughs, but keeps entering things onto the screen in front of her.

  “Also, uhm… I was just wondering if you were busy tonight.”

  She pauses and looks my way. “No, actually. It’s like, my first Friday night free in months. Why? You wanna go do something?”

  My spirit buoys, and I relish what seems like genuine interest in hanging out with me. “Well, my brother is having a party and I was wondering if you wanted to come with me.”

  Her eyes widen. “You’re inviting me to a party at Lucas Pearson’s house? Is the sky fucking blue? Hell yes I wanna come.”

  I laugh, enjoying the fact that she’s at least being honest about wanting to go to the party. “What time are you off? I can stick around if you’re finishing up.”

  She looks down at her apron and pulls out her little black waitress pad, flips it open. “I’m clocking out after… one, two, three… yeah, I have three tables left and they’re all done with main courses. Maybe a half hour?”

  “Awesome. You ride your bike to work too, right? I’ll just grab a snack and wait, and we can ride there together.”

  She smiles. “Sounds perfect.”

  "I’ve always wanted to see the inside,” Eleanor says as we get closer to Lucas’ house.

  We’re rolling along The Strand, weaving slowly in and out of walkers, joggers and people with dogs. I’m always surprised at how many people are out here at any given time of day or night.

  “It really is an absolute monster,” I reply, glancing back at where she rides just a few feet behind me. “He has a gym. And a movie theatre. And a massive wine cellar and a Jacuzzi on the roof. Who has that? When he gave me a tour I just wandered around with wide eyes the whole time.”

  Eleanor laughs, her giggle making me feel like she’s just as overwhelmed by the concept as I was when I moved in. “I feel like I don’t even know what I’m getting myself into.”

  “You don’t. Trust me.”

  We ride along until we’re about three blocks away from Lucas’, and that’s when I hear the music. It’s a deep bass, thumping and loud. And when we finally come to a stop a few houses away, I can’t help the surprise that’s surely stretched across my face.

  Lucas told me he’d be having a party tonight. He said it would be pretty busy at the house. Even suggested I lock my room, telling me he added locks to the bedrooms so personal items could stay secure with so many people coming and going from the house all night.

  But I hadn’t really… understood, I guess.

  Because the absolute raucous happening, the people spilling out from his patio to The Strand, the dozens and dozens of people that I can see inside, outside, up on the deck, laughing and drinking and smoking.

  I just, really… I had no clue what to expect.

  “Wow,” Eleanor whispers from where she stands next to me, sounding just as overwhelmed as I am.

  “Right?”

  “I heard about the Pearson parties when I was in school with Lucas. Back then, I think they were a little quieter than this. But I was always jealous because I was never invited.”

  I glance over at Eleanor, see her wide eyes as she looks up at Lucas’ mansion.

  “Now that I’m here, I’m not even sure I want to go inside.”

  At that, I laugh, relief coursing through my system that maybe Eleanor and I are more alike than it may have seemed. “I know exactly how you feel.”

  We spend the next few minutes trying to fight our way over to the little storage area where the bikes get parked, then onto the patio and inside the house.

  It really is like battling against a stream as we maneuver between people doing shots and shouting over the music and dancing, heading up to the second floor. Thankfully, it’s slightly less crowded up here and I spot Lucas right away, standing near the balcony doors, a drink in-hand.

  “Hannah!” he shouts, his words lubricated with significantly more to drink than he’s had on other evenings since I’ve been here. He lifts his arms in the air. “Finally! I wondered when you’d get here.” He looks at Eleanor. “And you brought a friend. That’s awesome. Welcome to the party.”

  Eleanor smiles as we approach where Lucas stands with Lennon and a few of the other people I met the other night at Harbor’s and Mary’s earlier this week.

  “Lucas, this is my friend from work, Eleanor.”

  “I know Eleanor,” he says, giving her a wink. “We had a few classes together in school.”

  She blushes. “Oh, yeah, I think so. I don’t really remember, though.”

  I chuckle, but Lucas doesn’t notice. Thankfully. Because Eleanor blushes even harder and gives me some eyes that say zip it, sister.

  My ass, she doesn’t remember classes she took with my brother. If I had to guess, she remembers every single one.

  “Well, welcome. Grab some drinks. Have a blast. Enjoy yourselves!” And then Lucas wraps his arm around Lennon’s shoulders and the two head out onto the patio, surrounded by other people they know.

  I glance around. Spot a few people smoking from a bong. See one person snorting something. Lots of drinking, a couple making out in a corner and some hands wandering under clothes.

  Then I look at Eleanor. “You’re welcome to hang out, but I don’t think this party is really for me,” I say. “I’m gonna go up to my room. Do you wanna come?”

  She waffles for a minute.

  “No pressure. You can absolutely stay down here and have fun.” I try to make sure I sound convincing, though really, I’d rather have a friend to hang out with upstairs.

  “What if we just stay down here for a few minutes? I’ve just always wanted to see what happens at these parties, and I don’t want to miss my chance to really see it.”

  I laugh. “I guess I could stick around for a few minutes. Let’s snoop around, huh?”

  Eleanor beams at me.

  We each grab a drink, a beer for her and a soda for me, and then we start back down the stairs to the first floor. I let Eleanor lead the way, since she’s the one with wide eyes, taking everything in for the first time.

  I follow her, trying to keep the grima
ce off my face as we weave through more bodies, trying to find a place to stand that won’t result in one of us getting poked in the eye.

  “This is insane!” she shouts back at me.

  I can only nod in agreement.

  We finally make it to a corner, where we stand next to the door to the gym. And then we just watch everyone being rowdy and ridiculous.

  It’s definitely not a party I want to participate in, but it actually is pretty fun to observe.

  There’s a group of girls shouting along to the music and guzzling champagne straight from the bottle. Eleanor points out that Aaron guy trying to smooth-talk someone, and we both giggle at the idea that he’s trying to add to the mythical notches on his bed post.

  Smoke fills the air, the scent of weed becoming stronger, and I wave a hand in front of my face, taking a step back.

  And in doing so, I bump open the door to the gym. When I turn to grab the door and pull it closed, I see Lucas’ friend Otto having sex with a girl on the rowing machine.

  I slam the door closed and look at Eleanor, both of us bursting into a fit of giggles.

  “I am totally ready to go upstairs,” she shouts at me.

  “Oh my god, yes!” I cry out. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “I had no idea what this was going to be like!” she says, giggling again.

  I give her a small smile, then take her hand and lead her over to the stairs, then climb all the way up to the bedrooms. Once, we’re at the top, I head right for my own room, unlocking the door, pulling us inside and closing it behind me.

  The sounds from downstairs are almost non-existent, so different from what it was like when I was younger and there were parties at some of the houses I lived in.

  Just goes to show what soundproofing can do.

  “I felt like my ears were going to start bleeding,” she says, rotating her jaw and pulling at one of her ears. “Is it like this all the time?”

  I shake my head. “No, thankfully. This is his first party since I’ve been here, but,” I shrug. “I can’t really say much. It’s his house.”

  She nods, her eyes looking around. Then she spots the TV on the wall. “Wanna watch a movie?”

  "Thanks for coming over. It was a lot more fun to hang out with you in my room than just barricade myself in here alone.”

  Eleanor laughs.

  We ended up spending the evening catching up on a few episodes of Outlander, only venturing out of the room to grab snacks and soda from downstairs, then rushing back up to our quiet little corner.

  I felt like I was doing something wrong by hiding away in my room, like a kid who might get a scolding for absconding some of the treats meant for other people. But honestly, it just felt like the only thing I’d like to do tonight.

  And having Eleanor here to enjoy it with was great. Especially a little later when we paused Outlander because we couldn’t stop giggling like kids at having caught Otto having sex in the gym.

  “This was fun,” she replies. “We should hang out more. I know Denise and Loren are like the bitchy queen and king at Bennie’s, but not all of us are like that.”

  My shoulders drop in relief. “Thanks for saying that. I’ve been on edge ever since last weekend and I didn’t know exactly how to handle it.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You’re a nice person,” she says. “Don’t let them get to you. I only went that night to Harbor’s because you said you were going and I always try to get to know the new people.”

  I smile, thankful that I was able to muster up the courage to invite Eleanor over tonight. “Thanks.”

  And then she reaches out and gives me a hug, before swinging her leg over her bike and heading off down The Strand.

  When I turn back to the house, I see the crowd has thinned a bit, but only slightly. The noise and raucous behavior is still off the charts, though. So I head up to my room and re-lock the door. Take a long shower to clean off the stink from work earlier, then crawl into bed at around three o’clock in the morning.

  The noise from downstairs doesn’t really bother me at all, especially with the awesome soundproofing. It’s just the knowledge that someone could come in uninvited that makes it difficult to fall asleep.

  But eventually, I drift off, feeling the slightest bit uplifted that I might’ve finally made a friend.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Wyatt

  The smell of a hospital makes me sick.

  I remember one time, having to come to a hospital when I broke my leg when I was six or maybe seven years old. Of course, I probably don’t like hospitals because my memories are of a time when I was sobbing, in incredible pain, and I hated my doctor.

  Dr. Milson was an asshole. He wasn’t a good medical professional for children. But he was a friend of my dad’s. So of course that’s the best person to reset a broken tibia in an upset adolescent.

  But now, the smell isn’t so much about what has happened here before as much as it is about what’s to come.

  We’re in a waiting room. My mom to my left, my sister on my right. Dad’s probably off fucking his child bride, and Ben told me he couldn’t make it when I shot him a text earlier.

  My sister’s hand is threaded in mine, her little grip holding on to me so tightly. I give her a small squeeze and she looks up at me.

  It’s gonna be okay, I say, signing with my free hand and mustering a smile for her. I promise.

  She doesn’t respond, but rests her head against my shoulder, and I wish I had some mouthwash to rinse out the bitter taste of my words.

  I make a habit of not promising anything to anyone. I’ve had too many promises in life given to me and not followed through on. But I will swallow a razorblade of lies before I’ll say something to upset my sister when she’s waiting to hear from the doctor.

  A much nicer doctor, thankfully, than the one I had as a child. But when your specialty is childhood disease, I’m sure learning bedside manner is important in career advancement.

  A door opens to the left and all three of us look up, seeing Doctor Lyons walking through, a clipboard and folder in her hands. When she sees us, she walks straight over, then bends down slightly to look at Ivy, tucking her documents under an arm.

  It’s good to see you, sweetheart. You ready to come back?

  Ivy squeezes my hand again, but nods, slipping off of her chair. She doesn’t let go of me, though, and it isn’t lost on me that Ivy is looking to me for comfort and support instead of to our mother, who has had on her plastic mask all day.

  We follow Dr. Lyons in silence, through a large set of doors and back to a hospital room.

  I know what’s coming before she tells us, but that doesn’t make it any less hard to hear. And after a few pleasantries and checking in with Ivy to see how life has been, how the school semester wrapped up, and what she’s been doing with her free time, Dr. Lyons finally gets down to it.

  “I’m going to be honest,” she says, looking at my mother, but signing for Ivy at the same time. “Ivy needs a bone marrow transplant. The eculizumab is doing its job in building up her red blood cells, so we will continue on that regimen. And we’re lucky that her blood isn’t showing any signs of clotting, which is usually a big worry with PNH. But her bone marrow function is still incredibly low. And with the regular fatigue and weakness, as well as her propensity for catching colds, a bone marrow transplant is really the best option moving forward.”

  I grit my jaw. Doctor Lyons has talked about this before. We already did testing on mom and dad to see if they’d be a match, though parents rarely are. Since Ben and I were adopted, the likelihood of us being a match for her is so slight that we had to pay an external provider to do the testing, since the insurance wouldn’t cover the tests. And we’ll pay for independent testing on any person who could even possibly be a match.

  Though, unsurprisingly, nothing came from that testing other than assurances that we would need to look elsewhere.

  “None of us are a match, though, for donating,” I say,
feeling a bit like a dick for telling Dr. Lyons something she already knows. “What are the other options?”

  “As I said the last time we spoke, a blood relative is the best option. Usually a sibling. But it isn’t the only option. We can go through a database to see if others could be a match for her. But it takes time.”

  “How much time?” my mother asks, her mask firmly in place, but the red splotches on her neck illuminating how the stress of today continues to overwhelm her.

  “Right now, Ivy’s case isn’t life threatening, which is good. But I’ve seen cases that deteriorate quickly. So I think moving rapidly in finding someone to donate will be to her best advantage.”

  “What happens if she just stays on the medication?” I ask.

  “The side effects aren’t aggressively common, but are still a very real risk. Pneumonia, upper respiratory infections, loss of blood cells, and loss of appetite are the most common out of the bunch. Of course, continuing solely on the medication also means Ivy will need to come in regularly for medication administration through an intravenous infusion. And then, of course, there is the fact that a more extreme form of PNH can eventually result in death.”

  “And if she gets a bone marrow transplant?” I rasp, trying not to get too emotional. The last thing Ivy needs to see is me crying or doing something stupid like storming out of the room in an upset rage. “What does the outcome look like?”

  Doctor Lyons looks back to me. “Patients who have a good match for bone marrow have the potential for all symptoms of PNH to disappear. It can cure the disease, and in my other patients, it has done so in the majority of cases.”

  The rest of the appointment is a blur. More information about transplants and how they’ll search the database for a potential match. Ivy gets more blood work done and we schedule her next date for the medication infusion. And then we’re back in the car and driving the hour back to our house from the USC Medical Center.