by Lexi Ryan
Why do we make prisons for ourselves with our promises?
Maybe his jealousy of Nic is a blessing. Maybe when I have to leave, he’ll let himself believe I’m still pining for my first love. Maybe he’ll never have to know how low I had to sink to do what I thought was right. Maybe he’ll never have to hate me.
He looks at my hand on his shoulder, and silence grows between us like a heavy weight on my heart. He lifts his eyes to mine, and in one second, he’s sitting there looking at me, and in the next, he’s kissing me.
He sucks my bottom lip between his teeth and cups my face in his hands. He nips at my lips and strokes my jaw, then fists a hand in my hair and deepens the kiss until I want to crawl over the console and straddle him.
When he breaks the kiss, I’m breathless. I turn my face into his hand and press my lips against his open palm.
“Does your heart belong to him, Bailey?” He swallows. “Do I even stand a chance?”
I wish he’d only asked the first question. The second is so much more complicated. “Nic was my first love, but I didn’t die with him.”
Someone knocks on the window, and I look up to see a broad-chested guy. He points both index fingers at us and winks before turning and heading into the house.
“That must be Brandon,” I say. I reach for my gift from the floor and open my door. The guy looked really amused about catching me and Mason together in the car, but I’m afraid my sister will be less amused. In her mind, our kiss will be “making out” in front of her house, a sign of my immaturity.
I grab the present, and Mason and I climb out. The car chirps when he hits the button. He plants a quick kiss on the top of my head, then takes my hand as we head to the house, where my sister is already waiting in the doorway, Brandon standing behind her and grinning at us like the huge fan of Mason that Sarah said he was.
“Nice shirt,” Sarah says as she holds the door for us.
I look down at the T-shirt I threw on with my jeans this morning. It says, I can’t adult today. I paste on a smile and pretend her judgment doesn’t faze me. “Thanks.”
“You must be the husband,” she says, turning to Mason and offering a hand. “Bailey’s told me a lot about you over the years, though it would have been nice if she’d told me about the wedding, too.”
Mason grins and shakes her hand. “I would love to know exactly what she said about me.”
“All good stuff,” I say, and I realize Sarah isn’t just blowing smoke to make this less awkward. I have told her quite a bit about Mason. He’s been a fixture in my life for a long time now. I don’t want to imagine a time when he’s not.
“This is my boyfriend, Brandon,” Sarah says.
The guy from out front grins at us. “Super stoked to meet you both. Sorry if I . . . interrupted something out there.”
“You didn’t,” I lie, and Mason shoots me a look.
Faith runs out of the back room, and I hide her present behind my back. She wraps her arms around my legs. “Aunt B! Did you bring my present?”
“Was I supposed to bring you a present?”
She releases my legs and props her hands on her hips, narrowing her dark eyes at me. She looks so much like Mia when she does that, and it makes my heart tug with guilt over the secrets I’ve kept from my best friend. Mia’s never met Faith. I’ve never given her the opportunity or reason to believe she might want to. Some secrets we have to bury deep.
“You’re teasin’ me,” Faith says.
I grin and pull the wrapped box from behind my back.
“Whatisit, whatisit, whatisit? Can I open it, Mommy?”
My sister nods. “Yeah, baby. Go ahead.”
“I’m not a baby anymore. I’m six years old, you know.”
“I’m sorry. It’s easy for me to forget.”
“Because you’re getting old,” Faith says, matter-of-fact.
“Right. Because I’m getting old.” Sarah laughs. She seems lighter today, more at ease with my presence than usual. I study her, hoping this is the beginning of a new trend.
Faith unwraps the gift with gusto, shredding the paper and letting it fall to the floor before opening the box and gasping. “New tap shoes!” She looks up at her mom and pulls them from the box. “Look, Mommy! Aunt B got me new tap shoes! I wanted these so much. Mine are old. They’re hand-me-downs from Britney Haller, and she makes fun of me when she sees me wearing them, but Mommy said I shouldn’t let that bother me because Britney’s just trying to act cool, but I still wanted new ones that were mine and never anyone else’s and you got them for me.” She clutches them to her chest and dances in a little circle. “Yay!”
I watch my sister, waiting for some sign that this was a bad choice, that I’ve embarrassed her somehow, but she only gives a small smile as she meets my eyes and mouths, Thank you.
I exhale the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I feel lighter than I have all day.
“Best. Birthday. Ever,” Faith says. She kicks off her sandals and slides into her new tap shoes.
That could be Mia’s little girl.
The thought has buzzed through my head since the second I spotted Bailey’s niece, and I feel like a racist jackass. Thinking that a little Latina girl looks like my closest Latina friend is just as bad as someone thinking I look like Reggie Miller because we’re both black dudes with green eyes.
Seriously, I want to punch myself in the face for being one of those idiots who thinks all people of one ethnicity look alike. I’ve never been like that, but every time I look at Faith, I see Mia.
Bailey’s on cloud nine after Faith’s reaction to her gift, and her eyes follow the girl everywhere as she dances around the living room, showing off and talking at a hundred miles an hour. No, it’s not that I think she looks similar to Mia. It’s as if she could be Mia’s daughter. If Mia and Arrow had a little girl, she would totally look like Faith.
Is it her eyes? Her smile? It’s both, and it’s more than that.
Brandon approaches me and offers a hand, pulling my creeper-like attention away from Faith. He’s almost as tall as me and has the big barrel chest of a guy who likes his beer as much as his bench press. “I can’t tell you how awesome it is to meet you. When I saw that video and realized you were Sarah’s brother-in-law, I couldn’t believe it. I watched you all last season. I’m a huge fan.”
“I appreciate that.” I look to Bailey, who’s been coaxed into a dance with the birthday girl. “Thanks for inviting us. It means a lot to Bailey to be here.”
“Of course. You two are welcome over here anytime!”
That’s not the way I understand it. Saying as much will only add to the tension between sisters, so I only smile. “Thanks a lot. We’d love to have Faith come over sometime. Does she like to swim?”
“Oh, man, she’s like a fish. Just try getting her out of the water! That would be fantastic. I’ll definitely talk to Sarah and get something worked out.”
“That would be awesome. Thanks.”
He beams. “So how was training camp? Are you ready for regular season to kick off?”
I shift gears, prepared to talk football all night if it’s going to help butter this guy up so Bailey can spend more time with her niece. He’s a nice enough guy. He gushes a little, throwing out stats to impress me and mixing up some of my plays with some of Owen’s from last season. It’s no big deal, though. I know he means well, and he’s obviously a fan of the team.
But through our whole conversation, I can’t take my eyes off Bailey and the way she looks at that little girl. Maybe someday when I’m an uncle I’ll understand how it feels not to get the time I want with my niece or nephew. Even without that experience, I can imagine it would tear me apart if my sister kept her child from me. Family’s important. As fucked up as mine is, I know that. And I get it. Sarah’s conservative and doesn’t like the choices Bailey’s made, and Bailey . . . well, she’s made some bad choices. Nic Mendez. Stripping. Hell, I’d even add staying in Blackhawk Valley to her list of bad choices, but that�
��s probably just me wanting to pull her away from the ghost of her former lover. I swear he tried to bury her with him.
Faith appears in front of me and tugs on the hem of my shirt. “We’re going to Applebee’s for dinner.”
Brandon grimaces. “Oh, is that okay with you and Bailey?”
Sarah wrings her hands. “Maybe we don’t have to choose Applebee’s, Faith. Bailey and Mason might want to go somewhere else.”
“But it’s your favorite, too,” Faith whines at her mom. She looks at Bailey. “It’s my birthday and Mom’s Mommy-versary, because this is the day she adopted me. Please say we can go to Applebee’s. Please, please?”
I’m pretty sure this offer is for my benefit, since I’m the guy in the room who pulls in the most money each year, so I’m quick with my response. “I love Applebee’s.”
Faith cheers. “Do you like the chicken fingers, too?”
“They’re the best.”
“Yes!” She pumps her fist in the air and pretty much steals my heart. Then, in a flash, I don’t just see Mia in this little girl’s smile.
I see Bailey.
Tonight was amazing—from hearing Faith say “cheese” for pictures at dinner to watching her blow out the candles on her cake afterward. But none of it compares to this moment. We’re all settled into the couches in Sarah’s living room and Faith’s snuggled on my lap, her eyes heavy and a half-smile curling her lips.
“Mommy, tell Aunt B about the day that I was born. The day you ’dopted me.”
“The day I adopted you?” Sarah says.
“Yes. That day. Tell her about the day I was born.”
Sarah and I exchange a look. “Aunt B doesn’t need to hear that old story.”
“I bet you could tell it,” I say, looking down at Faith. “You’ve heard it enough times.”
“I am a-dopted,” Faith says with a very serious look on her face. “And that means that I didn’t grow in my mommy’s belly. I grew in another lady’s belly. The day I was born, she went to the hospital and my bi-logical mother put me in Mommy’s arms and said . . .” She turns to Sarah. “What did she say?”
Sarah’s face twists with emotion as she holds her daughter’s gaze. “She said, ‘I already love her so much, and I feel like I’m giving you a piece of my heart, but I know you’ll be the mother she deserves. You can give her what I can’t.’”
Faith nods. “Yes. And she told Mommy to take care of me and give me a family because she couldn’t, and that’s what Mommy did. And that’s why I’m Mommy’s daughter and not someone else’s, and that’s why my skin’s a different color than Mommy’s.” She holds her arm next to mine. “Mommy says she’s white, but I think she’s more like a peach crayon like you, and I’m more like a light brown crayon because my bi-logical dad was Mexican American.”
“That’s right, baby,” Sarah says.
I swallow, but the lump in my throat stays put. I have to give Sarah credit for this much. She’s never tried to hide the adoption from Faith, and I like that they talk openly about skin color and ethnicity. Even if Faith doesn’t know Nic’s name, I like that she has an idea where she comes from.
Faith wiggles out of my arms to scoot over on the couch beside Mason. She turns and holds her arm against his. “But your skin is even darker than mine, so your mom and dad must be Mexican American.”
Mason chuckles and studies their arms next to each other. “That’s a good guess,” he says. “But actually, my dad is white like your mom, and my mom is African American—or sometimes we say black. That means her skin is dark like mine.”
“Oh yeah,” Faith says. “African American, like my friend Grace. She gets to put her hair in such cool braids. Does your mom have braids?”
Mason shakes his head. “Not anymore, but I think she did when she was a little girl.”
She sighs dramatically. “Lucky duck.”
“Your hair is very pretty,” Mason says.
“Mommy says so, too.”
“My friend Mia has hair like yours,” he says. “She’s Mexican American, too.”
“Mia is a pretty name,” Faith says, yawning. “I hope I can meet her someday.”
“I bet she’d like that a lot,” Mason says. He lifts his gaze from Faith to me. Maybe I’m just sick of being saddled with secrets, because I think he knows. I must be more exhausted from the weight of silence than I realized, because I hope he knows.
Mason’s quiet on the drive home. It’s a weird feeling, thinking he might know a secret I’ve never shared with anyone else. I was able to hide my pregnancy pretty easily. I never got very big, and by the time my belly really popped during those last couple of months, I was staying with Sarah, so nobody back home knew. At least a hundred times since Faith’s birth, I’ve thought of telling Mia. After Nic died, I wanted nothing more than to let her know that her brother was still here in a way. But I was too selfish. I was afraid Sarah wouldn’t forgive me for breaking my promise and would let me see Faith even less than I do now. And even if I could get Sarah onboard, what if telling Mia after so many years of keeping that secret to myself just made her hate me? I was terrified she’d be hurt and I’d lose her.
But as strange as it is to have Mason know, at the same time, it feels right. On the drive home, he reaches over and takes my hand, squeezing it in his. The warmth and tenderness that rushes through me is so overwhelming, my throat goes thick with it.
When we get home, I follow him inside. He puts his keys in the dish by the door and kicks off his shoes before going to the kitchen and pulling a bottle of wine from the fridge.
Standing at the counter opposite me, he pours two glasses. He hands me one. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I open my mouth then close it, still holding the secret close just in case I’m wrong and he didn’t figure it out. Mason just did me a bigger favor than he could ever imagine. Not only was he the key to getting Sarah to invite me to dinner, he somehow convinced them to bring Faith over for a visit next week. After giving me a gift like that, now is not the time to play coy. But after six years of silence, I don’t know what to say. “I’m not sure I know how,” I admit. “I’ve never talked about it before.”
“Not even to Nic?”
Air leaves me in a rush, and the backs of my eyes prick with tears. There it is. He knows. I draw in a deep breath for courage. “Not long after I found out I was pregnant, he was convicted.” I shrug, as if that moment hadn’t crushed part of me forever. “I had his baby growing in my belly, and he was on his way to prison.”
Mason reaches across the counter and grabs my hand. It’s the gentle reassurance I need.
“I was just a kid with dreams of having a better life than my mom’s, but there I was, following right in her footsteps. Then there was Sarah. She had her life together, you know what I mean? She’s ten years older than me, and she and her husband, Greg, had been trying to have a baby for a couple of years with no luck. Because of our age difference, we’ve never been that close, but I thought to call her to confide my secret. It was like it was meant to be. We were on the same wavelength from the beginning. We both knew there was only one right choice. I was due at the end of the summer, so we made plans that I’d come stay with her until the baby was born, sign over my rights, and be back home in time for the start of my junior year of high school. It was the right thing to do for Faith, if not for me.”
“What happened to the husband? Greg?” Mason asks.
I blow out a sharp breath. “Faith was a toddler when he decided this life wasn’t for him. This baby they’d been praying for had all but landed in their laps, but it wasn’t what he wanted or how he wanted it to happen.” My gut twists. “He said he didn’t feel the connection. That he’d wanted his own child, and Sarah had pushed the adoption on him, but I swear he’d been onboard until they brought her home.”
Mason narrows his eyes. “What an asshole.”
“I have no way to prove it, but I think he couldn’t stand that she didn’t look like him. H
e’d complain to Sarah about how people would stare at them when they were out in public and he felt like they were trying to figure out why his child wasn’t white.” I shake my head, anger at my asshole brother-in-law as fresh as if it had been yesterday and not years ago. “Sarah told him that people stared because Faith was a beautiful baby, but he was so insecure, so worried people would think his wife had cheated on him.”
“People adopt babies who don’t look like them all the time,” Mason says. “This isn’t 1960.”
I smile at him, warmth blooming in my chest and pushing away that old anger. “I know, right?” I sigh. “He felt trapped. Family life wasn’t for him, he said. But he moved to California, and within a year he was remarried with a baby on the way.”
“I’d like to punch this guy.”
“You and me both. It ripped Sarah apart. It was hard for her, you know? He didn’t make a ton of money, but he had a decent job. She’d always stayed at home, first doing the homemaker thing while she tried to get pregnant, then as a stay-at-home mom to Faith. And then he left, and he didn’t just leave her and Faith. He left his job. For about a year, the only income Sarah had was from the odds-and-ends jobs she could do with Faith by her side. She almost lost the house, could barely afford groceries.”
He toys with my fingers and looks up at me through his thick lashes. “And then?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.
“It got better,” I say, not sure what he’s waiting for. “She made it through, and things got better.”
“She made it through because you started stripping and sending her the money.”
My heart tugs so hard that I instinctively squeeze his hand. He sees me so clearly that he guessed the truth. Years later, even Sarah, who took the money, can’t forgive me for my choices, but Mason understands. “It seemed like the least I could do. That whole time was hell on Sarah. A year before she adopted Faith, she lost a foster baby. They had her from the day she left the hospital until she was nine months old. They really believed they’d get to adopt her, but the judge put her back with her mom. It wasn’t rational, but I think Sarah was afraid she’d lose Faith, too.”