I Promise You

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  I swallow, feeling weird, as if this is happening to someone else. I don’t recall holding her in February. Maybe because she was too little, or maybe I didn’t want to. “She’s cute,” I say, the words feeling ripped from my chest.

  Sawyer slides in, clearly trying to smooth over my familial issues. “They haven’t eaten yet and I ordered pizza.”

  “Pepperoni for the guys and veggie for Brianna,” Dad adds with a smile. It looks a little forced. Yeah, yeah, I feel that too.

  We manage a strange, stilted meal. Dad asks me questions about Mom, and I tell him she’s texted a few times to update me on the wedding plans. He tells me about a new hotel they’re building in London, about the day Marley crawled for the first time…

  Brianna feeds Marley baby food with a dainty spoon, something orange.

  “What is that?” I ask, searching for topics. It feels as if I’m in a parallel universe, but I’m trying to roll with it.

  “Sweet potatoes. They’re her favorite. Wes said they were your fav too,” Brianna replies.

  As if to show her agreement, Marley giggles, her nose scrunching up, and a bubble of orange goo comes out of her mouth. I’m struck by the pale blue color of her eyes.

  “She looks like Myles,” Dad murmurs next to me.

  A ball of emotion clogs up my throat. Suddenly, it’s too much, this shitty week, him surprising me, him gazing at Marley…

  “Yeah, she does.” I wipe my face and stand. “Excuse me, I need…”—a minute—“…a walk.”

  I dart for the door and step outside. The late October air is crisp, and I drag in a deep breath as Dad jogs up next to me. “Let me join you.”

  “Alright.” We don’t look at each other, our paces in sync as we walk. When we get to the end of my block, I can’t stand it any longer. “Why are you here?”

  He sticks his hands in his pockets. “It’s your birthday tomorrow, and I wanted to see you. You weren’t answering my calls. Maybe you had the right not to.”

  “I see.” I really don’t.

  He flashes a careful, searching look at me. “Dillon, we need to talk. I left your mother at a terrible time, right after Myles—”

  “You left me.” My stomach churns as I stop to turn and look at him. I feel off-centered and disoriented, as if I’m unraveling. Part of it is the loss of Serena, the way my game is falling apart, and I can’t stop the spiral. I’m stuck in a black pit, itching to crawl out, but I can’t find the energy.

  His blue eyes meet mine and a nod comes from him, almost hesitant. “You think I blamed you, and I did. I blamed everyone—myself, you, your mom, the postman, the grocer, the water, the rocks, the air itself. I sank down into an awful place and I forgot about the people—you—who depended on me. Then, I met Brianna. I didn’t plan on meeting someone new and starting a family, and I’m sorry I hurt you.”

  I shrug. “You’re not even my real dad.”

  “Dillon…” He opens his mouth, looking for words. He exhales. “Son, I raised you from the age of two. You are mine in my heart.”

  “I thought I was,” I say softly.

  Regret is etched in his voice when he replies, “Grief ate me alive until I didn’t have anything left. I wanted out of that house, away from everything that reminded me of him. You’re going to have a new sibling next year. I want us to…” His voice catches. “Be a family. I want you to forgive me for leaving, for not being the father you deserve.”

  A long pause stretches. My teeth grit to keep from blurting out that I love him, that I missed him, that I want to know Marley, that I want him in my life so fucking bad. I want to see him in the summer. I want to hold my sister without feeling left out.

  I look away from his face and at the setting sun.

  His words are ones I’ve longed to hear, but…

  I picture Myles’s ghost next to me, telling me to give Dad a chance.

  He’s my father, bio or not. He was there for me when Mom never was. We were close.

  Dad speaks, a hoarse quality to his voice. “When I watch you tomorrow, when you kiss your hands, when you put Myles in your heart, save a little room for me?”

  I shut my eyes, my throat tight. His words settle deep, taking root. I let out an exhalation. “Yeah.”

  28

  “What’s that?” Romy asks as she bends over my shoulder.

  Sitting at my desk, I push the sewing machine to the side and flick out her skirt. “I hemmed your uniform. It was frayed on the side.” I’m doing anything to keep me busy. If I stay on a task, then maybe I won’t think about him.

  “I meant the gift on your desk.” She points down at the black box.

  Oh. I stare at it. It’s been lying there for a week. “Just something I got for Dillon’s birthday, but—”

  “Ooooo! What is it?” She tries to snatch it, and I grab it back, holding it to my chest.

  “Nothing.” I push the skirt into her hands. “Mind your own business and go try this on—” I stop as Nana enters. “No bingo tonight?” I ask.

  She plops down on the couch and waves me off. “I’m staying in. Thought I’d check on you.”

  There have been lots of evenings when she checks on me. I know what they see. I’m grieving. My face is haunted, my eyes sad.

  Romy dances around me and sits next to Nana. “Serena bought Dillon a birthday gift…”

  I sigh. “I’m going to return it. I bought it before—”

  “Anyone home?” Julian pokes his head in and holds up a six-pack of Bud Light. “Thought I’d check on my girls.” He grins broadly.

  “And you brought sustenance!” Nana chortles as he twists open a bottle and hands it to her.

  I take one—might as well—and we all clink our bottles together, Romy with a soda.

  A few minutes later, Liam knocks and comes in.

  “Oh, goody, Tree Boy is here. I say we do a Friday night movie,” Nana says, her arm curling around me on the couch.

  Well.

  It’s obvious they planned this, a whole Let’s keep Serena company brigade. I give them the fake smile.

  “Creepy, sis,” Romy chirps, then she says, “I want Pride and Prejudice—”

  “No,” Julian calls. “We’ve watched that one ten times!”

  “Now it’s going to be eleven!” Romy says as she pokes him. “Suck it up.”

  “Fine, but I’m calling dibs on the next one. Fast and Furious,” Julian mutters.

  “Go get snacks from the house,” Nana declares, shooing them. “I’ll need my guacamole and chips. Liam, did I tell you Turo’s Italian?”

  He bobs his head. “Yes, ma’am. Very nice.”

  I manage a smile.

  “Come with me, kids,” Julian says to Liam and Romy. “Let’s grab the snacks.”

  Liam shifts a wary gaze to Julian. “Can I take a look at your bike?”

  Julian narrows his eyes. “Don’t put smudges on it, and don’t even think about sitting on it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Romy grins and grabs Liam’s hand as they follow him out the door.

  “Serena…” Nana pats my hand. “Let’s talk. I’ve kept my mouth shut, but, dear, you miss him terribly. You’ve had time to process, but you look like ten miles of bad road.”

  “Nana…”

  “You try so hard to be good, to be a role model for Romy, to provide for her, and you’re the kind of girl who’d never break a promise, but people do. Romy screwed up when she got in with a bad crowd and did wacky weed. You put your life on hold for Vane. Julian goes through women like water. I tend to say things I shouldn’t. And Dillon made a mistake. He didn’t correct his friends when he should have and you had to hear it in a horrible way. Men, in general, tend to not talk about deep things. Perhaps this incident is a hurdle, yes, but how you deal with it is what matters. You love him, and his face is happier than a pig in sunshine when he looks at you.” She hesitates. “Don’t judge him by another man’s scorecard. You’re scared because of Vane, but all I get from Dillon is a
boy who needs you. He’s younger than you, yeah, yeah, but his soul is aligned to yours.”

  “He’s…” Tears spring up behind my eyes and I blink rapidly. My hand hits my chest. “He isn’t Vane, I know it, but…” I don’t want to be hurt anymore.

  The others come back in, and I turn away, swallowing. They find seats and I snuggle under a blanket as Darcy and Elizabeth battle it out for love.

  The question is, what am I willing to do for love?

  29

  “This was on the porch.” Sawyer tosses me a package and I catch it. It’s in a brown manila envelope with an orange and blue ribbon around it. My name is scrawled across the front.

  I sit back down on the bed, shoving my duffle for the game to the side. “Who left it?” My dad and Brianna have already given me their gift, a set of diamond cufflinks. Dad suggested I wear them for the NFL draft in April. He wants to go with me to New York and bring the family.

  He shrugs. “Beats me. We got ten minutes before we’re due at the stadium.”

  “Right.”

  When he’s out of my room, I tear open the package, my chest tightening at the note.

  * * *

  Dillon,

  I got this before. It felt wrong not to give it to you. I wish for you everything. Kisses in meadows. A sky full of stars. All the wonderful things destiny has in store for you. Happy Birthday.

  Serena

  * * *

  Popping open the box, I pick up the sterling silver football charm. I shut my eyes, thinking about where she is right now. She sent it, and it has to mean something.

  Later, when I run onto the field for the game, I kiss both my hands, tug the charm out of my jersey, and brush my fingers over it, for her. My eyes rove the stands, searching, hoping, but she isn’t in the press area, nor do I feel the weight of her gaze anywhere in the stadium. She isn’t here. Disappointment flares, but I’m not surprised.

  My eyes land on my dad. He waves a foam finger at me while Marley bounces on Brianna’s knee. We sat up last night reminiscing about childhood memories and going through videos I had of Myles on my phone. No family is perfect, but, perhaps, ours can be united. Problems exist, yes, but the blame we both shared is lighter. Grief is horrible. In the space of one heartbeat, I can picture my brother going over that cliff. Dad can’t change how he dealt with Myles’s death, how he cocooned himself, pushing the world away, just as I can’t change that I didn’t stop him from jumping, but we can forge ahead and make a new path for ourselves.

  “Yo! We’ve got a team to destroy!” calls Sawyer as he slaps me on the ass and runs past me.

  I take in the formidable Alabama defense, huge linebackers with mean faces as they run onto the field.

  “Teamwork, D,” Sinclair says as I put my helmet on. “Show ’em who’s the best quarterback!”

  I cock an eyebrow at him. “You’re encouraging me?”

  A smirk spreads on his face. “Be the thermostat, not the thermometer, yo.”

  “So you do listen.”

  “Kill that defense, D.” He tosses a football in the air. “If you can’t, I’ll take over, ’cause I’m awesome, but I think you’ve got this. They’re ranked four and it’s a mountain of a team to climb, and your focus has been shit, true, but now’s the time to set it straight.”

  I look up at the press section, taking in the television cameras, the ESPN guys, the scouts on the sidelines. Coach said I was starting, but to be prepared for Sinclair to come in. That familiar pressure sits on my chest, but this time, this time, it’s not as heavy. The critics may be right—I may always be second best—and so be it. Failure might come, but I’ll never accept it; I’ll keep training and working and pushing myself. I’ll never be Ryker, and that’s okay. I am talented. I know how to lead. I care about the people I play with. Any NFL team would be lucky to have me.

  I look at my dad again. He’s here, he loves me, and it’s enough.

  “Let’s roll the Tide out of our stadium!” I shout, and we take the field.

  30

  A tall, ripped man wearing snug jeans walks into the Piggly Wiggly Saturday night.

  He walks in alone, no entourage in sight. Well, except for the cashier who squeals and leaves her customers hanging as she runs over to him, arms flailing. He signs the paper she thrusts in his face. His usual wicked smile is missing, but she doesn’t notice, swooning as she walks away, clutching the paper to her chest.

  He’s wearing a Waylon hat. It creates a slice of diagonal shadow on his chiseled face, giving me a partial view of one bladed cheekbone and the side of a full, pouty mouth. Dark stubble covers his diamond-cut jawline, and a pair of expensive silver-mirrored aviators shields his gaze. He wipes them off and tucks them in the neck of a faded blue lucky Tigers shirt.

  Stomach jumping, I turn before he sees me, my head down as I move to another aisle. I touch my face, hands trembling. No makeup to speak of, but at least my hair is down. My pants are camo, and my shirt—well, it isn’t a Four Dragons one. I threw them all out.

  Somehow I find myself in front of the cookies. My head tumbles around, my skin prickling when I feel him behind me.

  He’s close to me, the heat from his body emanating through the air around us. It crackles with tension, the sound of his breathing a symphony to my heart.

  His voice, when it comes, is husky, layered with emotion. “Someone told me once that it takes fifty-nine minutes to bake an Oreo.”

  I keep my eyes forward. “Sounds like an interesting individual.”

  “She’s incredible.” A long breath comes from him. “She doesn’t need me the way I need her. She’s never going to forgive me because that means making herself vulnerable.” He shifts, coming closer to me, and when his hands land on my shoulders, my lashes flutter. “I’ve thought of a hundred ways to make some kind of grand romantic gesture, even begging her, but this girl…ah, she’s seen guys beg before, and it doesn’t work. She kicked a rock star to the curb. She’s a goddess with armor. Tough as nails.” He pauses and drops his hands. “She thinks I’m a shallow asshole.”

  My hands clench. He isn’t that. Never.

  “Please. Just look at me, Serena.”

  I turn and face him. The beauty of him takes my breath. He’s gorgeous, with his chiseled face and towering body, all rippling muscle. His eyes, framed by thickly curled lashes, hold mine. His full lips part, devastation growing on his face as he hungrily takes me in. He’s a man whose edges have been ripped apart.

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “Romy. I went to your house.” He pauses, swallowing. “You’re wearing my shirt.”

  I nod. “I watched you beat ’Bama by fourteen points on the TV. Had to show my school spirit. You played the whole game—congrats.”

  His chest expands. “Wish you’d been there. My dad came. We’re working on things.”

  My heart swells. “Oh, Dillon. That’s great.”

  “I miss you so much,” he whispers as he shakes his head and looks away for a moment. He bites his bottom lip and fidgets as if he wants to touch me. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I, um, don’t know what else to say. I’ve never been here, never felt this, like I had a taste of something real and it was yanked away.”

  My throat dries. That’s exactly how I feel. “Yeah.”

  A hesitant expression crosses his face. “I fell in love with you at the bonfire, but I loved you with my whole heart in the meadow. I loved the girl I’d gotten to know, the girl with the quirks, the one who loves her family. You own me, Serena.”

  He swallows. “This feeling… It isn’t the infatuation from freshman year, but real and so big that it blows me away. I should have told you that day, but I didn’t know if you’d, I don’t know, freak out.”

  A determined glint flares in his gaze. “When I gave you that dandelion… I bought that charm two years ago at some arts festival at Waylon. I took one look at it, picked it up, and knew someday I’d give it to you. You were always my goal, yeah, to get you forever.”
>
  His words resonate inside me, unfurling inside my heart.

  He sighs. “I don’t deserve you, but life keeps bringing us together. Call it fate or some legend, hell, I don’t care, but there it is. Once, I told you I’d be down on my knees for you, and I am.” He kneels, right there next to a container of peanuts. He stares up at me.

  I gasp. “Dillon…don’t…”

  “I promise to never hurt you, to always be there, to tell my friends how in love with you I am, the whole world…” He pauses, his face uncertain. “Just tell me how to fix us, how to get you back.”

  My lashes blink rapidly, holding back the tears welling up inside me. I want him, I need him, I love him.

  More than my young, misguided devotion for Vane.

  More than anything.

  A long exhalation leaves my chest and clarity settles deeper inside me. Yes, I needed our time apart, but the moment I sent him his gift, I knew I could never let him go. The truth is, people are never free of baggage, but sometimes you have to take a chance and jump in feet first. I want this with him. I want him tracing hearts on my back, loving me. And I see who he is. Kind, intelligent, funny, loyal, and…mine.

  “Oh my God! Are you asking her to marry you?” screeches the cashier girl.

  I huff out a laugh as I wipe a tear from my eye. “You better get up. She’s getting her phone out.”

  He rises, eyes never leaving mine as he stands. His forehead touches mine. “The night of the bonfire my heart picked you, and I’d do it again, a million times. Is there any way you could need me the way I need you?”

  I brush my fingers over his face, my hand curling around his neck. There’s a small bump under his shirt, and I tug out the ribbon and see the charm around his neck. My eyes meet his and my chest hitches. Emotions tug at me, hope for a future with this warrior. “I love you so much,” I whisper.

  Amazement washes over his face. His mouth parts. “Serena…Dandelion…” He kisses me, his lips slanting over mine, our mouths devouring each other. He tastes like home. He feels solid and real, the kind of love that grows in your heart and digs deep roots. When I was seventeen, my dandelion meant second chances in the face of adversity, and this with Dillon? He’s worth all the chances.